By Mary Shelley
JULY 16， 1833. —This is a memorable anniversary for me；on it I complete my three hundred and twenty-third year！
The Wandering Jew？—certainly not. More than eighteencenturies have passed over his head. In comparison with him， Iam a very young Immortal.
Am I， then， immortal？ This is a question which I have askedmyself， by day and night， for now three hundred and threeyears， and yet cannot answer it. I detected a gray hair amidstmy brown locks this very day—that surely signifies decay.
Yet it may have remained concealed there for three hundredyears—for some persons have become entirely white headedbefore twenty years of age.
I will tell my story， and my reader shall judge for me. I willtell my story， and so contrive to pass some few hours of along eternity， become so wearisome to me. For ever！ Can itbe？ to live for ever！ I have heard of enchantments， in whichthe victims were plunged into a deep sleep， to wake， aftera hundred years， as fresh as ever： I have heard of the SevenSleepers—thus to be immortal would not be so burthensome：
but， oh！ the weight of never-ending time—the tedious passageof the still-succeeding hours！ How happy was the fabledNourjahad！—But to my task.
All the world has heard of Cornelius Agrippa. His memoryis as immortal as his arts have made me. All the world hasalso heard of his scholar， who， unawares， raised the foul fiendduring his master’s absence， and was destroyed by him. Thereport， true or false， of this accident， was attended with manyinconveniences to the renowned philosopher. All his scholarsat once deserted him—his servants disappeared. He had no onenear him to put coals on his ever-burning fires while he slept，or to attend to the changeful colours of his medicines while hestudied. Experiment after experiment failed， because one pairof hands was insufficient to complete them： the dark spiritslaughed at him for not being able to retain a single mortal inhis service.
I was then very young—very poor—and very much. in love.
I had been for about a year the pupil of Cornelius， though Iwas absent when this accident took place. On my return， myfriends implored me not to return to the alchymist’s abode. Itrembled as I listened to the dire tale they told； I required nosecond warning； and when Cornelius came and offered me apurse of gold if I would remain under his roof， I felt as if Satanhimself tempted me. My teeth chattered—my hair stood onend：—I ran off as fast as my trembling knees would permit.
My failing steps were directed whither for two years theyhad every evening been attracted，—a gently bubbling springof pure living waters， beside which lingered a dark-haired girl，whose beaming eyes were fixed on the path I was accustomedeach night to tread. I cannot remember the hour when I didnot love Bertha； we had been neighbours and playmates frominfancy—her parents， like mine， were of humble life， yetrespectable—our attachment had been a source of pleasure tothem. In an evil hour， a malignant fever carried off both herfather and mother， and Bertha became an orphan. She wouldhave found a home beneath my paternal roof， but， unfortunately，the old lady of the near castle， rich， childless， and solitary，declared her intention to adopt her. Henceforth Bertha wasclad in silk—inhabited a marble palace—and was looked onas being highly favoured by fortune. But in her new situationamong her new associates， Bertha remained true to the friendof her humbler days； she often visited the cottage of my father，and when forbidden to go thither， she would stray towards theneighbouring wood， and meet me beside its shady fountain.
She often declared that she owed no duty to her newprotectress equal in sanctity to that which bound us. Yet still Iwas too poor to marry， and she grew weary of being tormentedon my account. She had a haughty but an impatient spirit， andgrew angry at the obstacles that prevented our union. We metnow after an absence， and she had been sorely beset while Iwas away； she complained bitterly， and almost reproached mefor being poor. I replied hastily，—
“I am honest， if I am poor！—were I not， I might soonbecome rich！”
This exclamation produced a thousand questions. I feared toshock her by owning the truth， but she drew it from me； andthen， casting a look of disdain on me， she said—“You pretend to love， and you fear to face the Devil for mysake！”
I protested that I had only dreaded to offend her；—while shedwelt on the magnitude of the reward that I should receive.
Thus encouraged— shamed by her—led on by love and hope，laughing at my late fears， with quick steps and a light heart， Ireturned to accept the offers of the alchymist， and was instantlyinstalled in my office.
A year passed away. I became possessed of no insignificantsum of money. Custom had banished my fears. In spite ofthe most painful vigilance， I had never detected the trace ofa cloven foot； nor was the studious silence of our abode everdisturbed by demoniac howls. I still continued my stoleninterviews with Bertha， and Hope dawned on me—Hope—butnot perfect joy； for Bertha fancied that love and security wereenemies， and her pleasure was to divide them in my bosom.
Though true of heart， she was somewhat of a coquette inmanner； and I was jealous as a Turk. She slighted me in athousand ways， yet would never acknowledge herself to be inthe wrong. She would drive me mad with anger， and then forceme to beg her pardon. Sometimes she fancied that I was notsufficiently submissive， and then she had some story of a rival，favoured by her protectress. She was surrounded by silk-cladyouths—the rich and gay—What chance had the sad-robedscholar of Cornelius compared with these？
