Hugh’s Cave

Okay. 

This is for you. 

It regulates the power flow to the frequency that you're used to. 

This connection should fit the coupling on your arm. 

You're welcome.

RIKER: 

Hugh? 


HUGH: 

Why are you here, Commander Riker? 

Hasn't the crew of the Enterprise caused enough damage already? 
(a little later) 


WORF: 

So you blame us for what has happened to the Borg? 


HUGH: 

You gave me a sense of Individuality, changed me,

 then sent me back to The Collective. 

You must have known that change would be passed on to others. 


RIKER: 

We considered it. 

We knew it was a possibility. 


HUGH: 

Then you made it possible for Lore to dominate us. 


WORF: 

I cannot accept that. 

Lore is only one —

The Borg could have stopped him. 


HUGH: 

You don't know the condition we were in when he found us. 

Before my experience on The Enterprise, The Borg were a single-minded Collective. 

The voices in our heads were smooth and flowing. 

But after I returned, those voices began to change. 

They became uneven, discordant. 

For the first time, individual Borg had differing ideas about how to proceed. 

We couldn't function. 

Some Borg fought each other. 

Others simply shut themselves down. 

Many starved to death. 


RIKER: 

And then Lore came along. 


HUGH: 

You probably can't imagine what it is like to be so lost and frightened that you will listen to any voice which promises change. 


WORF: 

Even if that voice insists on controlling you. 


HUGH: 

That's what we wanted. 

Someone to show us the way out of confusion. 

Lore promised clarity and purpose. 

In the beginning, he seemed like a saviour. 

The promise of becoming a superior race, 

of becoming fully artificial was compelling. 

We gladly did everything he asked of us. 

But after a while, it became clear that Lore had no idea how to keep his promise. 

That's when he began talking about the need for us to make sacrifices. 

Before we realised it, this was the result. 


RIKER: 

What happened to them? 


HUGH: 

Lore began to experiment, 

trying to re-make us in his image. 

This is the result of my encounter with The Enterprise, Commander. 

So you can see I don't particularly welcome your presence here. 


RIKER: 

I'm sorry you feel that way. 

We just came to get our people. 

We won't cause you any more trouble. 


HUGH: 

Tell me about my friend. 


RIKER: 

Friend? 


HUGH: 

The Human called Geordi. 


RIKER: 

I wish I could tell you about him. 

We think he may be held inside the compound. 


HUGH: 

[hesitantly] 

I cannot help you. 

I cannot risk our being discovered. 


RIKER: 

Can you at least show us a way into the compound? 


HUGH: 

These caverns lead to tunnels which run beneath the compound. 

Some of them connect with the environmental control ducts. 


WORF: 

Show us. 

If we can determine the geography of the compound, 

we can form a rescue plan.

The Sea of Ice

It’s Where You Go to Be Alone and Talk to Your Father

A Fortress of Solitude

CREATURE: 

The Sea of Ice.

I will meet you there, on The Sea of Ice.

Oh, Justine, forgive me.

Victor, tell me. 

Who is this man?

How do you know he's responsible?

I'll tell you everything after I've destroyed him.

But if what you say is true, then surely this is a matter

for the police. They wouldn't understand.

Well, neither do I.

Then just accept it.

[GRUNTING AND PANTING]

[III]

[GRUNTING]

CREATURE: Get up.

Get up.

You do speak.

Yes, I speak.

And read.

And think.

And know the ways of man.

How did you find me?

Your journal.

Then you mean to kill me.

No.

You murdered my brother, didn't you?

I took him by the throat with one hand,

lifted him off the ground

and slowly crushed his neck.

And as I killed him, I saw your face.

You gave me these emotions. But you didn't tell me how to use them.

Now two people are dead

because of us.

Why?

There's something at work in my soul which I do not understand.

What of my soul? Do I have one?

Or was that a part you left out?

Who were these people of which I am comprised?

Good people? Bad people?

Materials, nothing more. You're wrong.

Do you know I knew how to play this?

In which part of me did this knowledge reside?

In these hands?

In this mind? In this heart?

And reading and speaking.

Not things learned so much as things remembered.

Trace memories in the brain, perhaps.

Did you ever consider the consequences of your actions?

You gave me life, and then you left me to die.

Who am I?

You...

I don't know.

And you think I'm evil.

What can I do?

There is something I want. A friend.

A friend?

Companion.

A female.

Someone like me.

So she won't hate me.

Like you?

Oh, God, you don't know what you're asking.

I do know that

for the sympathy of one living being,

I would make peace with all.

I have love in me the likes of which

you can scarcely imagine.

And rage, the likes of which you would not believe.

If I cannot satisfy the one

I will indulge the other.

And if I consent, how will you live?

We would travel north, my bride and I,

to the furthest reaches of the Pole.

Where no man has ever set foot.

There, we would live out our lives

together.

No human eye would ever see us again.

This, I vow.

You must help me. Please.

If it is possible to right this wrong,

then I will do it.

Victor! Victor.

Are you all right?

Yes, I'm safe. I'm safe. What happened?

Tell us.

Victor.

Victor, you have to tell us what happened!

One month, that's all I ask.

And then we can be married, and we can forget this whole business.

I promise. Promise? Promise.

Oh, don't dare use that word to me.

You promised to tell me who this man was.

You promised to abandon this work for good.

Your promises don't mean anything. Elizabeth.

I have to leave this house. What are you saying?

Where will you go? I don't know.

Somewhere I can recover. Well, look. This is ridiculous.

I haven't got time to argue.

Oh, isn't it convenient? 

Or doesn't it fit in with your plans?

Don't you ever think of anyone or anything but yourself?

God forgive me.

[III]

Why her?

Materials, remember? 

Nothing more.

Your words. No.

You will honor your promise to me!

I will not.

Go on, kill me now.

That is mild compared to what will come.

If you deny me my wedding night, I will be with you on yours. 

FRANKENSTEIN;

OR,

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS.

[Transcriber's Note: This text was produced from a photo-reprint of the 1818 edition.]

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

---

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
To mould me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me?——

Paradise Lost.

---

London:
PRINTED FOR
LACKINGTON, HUGHES, HARDING, MAVOR, & JONES,
FINSBURY SQUARE.

1818.

---

TO
WILLIAM GODWIN,
AUTHOR OF POLITICAL JUSTICE, CALEB WILLIAMS, &c.
THESE VOLUMES
Are respectfully inscribed
BY
THE AUTHOR.

---

PREFACE.

The event on which this fiction is founded has been supposed, by Dr. Darwin, and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence. I shall not be supposed as according the remotest degree of serious faith to such an imagination; yet, in assuming it as the basis of a work of fancy, I have not considered myself as merely weaving a series of supernatural terrors. The event on which the interest of the story depends is exempt from the disadvantages of a mere tale of spectres or enchantment. It was recommended by the novelty of the situations which it developes; and, however impossible as a physical fact, affords a point of view to the imagination for the delineating of human passions more comprehensive and commanding than any which the ordinary relations of existing events can yield.

