Frankenstein E-book
Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Genre: Literature, Supernatural, Terror
1818
FRANKENSTEIN
OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS
by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)
PREFACE
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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 develops; 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 avoiding the enervating effects of the novels of the
present day and to the exhibition of the amiableness of domestic
affection, and the excellence of universal virtue. The opinions
which naturally spring from the 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
anything 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.
-
Marlow, September, 1817.
LETTER I: To Mrs. Saville, England
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- St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17__
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YOU will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the
commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil
forebodings. I arrived here yesterday; and my first task is to
assure my dear sister of my welfare, and increasing confidence in
the success of my undertaking.
I am already far north of London; and as I walk in the streets
of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks,
which braces my nerves, and fills me with delight. Do you understand
this feeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions
towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy
climes. Inspirited by this wind of promise, my day dreams become
more fervent and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is
the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my
imagination as the region of beauty and delight. There, Margaret,
the sun is for ever visible its broad disc just skirting the
horizon, and diffusing a perpetual splendour. There- for with your
leave, my sister, I will put some trust in preceding navigators- there
snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a calm sea, we play
be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in beauty every region
hitherto discovered on the habitable globe. Its productions and
features may be without example, as the phenomena of the heavenly
bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered solitudes. What may not
be expected in a country of eternal light? I may there discover the
wondrous power which attracts the needle; and may regulate a
thousand celestial observations, that require only this voyage to
render their seeming eccentricities consistent forever. I shall
satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world
never before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by
the foot of man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient
to conquer all fear of danger or death, and to induce me to commence
this laborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in
a little boat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery
up his native river. But, supposing all these conjectures to be false,
you cannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all
mankind to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the pole
to those countries, to reach which at present so many months are
requisite; or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at
all possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine.
These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I
began my letter, and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which
elevates me to heaven; for nothing contributes so much to tranquillise
the mind as a steady purpose- a point on which the soul may fix its
intellectual eye. This expedition has been the favourite dream of my
early years. I have read with ardour the accounts of the various
voyages which have been made in the prospect of arriving at the
North Pacific Ocean through the seas which surround the pole. You
may remember that a history of all the voyages made for purposes of
discovery composed the whole of our good uncle Thomas's library. My
education was neglected, yet I was passionately fond of reading. These
volumes were my study day and night, and my familiarity with them
increased that regret which I had felt, as a child, on learning that
my father's dying injunction had forbidden my uncle to allow me to
embark in a seafaring life.
These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those
poets whose effusions entranced my soul, and lifted it to heaven. I
also became a poet, and for one year lived in a Paradise of my own
creation; I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple
where the names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated. You are well
acquainted with my failure, and how heavily I bore the disappointment.
But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my
thoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.
Six years have passed since I resolved on my present
undertaking. I can, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated
myself to this great enterprise. I commenced by inuring my body to
hardship. I accompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to
the North Sea; I voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of
sleep; I often worked harder than the common sailors during the day,
and devoted my nights to the study of mathematics, the theory of
medicine, and those branches of physical science from which a naval
adventurer might derive the greatest practical advantage. Twice I
actually hired myself as an under-mate in a Greenland whaler, and
acquitted myself to admiration. I must own I felt a little proud
when my captain offered me the second dignity in the vessel, and
entreated me to remain with the greatest earnestness; so valuable
did he consider my services.
And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some
great purpose? My life might have been passed in ease and luxury;
but I preferred glory to every enticement that wealth placed in my
path. Oh, that some encouraging voice would answer in the affirmative!
My courage and my resolution are firm; but my hopes fluctuate and my
spirits are often depressed. I am about to proceed on a long and
difficult voyage, the emergencies of which will demand all my
fortitude: I am required not only to raise the spirits of others,
but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing.
This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia.
They fly quickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is
pleasant, and, in my opinion, far more agreeable than that of an
English stage-coach. The cold is not excessive, if you are wrapped
in furs- a dress which I have already adopted; for there is a great
difference between walking the deck and remaining seated motionless
for hours, when no exercise prevents the blood from actually
freezing in your veins. I have no ambition to lose my life on the
post-road between St. Petersburgh and Archangel.
I shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three
weeks; and my intention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be
done by paying the insurance for the owner, and to engage as many
sailors as I think necessary among those who are accustomed to the
whale-fishing. I do not intend to sail until the month of June and
when shall I return? Ah, dear sister, how can I answer this
question? If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years, will pass
before you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon, or
never.
Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down
blessings on you, and save me, that I may again and again testify my
gratitude for all your love and kindness.- Your affectionate brother,
-
- R. Walton.
LETTER II
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- Archangel, March 28th, 17__
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HOW slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and
snow! yet a second step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired a
vessel, and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have
already engaged appear to be men on whom I can depend, and are
certainly possessed of dauntless courage.
But I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy;
and the absence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe
evil. I have no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the
enthusiasm of success, there will be none to participate my joy; if
I am assailed by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me
in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but
that is a poor medium for the communication of feeling. I desire the
company of a man who could sympathise with me; whose eyes would
reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I
bitterly feel the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle
yet courageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious
mind, whose tastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans.
How would such a friend repair the faults of your poor brother! I am
too ardent in execution, and too impatient of difficulties. But it
is a still greater evil to me that I am self-educated: for the first
fourteen years of my life I ran wild on a common, and read nothing but
our uncle Thomas's books of voyages. At that age I became acquainted
with the celebrated poets of our own country; but it was only when
it had ceased to be in my power to derive its most important
benefits from such a conviction that I perceived the necessity of
becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my native
country. Now I am twenty-eight, and am in reality more illiterate than
many schoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more, and
that my day dreams are more extended and magnificent; but they want
(as the painters call it) keeping; and I greatly need a friend who
would have sense enough not to despise me as romantic, and affection
enough for me to endeavour to regulate my mind.
Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no
friend on the wide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among
merchants and seamen. Yet some feelings, unallied to the dross of
human nature, beat even in these rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for
instance, is a man of wonderful courage and enterprise; he is madly
desirous of glory: or rather, to word my phrase more
characteristically, of advancement in his profession. He is an
Englishman, and in the midst of national and professional
prejudices, unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest
endowments of humanity. I first became acquainted with him on board
a whale vessel: finding that he was unemployed in this city, I
easily engaged him to assist in my enterprise.
The master is a person of an excellent disposition, and is
remarkable in the ship for his gentleness and the mildness of his
discipline. This circumstance, added to his well known integrity and
dauntless courage, made me very desirous to engage him. A youth passed
in solitude, my best years spent under your gentle and feminine
fosterage, has so refined the groundwork of my character that I cannot
overcome an intense distaste to the usual brutality exercised on board
ship: have never believed it to be necessary; and when I heard of a
mariner equally noted for his kindliness of heart, and the respect and
obedience paid to him by his crew, I felt myself peculiarly
fortunate in being able to secure his services. I heard of him first
in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the happiness
of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago he loved a
young Russian lady of moderate fortune; and having amassed a
considerable sum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented to
the match. He saw his mistress once before the destined ceremony;
but she was bathed in tears, and, throwing herself at his feet,
entreated him to spare her, confessing at the same time that she loved
another, but that he was poor, and that her father would never consent
to the union. My generous friend reassured the suppliant, and on being
informed of the name of her lover, instantly abandoned his pursuit. He
had already bought a farm with his money, on which he had designed
to pass the remainder of his life; but he bestowed the whole on his
rival, together with the remains of his prize-money to purchase stock,
and then himself solicited the young woman's father to consent to
her marriage with her lover. But the old man decidedly refused,
thinking himself bound in honour to my friend; who, when he found
the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor returned until he
heard that his former mistress was married according to her
inclinations. "What a noble fellow!" you will exclaim. He is so; but
then he is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind of
ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conduct
the more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy which
otherwise he would command.
Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little, or because I
can conceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know that
I am wavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate; and my
voyage is only now delayed until the weather shall permit my
embarkation. The winter has been dreadfully severe; but the spring
promises well, and it is considered as a remarkably early season; so
that perhaps I may sail sooner than I expected. I shall do nothing
rashly: you know me sufficiently to confide in my prudence and
considerateness whenever the safety of others is committed to my care.
