Although Mary Shelley in this chapter seems deliberately to be emphasizing the Creature's
"ardour" to place it within the context of the ambitions driving both Walton and Victor
Frankenstein (see paragraph 9 above and note), she is effectively contrasting them.
In the Creature's education language has a moral function, allowing communication
among beings and operating as an instrument by which they may think and feel in common.
True sympathy, the object of his utmost desire, is thus dependent upon language.

Here the Creature joins the other principal male figures of the novel in the diction
of burning intellectual ambition, repeating the phrasing earlier uttered by Walton
and by Victor Frankenstein: see I:L3:1 and I:2:7.

In Paradise Lost Satan bears this designation (I.81)—or is named Arch-foe (VI.259)—but
it is ironically reversed here to apply to the figure who stands in place of God.
Yet, to contemplate the phrase in isolation is to discern serious implications about
the relation between sire and scion of a type that have greatly concerned modern psychoanalytic
discourse.

The Creature's sense of his destiny stands in marked contrast to Victor's. Whereas
the scientist sees himself as passively compelled by his destiny within an obsessive
solitude, whether in his experiments with the principle of life or, later, in pursuit
of the being that is its result, the Creature conceives of himself instinctively within
a domesticated social context where he will be guided by others toward his self-realization.

The Creature had, of course, seen Victor before, but it was by dim moonlight, with
Victor first in bed, then rushing hastily from the room (I:4:3). This is his first
conscious encounter with another human being, whose mundane business is wholly disrupted
by this unanticipated and sublime intrusion.

The diction seems deliberately intended to evoke the end of Chapter 5 of Volume 1,
where a full year later Victor and Clerval return from their walking tour around Ingolstadt—"with
feelings of unbridled joy" (I:5:19)— to be greeted by a letter from Victor's father
announcing the death of his brother William.

It may be difficult for the reader to suspend prior knowledge of the plot at this
point and recall that Victor's one sighting of his Creature in the vicinity of Geneva
does not constitute proof that he has done anything transgressive, let alone has accomplished
the murder of William and the framing of Justine. Given what Victor actually knows
of his Creature, this first greeting of him would seem to testify to a psychological
disturbance, if not a real derangement. Certainly, he does not treat him as the prodigal
son returning to his rightful father.

Although there was relatively little Swiss (or German) emigration to the New World
by the time this novel was written, there was of course a great amount of it from
the country in which Frankenstein was published. Indeed, Percy Bysshe Shelley's grandfather
had been born in the British Colonies of North America (in Passaic, New Jersey), whence
he reimmigrated to Great Britain. The closest parallel for the Creature's plan, and
probably one that would be uppermost in the minds of a contemporary reader, was the
British penal colony established in 1788 at Botany Bay in Australia. There hardened
convicts were transported so as to rid honest citizens from their threat to the common
welfare. Over time, of course, these outcasts "civilized" a new continent.

In the 1818 edition the last noun of Volume 1, in Victor's narration, is "misery"
(I:7:33), and the second volume opens on a scene in which he draws further into himself
and his despair (II:1:1). Given the technical mastery of Frankenstein, it is thus
perhaps only to be expected that the Creature's autobiographical account should conclude
with the Creature in the exact condition of his Creator, sharing an existential misery
compounded of solitude and guilt.

This is not easy to visualize, but Mary Shelley twice emphasizes the presence of this
stye. She appears to do so for several interrelated reasons: in order to have a natural
bulwark against the Creature's being detected by the cottagers; to place the Creature
symbolically as close to the natural order as to human beings; and to reveal, against
our visceral repugnance at the accompanying noise and stench (if the De Lacey household
had been able to afford to keep a herd of swine), the level of subsistence to which
necessity has reduced this being after six weeks or so of his existence.