I have thus endeavoured to preserve the truth of the elementary principles of human nature, while I have not scrupled to innovate upon their combinations. The Iliad, the tragic poetry of Greece,—Shakespeare, in the Tempest and Midsummer Night’s Dream,—and most especially Milton, in Paradise Lost, conform to this rule; and the most humble novelist, who seeks to confer or receive amusement from his labours, may, without presumption, apply to prose fiction a licence, or rather a rule, from the adoption of which so many exquisite combinations of human feeling have resulted in the highest specimens of poetry.

The circumstance on which my story rests was suggested in casual conversation. It was commenced, partly as a source of amusement, and partly as an expedient for exercising any untried resources of mind. Other motives were mingled with these, as the work proceeded. I am by no means indifferent to the manner in which whatever moral tendencies exist in the sentiments or characters it contains shall affect the reader; yet my chief concern in this respect has been limited to the avoiding of the enervating effects of the novels of the present day, and to the exhibitions of the amiableness of domestic affection, and the excellence of universal virtue. The opinions which naturally spring from the character and situation of the hero are by no means to be conceived as existing always in my own conviction; nor is any inference justly to be drawn from the following pages as prejudicing any philosophical doctrine of whatever kind.

It is a subject also of additional interest to the author, that this story was begun in the majestic region where the scene is principally laid, and in society which cannot cease to be regretted. I passed the summer of 1816 in the environs of Geneva. The season was cold and rainy, and in the evenings we crowded around a blazing wood fire, and occasionally amused ourselves with some German stories of ghosts, which happened to fall into our hands. These tales excited in us a playful desire of imitation. Two other friends (a tale from the pen of one of whom would be far more acceptable to the public than any thing I can ever hope to produce) and myself agreed to write each a story, founded on some supernatural occurrence.

The weather, however, suddenly became serene; and my two friends left me on a journey among the Alps, and lost, in the magnificent scenes which they present, all memory of their ghostly visions. The following tale is the only one which has been completed.

---

FRANKENSTEIN;

OR, THE

MODERN PROMETHEUS.

---

LETTER I.

To Mrs. Saville, England.

St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—.

FOREWORD 

BY JOSEPH P. FARRELL 

When my good friend of almost twenty years, Dr. Scott D. de Hart, and I were working on our previous book, Transhumanism: A Grimoire of Alchemical Altars and Agendas for the Transformation of Man, we very quickly recognized the crucial role that literature had played in disseminating the memes of the alchemical transformation of human consciousness, culture, and society. We zeroed in on Oscar Wilde, Dante Alighieri, and most importantly, Percy Bysshe Shelley as the alchemical authors par excellence, but it soon became clear that, of all these, it was Shelley who was the most crucial, and most complex. Dr. de Hart quickly uncovered so much material that threw the whole academic farrago of Mary Shelley’s authorship of that most alchemical of novels, Frankenstein, into a cocked hat, that over the course of several conversations we became convinced that the topic of its authorship, and the alchemical and even Illuminist themes within it, deserved a full treatment of its own—and that Scott should be the one to outline the burgeoning, and largely ignored, case against Mary Shelley’s and for Percy Shelley’s authorship of the famous novel, and more importantly to show how deeply steeped it is in the themes and memes of alchemical, esoteric, and Illuminati lore. So it behooves us to state the case in a high overview and as succinctly as possible: Percy Bysshe Shelley placed the setting of Frankenstein squarely in the middle of a vast conspiracy; he set it in Ingolstadt,i Bavaria, home and headquarters to the celebrated Bavarian Illuminati of Ingolstadt University Professor of Canon Law, Adam Weishaupt. Shelley, as Dr. de Hart will detail in these pages, was enamored of the idea of a perfection of mankind, a possibility he saw would emerge once man was free of the intellectual constraints of Christianity, and able to develop the full potentials of science and all that it entailed for human life and society—and in this, the “perfectabilism” of Illuminism offered Shelley a manifesto in which to couch his novel. Adam Weishaupt (1748–1830) was the conspirator’s conspirator, the founder of the notorious Bavarian Illuminati. As Dr. de Hart will detail in the main text, Percy Shelley was more than familiar with the machinations of this secret society, having read Abbé Barruel’s history of Jacobinism during the French Revolution, in which the Illuminati played a prominent role—in Barruel’s opinion—in unleashing the forces that would eventually overturn the French monarchy. Another contemporary of Abbé Barruel, John Robison, wrote in his 1798 exposé of the Illuminati,i Proofs of a Conspiracy, that at its height, the order had initiated into its ranks all but two professors of the entire University of Ingolstadt. Given his thorough knowledge of matters pertaining to the Illuminati, we may reasonably assume that Percy Bysshe Shelley, in choosing to set Frankenstein at the notorious headquarters of the Illuminati, was more than familiar with the vast influence of the Order there. But why would the Order appeal to Shelley in the first place? As Dr. de Hart ably demonstrates in this book, the Order’s views were not only similar in their revolutionary cultural goals—to weaken and eventually marginalize the influence of Christianity within Western culture—to Percy Shelley’s, but they were in the final analysis identical. Weishaupt, who had adopted the code name Spartacus for himself, after the famous leader of the slaves’ rebellion in ancient Rome, wrote to fellow Illuminatus Baron Knigge in 1778: …in particular, every person shall be made a spy on another and on all around him. Nothing can escape our sight; by these means we shall readily discover who are contented, and receive with relish the peculiar state-doctrines and religious opinions that are laid before them; and, at last, the trust-worthy alone will be admitted to a participation of the whole maxims and political constitutions of the Order. In a council composed of such members we shall labour at the contrivance of means to drive by degrees the enemies of reason and of humanity out of the world, and to establish a peculiar morality and religion fitted for the great Society of mankind.ii The “enemies of reason” were, of course, clerics and ministers of Christianity. Elsewhere, Weishaupt would reveal even more of his attitude and agenda to fellow Illuminatus Baron Knigge, when expounding on a particular degree of initiation into the Order: One would almost imagine, that this degree, as I have managed it, is genuine Christianity, and that its end was to free the Jews from slavery. I say, that Free Masonry is concealed Christianity. My explanation of the hieroglyphics, at least, proceeds on this supposition; and as I explain things, no man need be ashamed of being a Christian. Indeed I afterwards throw away this name, and substitute Reason. But I assure you this is no small affair; a new religion, and a new state-government…You may think that this is my chief work…iii The social and cultural program of the Illuminati, in other words, was a total one. As Dr. de Hart demonstrates in these pages, these were goals that Percy Shelley most definitely shared, choosing to realize them through the beguiling beauty of his poems and the themes touched upon in them, and more importantly, in Frankenstein. In turning to literature to realize his alchemical and revolutionary goals, Shelley was again echoing a preoccupation of Weishaupt’s Illuminati. Again, Weishaupt anticipates yet another alchemical man of letters, Oscar Wilde, when he wrote “Nothing would be more profitable to us than a right history of mankind,”iv an insight that Wilde would epitomize in his essay “The Critic as Artist” in the words “the one duty we owe to history is to re-write it.” Shelley, as Dr. de Hart shows, beat Wilde to the punch, and realized the alchemical nature of literature first. In this, too, he was well steeped in the Illuminist agenda and methods, for yet again, Weishaupt would write that in order to aid in the agenda of the transformation of Western culture and society, We must acquire the direction of education—of church management—of the professorial chair, and of the pulpit. We must bring our opinions into fashion by every art—spread them among the people by the help of young writers. We must preach the warmest concern for humanity, and make people indifferent to all other relations. We must take care that our writers be well puffed, and that the Reviewers do not depreciate them; therefore we must endeavour by every means to gain over the Reviewers and Journalists; and we must also try to gain the booksellers, who in time will see that it is their interest to side with us.v Weishaupt could not have hoped for a more brilliant and gifted young writer than Percy Bysshe Shelley, for though there is no evidence that Shelley was ever a formal member of the Order, he had, through his own reading of Abbé Barruel and his own esoteric studies—a preoccupation Dr. de Hart skillfully demonstrates in the main text—imbibed the alchemical agenda of Illuminism. Indeed, as you will learn in these pages, Shelley was a prophet, anticipating the transhumanist thinkers of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries that Dr. de Hart and I reviewed in our previous book, Transhumanism: A Grimoire of Alchemical Altars and the Agenda for the Transformation of Man, by almost two hundred years, pouring his visions forth in poems of incomparable beauty and genius, and epitomizing it all in that transhumanist alchemical masterpiece Frankenstein—and you could not have a better guide through this dark and magical forest than Dr. de Hart. His case for Percy Shelley’s authorship of the novel is solid, and in the final analysis, almost irrefutable. It certainly will not gladden the entrenched interests of modern academic literary criticism, but it is a case that needs to be made, for so long as the novel’s true author remains unknown, its dark yet brilliant themes, its alchemical, transhumanist purpose, will be—as they have been—profoundly misunderstood. This is a valuable, and in my opinion, indispensible contribution not only to literary criticism, but more importantly to our understanding of the modern transhumanist world emerging all around us. Shelley was its prophet, and Dr. de Hart is, as you will now see, the capable expositor of Shelley’s vision. —JOSEPH P. FARRELL, D.PHIL. (OXON) 2012 