I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of
undertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of
the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which
I am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to "the
land of mist and snow"; but I shall kill no albatross, therefore do
not be alarmed for my safety, or if I should come back to you as
worn and woeful as the "Ancient Mariner." You will smile at my
allusion but I will disclose a secret. I have often attributed my
attachment to, my passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries
of ocean, to that production of the most imaginative of modern
poets. There is something at work in my soul which I do not
understand. I am practically industrious- painstaking;- a workman to
execute with perseverance and labour:- but besides this, there is a
love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in
all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men,
even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore.
But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again,
after having traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern
cape of Africa or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I
cannot bear to look on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the
present to write to me by every opportunity; I may receive your
letters on some occasions when I need them most to support my spirits.
I love you very tenderly. Remember me with affection, should you never
hear from me again.- Your affectionate brother,
-
- Robert Walton.
LETTER III
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- July 7th, 17__
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MY DEAR Sister,- I write a few lines in haste, to say that I am
safe, and well advanced on my voyage. This letter will reach England
by a merchantman now on its homeward voyage from Archangel; more
fortunate than I, who may not see my native land, perhaps, for many
years. I am, however, in good spirits: my men are bold, and apparently
firm of purpose; nor do the floating sheets of ice that continually
pass us, indicating the dangers of the region towards which we are
advancing, appear to dismay them. We have already reached a very
high latitude; but it is the height of summer, and although not so
warm as in England, the southern gales, which blow us speedily towards
those shores which I so ardently desire to attain, breathe a degree of
renovating warmth which I had not expected.
No incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in
a letter. One or two stiff gales, and the springing of a leak, are
accidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record;
and I shall be well content if nothing worse happen to us during our
voyage.
Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured that for my own sake, as
well as yours, I will not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool,
persevering, and prudent.
But success shall crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I
have gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas: the very stars
themselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. Why not
still proceed over the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the
determined heart and resolved will of man?
My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus. But I
must finish. Heaven bless my beloved sister!
-
- R. W.
LETTER IV
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- August 5th, 17__
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SO STRANGE an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear
recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before
these papers can come into your possession.
Last Monday (July 31st), we were nearly surrounded by ice, which
closed in the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room
in which she floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially
as we were compassed round by a very thick fog. We accordingly lay to,
hoping that some change would take place in the atmosphere and
weather.
About two o'clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched
out in every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed
to have no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to
grow watchful with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly
attracted our attention, and diverted our solicitude from our own
situation. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by
dogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile: a
being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic
stature, sat in the sledge, and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid
progress of the traveller with our telescopes, until he was lost among
the distant inequalities of the ice.
This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we
believed, many hundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed
to denote that it was not, in reality, so distant as we had
supposed. Shut in, however, by ice, it was impossible to follow his
track, which we had observed with the greatest attention.
About two hours after this occurrence, we heard the ground sea;
and before night the ice broke, and freed our ship. We, however, lay
to until the morning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large
loose masses which float about after the breaking up of the ice. I
profited of this time to rest for a few hours.
In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon
the deck, and found all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel,
apparently talking to some one in the sea. It was, in fact, a
sledge, like that we had seen before, which had drifted towards us
in the night, on a large fragment of ice. Only one dog remained alive;
but there was a human being within it, whom the sailors were
persuading to enter the vessel. He was not, as the other traveller
seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of some undiscovered island, but
an European. When I appeared on deck, the master said, "Here is our
captain, and he will not allow you to perish on the open sea."
On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although
with a foreign accent. "Before I come on board your vessel," said
he, "will you have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?"
You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question
addressed to me from a man on the brink of destruction, and to whom
I should have supposed that my vessel would have been a resource which
he would not have exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can
afford. I replied, however, that we were on a voyage of discovery
towards the northern pole.
Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied, and consented to come
on board. Good God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus
capitulated for his safety, your surprise would have been boundless.
His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by
fatigue and suffering. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition.
We attempted to carry him into the cabin; but as soon as he had
quitted the fresh air, he fainted. We accordingly brought him back
to the deck, and restored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy,
and forcing him to swallow a small quantity. As soon as he showed
signs of life we wrapped him up in blankets, and placed him near the
chimney of the kitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered, and ate
a little soup, which restored him wonderfully.
Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak; and
I often feared that his sufferings had deprived him of
understanding. When he had in some measure recovered, I removed him to
my own cabin, and attended on him as much as my duty would permit. I
never saw a more interesting creature: his eyes have generally an
expression of wildness, and even madness, but there are moments
when, if anyone performs an act of kindness towards him, or does him
any the most trifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as
it were, with a beam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw
equalled. But he is generally melancholy and despairing; and sometimes
he gnashes his teeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes that
oppresses him.
When my guest was a little recovered, I had great trouble to
keep off the men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I
would not allow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a
state of body and mind whose restoration evidently depended upon
entire repose. Once, however, the lieutenant asked, Why he had come so
far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle?
His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest
gloom; and he replied, "To seek one who fled from me."
"And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?"
"Yes."
"Then I fancy we have seen him; for the day before we picked you
up, we saw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the
ice."
This aroused the stranger's attention; and he asked a multitude of
questions concerning the route which the daemon, as he called him, had
pursued. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said,- "I have,
doubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of these good
people; but you are too considerate to make inquiries."
"Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in
me to trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine."
"And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you
have benevolently restored me to life."
Soon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of
the ice had destroyed the other sledge? I replied that I could not
answer with any degree of certainty; for the ice had not broken
until near midnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place
of safety before that time; but of this I could not judge.
From this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of
the stranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck, to
watch for the sledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded
him to remain in the cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the
rawness of the atmosphere. I have promised that some one should
watch for him, and give him instant notice if any new object should
appear in sight.
Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up
to the present day. The stranger has gradually improved in health, but
is very silent, and appears uneasy when any one except myself enters
his cabin. Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle that the
sailors are all interested in him, although they have had very
little communication with him. For my own part, I begin to love him as
a brother; and his constant and deep grief fills me with sympathy
and compassion. He must have been a noble creature in his better days,
being even now in wreck so attractive and amiable.
I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should
find no friend on the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before
his spirit had been broken by misery, I should have been happy to have
possessed as the brother of my heart.
I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at
intervals, should I have any fresh incidents to record.
-
- August 13th, 17__
-
My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at
once my admiration and my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I see
so noble a creature destroyed by misery, without feeling the most
poignant grief? He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so
cultivated; and when he speaks, although his words are culled with the
choicest art, yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.
He is now much recovered from his illness, and is continually on
deck, apparently watching for the sledge that preceded his own. Yet,
although unhappy, he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery
but that he interests himself deeply in the projects of others. He has
frequently conversed with me on mine, which I have communicated to him
without disguise. He entered attentively into all my arguments in
favour of my eventual success, and into every minute detail of the
measures I had taken to secure it. I was easily led by the sympathy
which he evinced to use the language of my heart; to give utterance to
the burning ardour of my soul; and to say, with all the fervour that
warmed me, how gladly I would sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my
every hope, to the furtherance of my enterprise. One man's life or
death were but a small price to pay for the acquirement of the
knowledge which I sought; for the dominion I should acquire and
transmit over the elemental foes of our race. As I spoke, a dark gloom
spread over my listener's countenance. At first I perceived that he
tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before his eyes;
and my voice quivered and failed me, as I beheld tears trickle fast
from between his fingers- a groan burst from his heaving breast. I
paused;- at length he spoke, in broken accents:- "Unhappy man! Do
you share my madness? Have you drank also of the intoxicating draught?
Hear me- let me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your
lips!"
Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but
the paroxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his
weakened powers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation
were necessary to restore his composure.
Having conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to
despise himself for being the slave of passion; and quelling the
dark tyranny of despair, he led me again to converse concerning myself
personally. He asked me the history of my earlier years. The tale
was quickly told: but it awakened various trains of reflection. I
spoke of my desire of finding a friend- of my thirst for a more
intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than had ever fallen to my lot;
and expressed my conviction that a man could boast of little
happiness, who did not enjoy this blessing.
"I agree with you," replied the stranger; "we are unfashioned
creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than
ourselves such a friend ought to be- do not lend his aid to
perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the
most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge
respecting friendship. You have hope, and the world before you, and
have no cause for despair. But I- I have lost everything, and cannot
begin life anew."
As he said this, his countenance became expressive of a calm
settled grief that touched me to the heart. But he was silent, and
presently retired to his cabin.
Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than
he does the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every
sight afforded by these wonderful regions, seem still to have the
power of elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double
existence: he may suffer misery, and be overwhelmed by
disappointments; yet, when he has retired into himself, he will be
like a celestial spirit that has a halo around him, within whose
circle no grief or folly ventures.
Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this
divine wanderer? You would not if you saw him. You have been tutored
and refined by books and retirement from the world, and you are,
therefore, somewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit
to appreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man.
Sometimes I have endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he
possesses that elevates him so immeasurably above any other person I
ever knew. I believe it to be an intuitive discernment; a quick but
never-failing power of judgment; a penetration into the causes of
things, unequalled for clearness and precision; add to this a facility
of expression, and a voice whose varied intonations are
soul-subduing music.
-
- August 19th, 17__
-
Yesterday the stranger said to me, "You may easily perceive,
Captain Walton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled
misfortunes. I had determined, at one time, that the memory of these
evils should die with me; but you have won me to alter my
determination. You seek for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I
ardently hope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a
serpent to sting you, as mine has been. I do not know that the
relation of my disasters will be useful to you; yet, when I reflect
that you are pursuing the same course, exposing yourself to the same
dangers which have rendered me what I am, I imagine that you may
deduce an apt moral from my tale; one that may direct you if you
succeed in your undertaking, and console you in case of failure.
Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually deemed marvellous.
Were we among the tamer scenes of nature, I might fear to encounter
your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things will appear
possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would provoke
the laughter of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers of
nature:- nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series
internal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is composed."
You may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered
communication; yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief
by a recital of his misfortunes. I felt the greatest eagerness to hear
the promised narrative, partly from curiosity, and partly from a
strong desire to ameliorate his fate, if it were in my power. I
expressed these feelings in my answer.
"I thank you," he replied, "for your sympathy, but it is
useless; my fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and
then I shall repose in peace. I understand your feeling," continued
he, perceiving that I wished to interrupt him; "but you are
mistaken, my friend, if thus you will allow me to name you; nothing
can alter my destiny: listen to my history, and you will perceive
how irrevocably it is determined."
He then told me that he would commence his narrative the next
day when I should be at leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest
thanks. I have resolved every night, when I am not imperatively
occupied by my duties, to record, as nearly as possible in his own
words, what he has related during the day. If I should be engaged, I
will at least make notes. This manuscript will doubtless afford you
the greatest pleasure; but to me, who know him, and who hear it from
his own lips, with what interest and sympathy shall I read it in
some future day! Even now, as I commence my task, his full-toned voice
swells in my ears; his lustrous eyes dwell on me with all their
melancholy sweetness; I see his thin hand raised in animation, while
the lineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul within.
Strange and harrowing must be his story; frightful the storm which
embraced the gallant vessel on its course, and wrecked it- thus!
CHAPTER I
-
I AM by birth a Genevese; and my family is one of the most
distinguished of that republic.
My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics;
and my father had filled several public situations with honour and
reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and
indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days
perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of
circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the
decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.
As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I
cannot refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends
was a merchant, who, from a flourishing state, fell, through
numerous mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was
Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition, and could not bear
to live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had
formerly been distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid
his debts, therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with
his daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in
wretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship, and
was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate
circumstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his
friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection that united
them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope
of persuading him to begin the world again through his credit and
assistance.
Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself; and it
was ten months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at
this discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean
street, near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair
alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money
from the wreck of his fortunes; but it was sufficient to provide him
with sustenance for some months, and in the meantime he hoped to
procure some respectable employment in a merchant's house. The
interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became
more deep and rankling when he had leisure for reflection; and at
length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end of three
months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable any exertion.
His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness- but she
saw with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing, and
that there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort
possessed a mind of an uncommon mould; and her courage rose to support
her in her adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw;
and by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely
sufficient to support life.
Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her
time was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of
subsistence decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her
arms, leaving her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her;
and she knelt by Beaufort's coffin, weeping bitterly, when my father
entered the chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor
girl, who committed herself to his care; and after the interment of
his friend, he conducted her to Geneva, and placed her under the
protection of a relation. Two years after this event Caroline became
his wife.
