“Over the world wanders for ever
  Lone as incarnate death.”

After the long and moving recital of his woes, even the obdurate Frankenstein cannot resist the justice of his demand for a partner like himself.  Yet when the student recoils with horror from his half-accomplished task and sees the creature maliciously peering through the window, our hatred leaps to life once more and burns fiercely as the monster adds to his crimes the murder of Clerval, Frankenstein’s dearest friend, and of Elizabeth on her wedding night.  We follow with shuddering anticipation the long pursuit of the monster, expectant of a last, fearful encounter which shall decide the fate of the demon and his maker.  Amid the region of eternal ice, Frankenstein catches sight of him; but fails to reach him.  At last, beside the body of his last victim—­Frankenstein himself—­the creature is filled with remorse at the “frightful catalogue” of his sins, and makes a final bid for our sympathy in the farewell speech to Walton, before climbing on an ice-raft to be “borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance.”

Like Alastor, Frankenstein was a plea for human sympathy, and was, according to Shelley’s preface, intended “to exhibit the amiableness of domestic affection and the excellence of universal virtue.”  The monster has the perception and desire of goodness, but, by the circumstances of his abnormal existence, is delivered over to evil.  It is this dual nature that prevents him from being a mere automaton.  The monster indeed is far more real than the shadowy beings whom he pursues.  Frankenstein is less an individual than a type, and only interests us through the emotions which his conflict with the monster arouses.  Clerval, Elizabeth and Frankenstein’s relatives are passive sufferers whose psychology does not concern us.  Mrs. Shelley rightly lavishes her skill on the central figure of the book, and succeeds, as effectually as Frankenstein himself, in infusing into him the spark of life.  Mrs. Shelley’s aim is to “awaken thrilling horror,” and, incidentally, to “exhibit the excellence of domestic virtue,” and for her purpose the demon is of paramount importance.  The involved, complex plot of a novel seemed to pass beyond Mrs. Shelley’s control.  A short tale she could handle successfully, and Shelley was unwise in inciting her to expand Frankenstein into a long narrative.  So long as she is completely carried away by her subject Mrs. Shelley writes clearly, but when she pauses to regard the progress of her story dispassionately, she seems to be overwhelmed by the wealth of her resources and to have no power of selecting the relevant details.  The laborious introductory letters, the meticulous record of Frankenstein’s education, the story of Felix and Sofie, the description of the tour through England before the creation of the second monster is attempted, are all connected with the main theme by very frail links and serve