i John Robison, A.M., Proofs of a Conspiracy (Western Islands, 1967), p. 77. 

ii Ibid., p. 77. 

iii Robison, Proofs of a Conspiracy, p. 85. 

iv Ibid., p. 91. 

v Robison, Proofs of a Conspiracy, p. 109.

FRANKENSTEIN;

OR,

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

---

CHAPTER I.

Nothing is more painful to the human mind, than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows, and deprives the soul both of hope and fear. Justine died; she rested; and I was alive. The blood flowed freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my heart, which nothing could remove. Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more, much more, (I persuaded myself) was yet behind. Yet my heart overflowed with kindness, and the love of virtue. I had begun life with benevolent intentions, and thirsted for the moment when I should put them in practice, and make myself useful to my fellow-beings. Now all was blasted: instead of that serenity of conscience, which allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures, such as no language can describe.

This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had entirely recovered from the first shock it had sustained. I shunned the face of man; all sound of joy or complacency was torture to me; solitude was my only consolation—deep, dark, death-like solitude.

My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my disposition and habits, and endeavoured to reason with me on the folly of giving way to immoderate grief. “Do you think, Victor,” said he, “that I do not suffer also? No one could love a child more than I loved your brother;” (tears came into his eyes as he spoke); “but is it not a duty to the survivors, that we should refrain from augmenting their unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty owed to yourself; for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment, or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no man is fit for society.”

This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I should have been the first to hide my grief, and console my friends, if remorse had not mingled its bitterness with my other sensations. Now I could only answer my father with a look of despair, and endeavour to hide myself from his view.

About this time we retired to our house at Belrive. This change was particularly agreeable to me. The shutting of the gates regularly at ten o’clock, and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that hour, had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome to me. I was now free. Often, after the rest of the family had retired for the night, I took the boat, and passed many hours upon the water. Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and sometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to pursue its own course, and gave way to my own miserable reflections. I was often tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and heavenly, if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and interrupted croaking was heard only when I approached the shore—often, I say, I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters might close over me and my calamities for ever. But I was restrained, when I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly loved, and whose existence was bound up in mine. I thought also of my father, and surviving brother: should I by my base desertion leave them exposed and unprotected to the malice of the fiend whom I had let loose among them?

At these moments I wept bitterly, and wished that peace would revisit my mind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that could not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of unalterable evils; and I lived in daily fear, lest the monster whom I had created should perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure feeling that all was not over, and that he would still commit some signal crime, which by its enormity should almost efface the recollection of the past. There was always scope for fear, so long as any thing I loved remained behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot be conceived. When I thought of him, I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I, when there, have precipitated him to their base. I wished to see him again, that I might wreak the utmost extent of anger on his head, and avenge the deaths of William and Justine.

Our house was the house of mourning. My father’s health was deeply shaken by the horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and desponding; she no longer took delight in her ordinary occupations; all pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead; eternal woe and tears she then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocence so blasted and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature, who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake, and talked with ecstacy of our future prospects. She had become grave, and often conversed of the inconstancy of fortune, and the instability of human life.

“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she, “on the miserable death of Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before appeared to me. Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and injustice, that I read in books or heard from others, as tales of ancient days, or imaginary evils; at least they were remote, and more familiar to reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other’s blood. Yet I am certainly unjust. Every body believed that poor girl to be guilty; and if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly she would have been the most depraved of human creatures. For the sake of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend, a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if it had been her own! I could not consent to the death of any human being; but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to remain in the society of men. Yet she was innocent. I know, I feel she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that confirms me. Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were walking on the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding, and endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and Justine were assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free, and perhaps respected. But even if I were condemned to suffer on the scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a wretch.”

I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I, not in deed, but in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my countenance, and kindly taking my hand said, “My dearest cousin, you must calm yourself. These events have affected me, God knows how deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance, that makes me tremble. Be calm, my dear Victor; I would sacrifice my life to your peace. We surely shall be happy: quiet in our native country, and not mingling in the world, what can disturb our tranquillity?”

She shed tears as she said this, distrusting the very solace that she gave; but at the same time she smiled, that she might chase away the fiend that lurked in my heart. My father, who saw in the unhappiness that was painted in my face only an exaggeration of that sorrow which I might naturally feel, thought that an amusement suited to my taste would be the best means of restoring to me my wonted serenity. It was from this cause that he had removed to the country; and, induced by the same motive, he now proposed that we should all make an excursion to the valley of Chamounix. I had been there before, but Elizabeth and Ernest never had; and both had often expressed an earnest desire to see the scenery of this place, which had been described to them as so wonderful and sublime. Accordingly we departed from Geneva on this tour about the middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of Justine.

The weather was uncommonly fine; and if mine had been a sorrow to be chased away by any fleeting circumstance, this excursion would certainly have had the effect intended by my father. As it was, I was somewhat interested in the scene; it sometimes lulled, although it could not extinguish my grief. During the first day we travelled in a carriage. In the morning we had seen the mountains at a distance, towards which we gradually advanced. We perceived that the valley through which we wound, and which was formed by the river Arve, whose course we followed, closed in upon us by degrees; and when the sun had set, we beheld immense mountains and precipices overhanging us on every side, and heard the sound of the river raging among rocks, and the dashing of water-falls around.

The next day we pursued our journey upon mules; and as we ascended still higher, the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character. Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains; the impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from among the trees, formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and shining pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another earth, the habitations of another race of beings.

We passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine, which the river forms, opened before us, and we began to ascend the mountain that overhangs it. Soon after we entered the valley of Chamounix. This valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and picturesque as that of Servox, through which we had just passed. The high and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries; but we saw no more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers approached the road; we heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche, and marked the smoke of its passage. Mont Blânc, the supreme and magnificent Mont Blânc, raised itself from the surrounding aiguilles, and its tremendous dome overlooked the valley.

During this journey, I sometimes joined Elizabeth, and exerted myself to point out to her the various beauties of the scene. I often suffered my mule to lag behind, and indulged in the misery of reflection. At other times I spurred on the animal before my companions, that I might forget them, the world, and, more than all, myself. When at a distance, I alighted, and threw myself on the grass, weighed down by horror and despair. At eight in the evening I arrived at Chamounix. My father and Elizabeth were very much fatigued; Ernest, who accompanied us, was delighted, and in high spirits: the only circumstance that detracted from his pleasure was the south wind, and the rain it seemed to promise for the next day.

We retired early to our apartments, but not to sleep; at least I did not. I remained many hours at the window, watching the pallid lightning that played above Mont Blânc, and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which ran below my window.

---

CHAPTER II.

The next day, contrary to the prognostications of our guides, was fine, although clouded. We visited the source of the Arveiron, and rode about the valley until evening. These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving. They elevated me from all littleness of feeling; and although they did not remove my grief, they subdued and tranquillized it. In some degree, also, they diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the last month. I returned in the evening, fatigued, but less unhappy, and conversed with my family with more cheerfulness than had been my custom for some time. My father was pleased, and Elizabeth overjoyed. “My dear cousin,” said she, “you see what happiness you diffuse when you are happy; do not relapse again!”

The following morning the rain poured down in torrents, and thick mists hid the summits of the mountains. I rose early, but felt unusually melancholy. The rain depressed me; my old feelings recurred, and I was miserable. I knew how disappointed my father would be at this sudden change, and I wished to avoid him until I had recovered myself so far as to be enabled to conceal those feelings that overpowered me. I knew that they would remain that day at the inn; and as I had ever inured myself to rain, moisture, and cold, I resolved to go alone to the summit of Montanvert. I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it. It had then filled me with a sublime ecstacy that gave wings to the soul, and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy. The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the effect of solemnizing my mind, and causing me to forget the passing cares of life. I determined to go alone, for I was well acquainted with the path, and the presence of another would destroy the solitary grandeur of the scene.

The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short windings, which enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the mountain. It is a scene terrifically desolate. In a thousand spots the traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie broken and strewed on the ground; some entirely destroyed, others bent, leaning upon the jutting rocks of the mountain, or transversely upon other trees. The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines of snow, down which stones continually roll from above; one of them is particularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even speaking in a loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to draw destruction upon the head of the speaker. The pines are not tall or luxuriant, but they are sombre, and add an air of severity to the scene. I looked on the valley beneath; vast mists were rising from the rivers which ran through it, and curling in thick wreaths around the opposite mountains, whose summits were hid in the uniform clouds, while rain poured from the dark sky, and added to the melancholy impression I received from the objects around me. Alas! why does man boast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by every wind that blows, and a chance word or scene that that word may convey to us.

We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.We rise; one wand’ring thought pollutes the day.We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh, or weep,Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,The path of its departure still is free.Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;Nought may endure but mutability!

It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent. For some time I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice. A mist covered both that and the surrounding mountains. Presently a breeze dissipated the cloud, and I descended upon the glacier. The surface is very uneven, rising like the waves of a troubled sea, descending low, and interspersed by rifts that sink deep. The field of ice is almost a league in width, but I spent nearly two hours in crossing it. The opposite mountain is a bare perpendicular rock. From the side where I now stood Montanvert was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league; and above it rose Mont Blânc, in awful majesty. I remained in a recess of the rock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene. The sea, or rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains, whose aërial summits hung over its recesses. Their icy and glittering peaks shone in the sunlight over the clouds. My heart, which was before sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy; I exclaimed—“Wandering spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your narrow beds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion, away from the joys of life.”

As I said this, I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance, advancing towards me with superhuman speed. He bounded over the crevices in the ice, among which I had walked with caution; his stature also, as he approached, seemed to exceed that of man. I was troubled: a mist came over my eyes, and I felt a faintness seize me; but I was quickly restored by the cold gale of the mountains. I perceived, as the shape came nearer, (sight tremendous and abhorred!) that it was the wretch whom I had created. I trembled with rage and horror, resolving to wait his approach, and then close with him in mortal combat. He approached; his countenance bespoke bitter anguish, combined with disdain and malignity, while its unearthly ugliness rendered it almost too horrible for human eyes. But I scarcely observed this; anger and hatred had at first deprived me of utterance, and I recovered only to overwhelm him with words expressive of furious detestation and contempt.

“Devil!” I exclaimed, “do you dare approach me? and do not you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? Begone, vile insect! or rather stay, that I may trample you to dust! and, oh, that I could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore those victims whom you have so diabolically murdered!”

“I expected this reception,” said the dæmon. “All men hate the wretched; how then must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.”

“Abhorred monster! fiend that thou art! the tortures of hell are too mild a vengeance for thy crimes. Wretched devil! you reproach me with your creation; come on then, that I may extinguish the spark which I so negligently bestowed.”

My rage was without bounds; I sprang on him, impelled by all the feelings which can arm one being against the existence of another.

He easily eluded me, and said,

“Be calm! I entreat you to hear me, before you give vent to your hatred on my devoted head. Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to increase my misery? Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it. Remember, thou hast made me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine; my joints more supple. But I will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to thee. I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king, if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other, and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. Remember, that I am thy creature: I ought to be thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Every where I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.”

“Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no community between you and me; we are enemies. Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, in which one must fall.”

“How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion? Believe me, Frankenstein: I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity: but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow-creatures, who owe me nothing? they spurn and hate me. The desert mountains and dreary glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here many days; the caves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the only one which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they are kinder to me than your fellow-beings. If the multitude of mankind knew of my existence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for my destruction. Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no terms with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my wretchedness. Yet it is in your power to recompense me, and deliver them from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great, that not only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be swallowed up in the whirlwinds of its rage. Let your compassion be moved, and do not disdain me. Listen to my tale: when you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me. The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they may be, to speak in their own defence before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I ask you not to spare me: listen to me; and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of your hands.”

“Why do you call to my remembrance circumstances of which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author? Cursed be the day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw light! Cursed (although I curse myself) be the hands that formed you! You have made me wretched beyond expression. You have left me no power to consider whether I am just to you, or not. Begone! relieve me from the sight of your detested form.”

“Thus I relieve thee, my creator,” he said, and placed his hated hands before my eyes, which I flung from me with violence; “thus I take from thee a sight which you abhor. Still thou canst listen to me, and grant me thy compassion. By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this from you. Hear my tale; it is long and strange, and the temperature of this place is not fitting to your fine sensations; come to the hut upon the mountain. The sun is yet high in the heavens; before it descends to hide itself behind yon snowy precipices, and illuminate another world, you will have heard my story, and can decide. On you it rests, whether I quit for ever the neighbourhood of man, and lead a harmless life, or become the scourge of your fellow-creatures, and the author of your own speedy ruin.”

As he said this, he led the way across the ice: I followed. My heart was full, and I did not answer him; but, as I proceeded, I weighed the various arguments that he had used, and determined at least to listen to his tale. I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my resolution. I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my brother, and I eagerly sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion. For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I complained of his wickedness. These motives urged me to comply with his demand. We crossed the ice, therefore, and ascended the opposite rock. The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend: we entered the hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy heart, and depressed spirits. But I consented to listen; and, seating myself by the fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus began his tale.

HUGH : The First Millennial Boy

Hugh interfaced with the others and transferred his sense of individuality to them. 

It nearly destroyed them. 

O Pirates, yes, they rob I

Sold I to the merchant ships

Minutes after they took I

From the bottomless pits

“We’ve actually been deluding ourselves in a lot of ways.

Beyond that, I found we’ve actually been deluding ourselves in the worst way of all by •believing• in The Individual.

• Stay with me on this. •

JANIS IAN :

How do you spell your name again, Caddie?

CADY (Prounounced ‘Kay-Dee’) HERON :

It's ‘Cady’. C-A-D-Y.

JANIS IAN :

— Yeah, I'm gonna call you ‘Caddie’.

[Ten Forward]

LAFORGE: 

You know, it's funny. 

When I first creating this invasive programme I didn't have a problem with it. The more I work with Hugh, the more I -

GUINAN: 

Hugh?

LAFORGE: 

That's what we call him.

GUINAN: 

You named the Borg? 

LAFORGE: 

Well, it was easier to have something to call him.

GUINAN: 

Oh, so now you have a Borg named Hugh.

LAFORGE: 

Right. And he's nothing like what I expected.

GUINAN: How so?

LAFORGE: I don't know. It's like he's just some kid who's far way from home.

GUINAN: Do you know that you're the second person today to refer to that Borg as though it were some sort of lost child.

LAFORGE: Anyway, I'm having second thoughts about what we're doing here. I mean, programming him like some sort of walking bomb. Sending him back to destroy the others.

GUINAN: Let me tell you something. When that kid's big brothers come looking for him, they're not going to stop until they find him. And then they're going to come looking for us, and they will destroy us. And they will not do any of the soul-searching that you are apparently doing right now.

LAFORGE: Then why don't you go and talk to him. It might not be so clear cut then.

GUINAN: Because I wouldn't have anything to say.

LAFORGE: Then why don't you just listen? That is what you do best, isn't it?

[Brig]

GUINAN: You don't look so tough.

BORG: We are Borg.

GUINAN: Aren't you going to tell me you have to assimilate me?

BORG: You wish to be assimilated?

GUINAN: No, but that's what you things do, isn't it?

(a nod) 

GUINAN: Resistance is futile. 

BORG: Resistance is futile.

GUINAN: It isn't. My people resisted when the Borg came to assimilate us. Some of us survived.

BORG: Resistance is not futile? 

GUINAN: No. But thanks to you, there are very few of us left. We're scattered throughout the galaxy. We don't even have a home any more. 

BORG: What you are saying is that you are lonely.

GUINAN: What?

BORG: You have no others. You have no home. We are also lonely.

[Science lab]

BORG: What is Geordi doing?

LAFORGE: I'm studying the components in your prosthesis.

BORG: Why?

LAFORGE: We're trying to learn more about you.

BORG: Why?

LAFORGE: Because you're different than we are. Part of what we do is to learn more about other species.

BORG: We assimilate species. Then we know everything about them.

LAFORGE: Yeah. I know.

BORG: Is that not easier?

LAFORGE: Maybe it is. It's just not what we do.

BORG: Why?

LAFORGE: All right, think of it this way. 

Every time you talk about yourself, you use the word we. 

We want this, we want that. 

You don't even know how to think of yourself as a single individual. 

[ He isn’t. ]

You don't say, 

“I want this”, 

or 

“I am Hugh.”

We are all separate individuals. 

“I am Geordi.”

“I choose what I want to do with my life.”

“I make decisions for myself. For somebody like me, losing that sense of individuality is almost worse than dying.”

BORG: 

When you sleep, there are no other voices in your mind?

LAFORGE: 

No.

[ YES. ]

BORG: 

Are you ever lonely?

LAFORGE: 

Sometimes. But that's why we have friends.

BORG: 

Friends?

LAFORGE: 

Sure. Someone you talk to, who will be with you when you're lonely. 

Someone who makes you feel better.

BORG: 

Like Geordi and Hugh.

RUTH

“Usually I find that if I ask people for help, they're happy to give it.”

“That has not been my experience.”

HUGH, Not of-Borg :

Dr. Asha. Your work here has always been excellent, but speaking to a Nameless in his own language? Outstanding.

Dr SOJI ASHA :

You taught me that even a few words in the mother tongue can be soothing.

Even in an unconscious state.

HUGH, Not of-Borg :

There is no more despised people in the galaxy than the xBs.

People either see us as property to be exploited or as a hazard to be warehoused.

Our hosts, the Romulans, have a more expansive vision.

They see us as both.

Dr SOJI ASHA :

I hate it.

HUGH, Not of-Borg :

You're different.

Dr SOJI ASHA :

Thank you.

HUGH, Not of-Borg :

I've decided to let you have your interview with Ramdha.

Dr SOJI ASHA :

Oh, my God, really? 

HUGH, Not of-Borg :

You've been pestering me about it for a long time.

After today, I'm inclined to grant your request.

Dr SOJI ASHA :

Tell me, why? 

HUGH, Not of-Borg :

How much do you know about Ramdha before she was assimilated? 

Dr SOJI ASHA :

Have you read her Romulan dossier? 

HUGH, Not of-Borg :

Of course not.

Wait, have you? 

How did you manage that? 

Dr SOJI ASHA :

I just sort of asked to see it.

Dr SOJI ASHA,

Daughter(?) of Data :

Usually I find that if I ask people for help, they're happy to give it.

HUGH, Not of-Borg,

Son of None :

That has not been my experience.

In particular with Romulans.

Dr SOJI ASHA :

Ramdha was the foremost expert on ancient Romulan myth.

She wrote books about it.

HUGH, Not of-Borg :

And this interest of hers links you to her work how? 

Dr SOJI ASHA :

There is ample evidence for the therapeutic utility of a shared mythical framework.

HUGH, Not of-Borg :

30 minutes.

As an experiment.

Then we'll see how that goes.

“ They would have flown off to find meat then, but a new sound split the air atop the tower: the sound of time and space being ripped apart. It was a sound the lovers had never heard before. 

They watched in amazement as a new pylon appeared on the roof top, a red light flashing on top of it. The light stopped flashing when it was fully materialised. The side of the pylon opened, and out stepped a woman. 

She was tall and straight-backed, wearing a neat black trouser-suit and a silver belt. From it hung a number of utility packs. Her hair was bound severely back to her head, and her features were sharp and inquisitive. 

Strangely, she sported a bruise across her cheek. She'd done nothing to hide it. The only ostentation about her was a necklace of golden spheres. "Ah." she said to Jake, smiling politely. "There you are." 

"You were expecting us, like?" Jake advanced with a cheeky grin, the courage that indestructability gave you.  

"Somebody like you, yes. My name is Ruathadvorophrenaltid. Call me Ruath. And you are?" 

Romana was walking back to her new quarters, she bumped into a fellow Time Lady who was hurrying round a corner. They exchanged apologies and Romana studied her new acquaintance with interest. 

She was tall and straight-backed, wearing a neat black trouser-suit and a silver belt. Fashions must have changed since Romana was last on Gallifrey. 

She had sharp inquisitive features, scraped-back hair and she wore a necklace of golden spheres. "Ruathadvorophrenaltid," she said formally, adding as one did if one was prepared to be friendly, "Ruath." 

"Romanadvoratrelundar," said Romana. "Romana." 

"I was hurrying to see the Doctor," said Ruath. "I heard he'd had an encounter with some vampires, and vampirism is a particular study of mine." 

"I'm afraid you've missed the Doctor," said Romana. "But perhaps I can help? I spent quite a lot of time on the vampire planet myself." 

"Oh, really? You know, that would be a help. Could you spare some time to help me complete my research notes?" 

"Of course. When would suit you?" 

"I'm not busy at the moment." Romana smiled. "Well, let's talk while my memories are still fresh, then. Would you care for a cup of synthetic artificial tea replacement? I'm afraid it's all I've got at the moment" 

Ruath inclined her head. "That would be very nice."

Ruath made a spire with her fingers, visibly calming herself. "Well. This is a set-back. It means that I shall have to do something that I didn't want to do. Rather a last resort, in fact." 

She unhooked the Child from the blood circulation system, a look of quiet determination on her face. "I knew that it might come to this. I shall have to give Yarven my own blood."  

She opened a hatch on the console and pressed a series of controls. The console room darkened as power drained away from the walls. A door opened overhead and a crystalline probe descended, a glowing series of interlocking cylinders. From the wall a metal chair emerged, with a heavy rubber tube connected to each arm rest. The chair had metal cuffs at the hands and feet. Ruath quickly sat in it, and began locking the ankle cuffs. 

"During this process, I must ask you to ignore any pleas for help I might make," she told the vampires. "It's not going to be pleasant, but one has to make sacrifices for the cause. It's about time somebody did." She looked up at Madelaine suddenly, while securing the first wrist cuff, and shrugged. "I mean, it may be fine. All I'm saying is, if I scream and plead, please ignore it. It's all for the best." Madelaine nodded. "We understand." Jeremy helped to connect up the other cuff: "Be careful," he advised. 

"Sorry, no." Ruath took a deep breath. "Activate speed plasma drill, then full rejuvenation. Thank you, all. Goodbye." 

There was a sudden thump of machinery and Ruath sucked in a breath, slamming her back up against the chair. A sharp sound came from the cuffs, and she bit her lip. A powerful liquid throbbing resonated through the fabric of the console room, and Ruath closed her eyes. She was getting whiter as the vampires watched, blue veins starting to stand out on her neck. Her skin became flaccid and dull, and her lips were the grey of death. She was silent throughout, her chin held up and still. The roaring stopped. Ruath's head fell forward, the muscles no longer strong enough to hold it. "She's given everything," whispered Jeremy. "All her blood." 

Suddenly the crystal lattice in the ceiling began to pulse, and the grating sound of take-off filled the room. The walls reflected the beat of the light, the whole craft booming with noise and glare. Ruath's face took on the colour of the light, an orange glow that enveloped it and held to it like a second skin. The glare spread to cover her body. The vampires staggered, their senses suddenly full of a rich, organic scent. The glow flared to white light around Ruath, and she was gone. Then, everything stopped. The light faded, all was silent. The cuffs opened, and somebody fell forward from Ruath's seat. Somebody dressed in a red velvet gown and long gloves. Her hair was different too, black and flowing to her waist. Jeremy ran to the new arrival and helped her stand. "Who are you?" he asked, amazed. 

"Why, Jeremy," the voice was rich and full of laughter, "it's me. Ruath. Ruath number three. A new body, a whole new me." Even the bruise had vanished. She raised her elegant hands to her face and grinned at them. "Isn't it wonderful!" 

"I agree!" The new voice caused the vampires to spin around. It was powerful and dark, with a cultured edge to it. It came from a patch of shadow and mist that had risen around the remains of the silver hammock, now a pile of tatters on the floor. 

The darkness resolved itself into a cloaked figure, a thin, sharp-faced man with shining eyes and a neatly pointed beard. He was dressed in the garb of an aristocrat, waistcoat and boots set with silver buckles and purple silks. He held his hand out in demand. "Give me the ring," he commanded. Ruath quickly reached into one of the pouches her new gown had around its waist, and threw the silver band to the man. It sped through the air and spun onto his upraised finger. 

"I am Yarven," he said. "Lord of the House of Yar. Last survivor of the Great Vampire's progeny, father to all the Earth's Undead. 

I am the Vampire Messiah. Kneel before me." 

They all did so. Even the Child. "Good. . ." 

Yarven looked around slowly, delighting in his new strength. "You have done well, my children, to free me from my long imprisonment. 

Especially you, Ruath, who are of the same blood as that insolent wench Romana. 

You honour the Time Lords with your actions." 

Ruath looked up at Yarven, her green eyes glittering. "You have been treated with Numismaton gas, my Lord. Your body is awash with symbiotic nuclei. Do you not feel the joined power of both Time Lord and Vampire?" 

Yarven threw his head back and laughed in joy. 

"Yes! I do feel it. It is a magnificent sensation, the ability to travel through time and space. Name your boon, Ruath, for I would grant anything to the one who has given me such freedom."

Ruath licked her lips. "I desire nothing more than for our bloodlines to be joined. I have done this for you, Lord. Do the same for me." 

"Very well." Yarven opened his arms. "Come to me." Ruath stood and walked to him, still unsteady. 

He put a hand on both of her shoulders. "You will be my consort," he told her. "We shall be King and Queen of the Night, and we will unite all of human and Time Lord society in the great communion of the Undead. 

We shall feed through all time and space. 

There will be no limit to the letting of blood in our name, and no power in the universe to challenge us. 

You, with the wisdom of your people, have brought us this far. 

Together, nothing is beyond our reach." 

He bent forward and bit her, drawing his cloak around her as she cried out at the sensation.

History being born, a grand marriage of peoples and destinies. Her own wish made flesh. Ruath could feel the new principles taking root in her, the new abilities rushing to remake her genes. 

Holding her against him, Yarven raised his head once more and bared his bloody fangs. Her blood was dripping off them, Ruath realised with a little shudder of delight. "Thus it begins!" bellowed Yarven, his voice full of the lust of blood. "The time of humanity on this world has come to an end. The long night is starting!" He spread his arms wide and shouted a berserker shout. "The age of the Undead is upon us!"

Ruth

Chapter 1

1 Now it came to pass in the days when the judges ruled, that there was a famine in the land. And a certain man of Bethlehemjudah went to sojourn in the country of Moab, he, and his wife, and his two sons.

2 And the name of the man was Elimelech, and the name of his wife Naomi, and the name of his two sons Mahlon and Chilion, Ephrathites of Bethlehemjudah. And they came into the country of Moab, and continued there.

3 And Elimelech Naomi's husband died; and she was left, and her two sons.

4 And they took them wives of the women of Moab; the name of the one was Orpah, and the name of the other Ruth: and they dwelled there about ten years.

5 And Mahlon and Chilion died also both of them; and the woman was left of her two sons and her husband.

6 Then she arose with her daughters in law, that she might return from the country of Moab: for she had heard in the country of Moab how that the LORD had visited his people in giving them bread.

7 Wherefore she went forth out of the place where she was, and her two daughters in law with her; and they went on the way to return unto the land of Judah.

8 And Naomi said unto her two daughters in law, Go, return each to her mother's house: the LORD deal kindly with you, as ye have dealt with the dead, and with me.

9 The LORD grant you that ye may find rest, each of you in the house of her husband. Then she kissed them; and they lifted up their voice, and wept.

10 And they said unto her, Surely we will return with thee unto thy people.

11 And Naomi said, Turn again, my daughters: why will ye go with me? are there yet any more sons in my womb, that they may be your husbands?

12 Turn again, my daughters, go your way; for I am too old to have an husband. If I should say, I have hope, if I should have an husband also to night, and should also bear sons;

13 Would ye tarry for them till they were grown? would ye stay for them from having husbands? nay, my daughters; for it grieveth me much for your sakes that the hand of the LORD is gone out against me.

14 And they lifted up their voice, and wept again: and Orpah kissed her mother in law; but Ruth clave unto her.

15 And she said, Behold, thy sister in law is gone back unto her people, and unto her gods: return thou after thy sister in law.

16 And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:

17 Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the LORD do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.

18 When she saw that she was stedfastly minded to go with her, then she left speaking unto her.

19 So they two went until they came to Bethlehem. And it came to pass, when they were come to Bethlehem, that all the city was moved about them, and they said, Is this Naomi?

20 And she said unto them, Call me not Naomi, call me Mara: for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me.

21 I went out full, and the LORD hath brought me home again empty: why then call ye me Naomi, seeing the LORD hath testified against me, and the Almighty hath afflicted me?

22 So Naomi returned, and Ruth the Moabitess, her daughter in law, with her, which returned out of the country of Moab: and they came to Bethlehem in the beginning of barley harvest.

Ruth

Chapter 2

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1 And Naomi had a kinsman of her husband's, a mighty man of wealth, of the family of Elimelech; and his name was Boaz.

2 And Ruth the Moabitess said unto Naomi, Let me now go to the field, and glean ears of corn after him in whose sight I shall find grace. And she said unto her, Go, my daughter.

3 And she went, and came, and gleaned in the field after the reapers: and her hap was to light on a part of the field belonging unto Boaz, who was of the kindred of Elimelech.

4 And, behold, Boaz came from Bethlehem, and said unto the reapers, The LORD be with you. And they answered him, The LORD bless thee.

5 Then said Boaz unto his servant that was set over the reapers, Whose damsel is this?

6 And the servant that was set over the reapers answered and said, It is the Moabitish damsel that came back with Naomi out of the country of Moab:

7 And she said, I pray you, let me glean and gather after the reapers among the sheaves: so she came, and hath continued even from the morning until now, that she tarried a little in the house.

8 Then said Boaz unto Ruth, Hearest thou not, my daughter? Go not to glean in another field, neither go from hence, but abide here fast by my maidens:

9 Let thine eyes be on the field that they do reap, and go thou after them: have I not charged the young men that they shall not touch thee? and when thou art athirst, go unto the vessels, and drink of that which the young men have drawn.

10 Then she fell on her face, and bowed herself to the ground, and said unto him, Why have I found grace in thine eyes, that thou shouldest take knowledge of me, seeing I am a stranger?

11 And Boaz answered and said unto her, It hath fully been shewed me, all that thou hast done unto thy mother in law since the death of thine husband: and how thou hast left thy father and thy mother, and the land of thy nativity, and art come unto a people which thou knewest not heretofore.

12 The LORD recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the LORD God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust.

13 Then she said, Let me find favour in thy sight, my lord; for that thou hast comforted me, and for that thou hast spoken friendly unto thine handmaid, though I be not like unto one of thine handmaidens.

14 And Boaz said unto her, At mealtime come thou hither, and eat of the bread, and dip thy morsel in the vinegar. And she sat beside the reapers: and he reached her parched corn, and she did eat, and was sufficed, and left.

15 And when she was risen up to glean, Boaz commanded his young men, saying, Let her glean even among the sheaves, and reproach her not:

16 And let fall also some of the handfuls of purpose for her, and leave them, that she may glean them, and rebuke her not.

17 So she gleaned in the field until even, and beat out that she had gleaned: and it was about an ephah of barley.

18 And she took it up, and went into the city: and her mother in law saw what she had gleaned: and she brought forth, and gave to her that she had reserved after she was sufficed.

19 And her mother in law said unto her, Where hast thou gleaned to day? and where wroughtest thou? blessed be he that did take knowledge of thee. And she shewed her mother in law with whom she had wrought, and said, The man's name with whom I wrought to day is Boaz.

20 And Naomi said unto her daughter in law, Blessed be he of the LORD, who hath not left off his kindness to the living and to the dead. And Naomi said unto her, The man is near of kin unto us, one of our next kinsmen.

21 And Ruth the Moabitess said, He said unto me also, Thou shalt keep fast by my young men, until they have ended all my harvest.

22 And Naomi said unto Ruth her daughter in law, It is good, my daughter, that thou go out with his maidens, that they meet thee not in any other field.

23 So she kept fast by the maidens of Boaz to glean unto the end of barley harvest and of wheat harvest; and dwelt with her mother in law.

Ruth

Chapter 3

1 Then Naomi her mother in law said unto her, My daughter, shall I not seek rest for thee, that it may be well with thee?

2 And now is not Boaz of our kindred, with whose maidens thou wast? Behold, he winnoweth barley to night in the threshingfloor.

3 Wash thyself therefore, and anoint thee, and put thy raiment upon thee, and get thee down to the floor: but make not thyself known unto the man, until he shall have done eating and drinking.

4 And it shall be, when he lieth down, that thou shalt mark the place where he shall lie, and thou shalt go in, and uncover his feet, and lay thee down; and he will tell thee what thou shalt do.

5 And she said unto her, All that thou sayest unto me I will do.

6 And she went down unto the floor, and did according to all that her mother in law bade her.

7 And when Boaz had eaten and drunk, and his heart was merry, he went to lie down at the end of the heap of corn: and she came softly, and uncovered his feet, and laid her down.

8 And it came to pass at midnight, that the man was afraid, and turned himself: and, behold, a woman lay at his feet.

9 And he said, Who art thou? And she answered, I am Ruth thine handmaid: spread therefore thy skirt over thine handmaid; for thou art a near kinsman.

10 And he said, Blessed be thou of the LORD, my daughter: for thou hast shewed more kindness in the latter end than at the beginning, inasmuch as thou followedst not young men, whether poor or rich.

11 And now, my daughter, fear not; I will do to thee all that thou requirest: for all the city of my people doth know that thou art a virtuous woman.

12 And now it is true that I am thy near kinsman: howbeit there is a kinsman nearer than I.

13 Tarry this night, and it shall be in the morning, that if he will perform unto thee the part of a kinsman, well; let him do the kinsman's part: but if he will not do the part of a kinsman to thee, then will I do the part of a kinsman to thee, as the LORD liveth: lie down until the morning.

14 And she lay at his feet until the morning: and she rose up before one could know another. And he said, Let it not be known that a woman came into the floor.

15 Also he said, Bring the vail that thou hast upon thee, and hold it. And when she held it, he measured six measures of barley, and laid it on her: and she went into the city.

16 And when she came to her mother in law, she said, Who art thou, my daughter? And she told her all that the man had done to her.

17 And she said, These six measures of barley gave he me; for he said to me, Go not empty unto thy mother in law.

18 Then said she, Sit still, my daughter, until thou know how the matter will fall: for the man will not be in rest, until he have finished the thing this day.

Chapter 4

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1 Then went Boaz up to the gate, and sat him down there: and, behold, the kinsman of whom Boaz spake came by; unto whom he said, Ho, such a one! turn aside, sit down here. And he turned aside, and sat down.

2 And he took ten men of the elders of the city, and said, Sit ye down here. And they sat down.

3 And he said unto the kinsman, Naomi, that is come again out of the country of Moab, selleth a parcel of land, which was our brother Elimelech's:

4 And I thought to advertise thee, saying, Buy it before the inhabitants, and before the elders of my people. If thou wilt redeem it, redeem it: but if thou wilt not redeem it, then tell me, that I may know: for there is none to redeem it beside thee; and I am after thee. And he said, I will redeem it.

5 Then said Boaz, What day thou buyest the field of the hand of Naomi, thou must buy it also of Ruth the Moabitess, the wife of the dead, to raise up the name of the dead upon his inheritance.

6 And the kinsman said, I cannot redeem it for myself, lest I mar mine own inheritance: redeem thou my right to thyself; for I cannot redeem it.

7 Now this was the manner in former time in Israel concerning redeeming and concerning changing, for to confirm all things; a man plucked off his shoe, and gave it to his neighbour: and this was a testimony in Israel.

8 Therefore the kinsman said unto Boaz, Buy it for thee. So he drew off his shoe.

9 And Boaz said unto the elders, and unto all the people, Ye are witnesses this day, that I have bought all that was Elimelech's, and all that was Chilion's and Mahlon's, of the hand of Naomi.

10 Moreover Ruth the Moabitess, the wife of Mahlon, have I purchased to be my wife, to raise up the name of the dead upon his inheritance, that the name of the dead be not cut off from among his brethren, and from the gate of his place: ye are witnesses this day.

11 And all the people that were in the gate, and the elders, said, We are witnesses. The LORD make the woman that is come into thine house like Rachel and like Leah, which two did build the house of Israel: and do thou worthily in Ephratah, and be famous in Bethlehem:

12 And let thy house be like the house of Pharez, whom Tamar bare unto Judah, of the seed which the LORD shall give thee of this young woman.

13 So Boaz took Ruth, and she was his wife: and when he went in unto her, the LORD gave her conception, and she bare a son.

14 And the women said unto Naomi, Blessed be the LORD, which hath not left thee this day without a kinsman, that his name may be famous in Israel.

15 And he shall be unto thee a restorer of thy life, and a nourisher of thine old age: for thy daughter in law, which loveth thee, which is better to thee than seven sons, hath born him.

16 And Naomi took the child, and laid it in her bosom, and became nurse unto it.

17 And the women her neighbours gave it a name, saying, There is a son born to Naomi; and they called his name Obed: he is the father of Jesse, the father of David.

18 Now these are the generations of Pharez: Pharez begat Hezron,

19 And Hezron begat Ram, and Ram begat Amminadab,

20 And Amminadab begat Nahshon, and Nahshon begat Salmon,

21 And Salmon begat Boaz, and Boaz begat Obed,

22 And Obed begat Jesse, and Jesse begat David.