There was a considerable difference between the ages of my
parents, but this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in
bonds of devoted affection. There was a sense of justice in my
father's upright mind, which rendered it necessary that he should
approve highly to love strongly. Perhaps during former years he had
suffered from the late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved, and
so was disposed to set a greater value on tried worth. There was a
show of gratitude and worship in his attachment to my mother,
differing wholly from the doating fondness of age, for it was inspired
by reverence for her virtues, and a desire to be the means of, in some
degree, recompensing her for the sorrows she had endured, but which
gave inexpressible grace to his behaviour to her. Everything was
made to yield to her wishes and her convenience. He strove to
shelter her, as a fair exotic is sheltered by the gardener, from every
rougher wind, and to surround her with all that could tend to excite
pleasurable emotion in her soft and benevolent mind. Her health, and
even the tranquillity of her hitherto constant spirit, had been shaken
by what she had gone through. During the two years that had elapsed
previous to their marriage my father had gradually relinquished all
his public functions; and immediately after their union they sought
the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change of scene and interest
attendant on a tour through that land of wonders, as a restorative for
her weakened frame.
From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child,
was born in Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their
rambles. I remained for several years their only child. Much as they
were attached to each other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible
stores of affection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me.
My mother's tender caresses, and my father's smile of benevolent
pleasure while regarding me, are my first recollections. I was their
plaything and their idol, and something better- their child, the
innocent and helpless creature bestowed on them by Heaven, whom to
bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in their hands to direct
to happiness fulfilled their duties towards me. With this deep
consciousness of what they owed towards the being to which they had
given life, added to the active spirit of tenderness that animated
both, it may be imagined that while during every hour of my infant
life I received a lesson of patience, of charity, and of self-control,
I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but one train of
enjoyment to me.
For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much
desired to have a daughter, but I continued their single offspring.
When I was about five years old, while making an excursion beyond
the frontiers of Italy, they passed a week on the shores of the Lake
of Como. Their benevolent disposition often made them enter the
cottages of the poor. This, to my mother, was more than a duty; it was
a necessity, a passion- remembering what she had suffered, and how she
had been relieved- for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to
the afflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of
a vale attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate,
while the number of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of
penury in its worst shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself
to Milain, my mother, accompanied by me, visited this abode. She found
a peasant and his wife, hard working, bent down by care and labour,
distributing a scanty meal to five hungry babes. Among these there was
one which attracted my mother far above all the rest. She appeared
of a different stock. The four others were dark-eyed, hardy little
vagrants; this child was thin, and very fair. Her hair was the
brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed
to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was clear and
ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of her
face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness, that none could
behold her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being
heaven-sent, and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.
The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of
wondering admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her
history. She was not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese
nobleman. Her mother was a German, and had died on giving her birth.
The infant had been placed with these good people to nurse: they
were better off then. They had not been long married, and their eldest
child was but just born. The father of their charge was one of those
Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory of Italy- one among
the schiaviognor frementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty
of his country. He became the victim of weakness. Whether he had died,
or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria, was not known. His
property was confiscated, his child became an orphan and a beggar. She
continued with her foster parents, and bloomed in their rude abode,
fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.
When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in
the hall of our villa a child fairer than pictured cherub- a
creature who seemed to shed radiance from her looks, and whose form
and motions were lighter than the chamois of the hills. The apparition
was soon explained. With his permission my mother prevailed on her
rustic guardians to yield their charge to her. They were fond of the
sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing to them; but it would
be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want, when Providence
afforded her such powerful protection. They consulted their village
priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of
my parents' house- my more than sister- the beautiful and adored
companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.
Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential
attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my
pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought
to my home, my mother had said playfully- "I have a pretty present for
my Victor- tomorrow he shall have it." And when, on the morrow, she
presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish
seriousness, interpreted her words literally, and looked upon
Elizabeth as mine- mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises
bestowed on her, I received as made to a possession of my own. We
called each other familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no
expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to
me- my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only.
CHAPTER II
-
WE WERE brought up together; there was not quite a year difference
in our ages. I need not say that we were strangers to any species of
disunion or dispute. Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and
the diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us
nearer together. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated
disposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more
intense application, and was more deeply smitten with a thirst for
knowledge. She busied herself with following the aerial creations of
the poets; and in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded
our Swiss home- the sublime shapes of the mountains; the changes of
the seasons; tempest and calm; the silence of winter, and the life and
turbulence of our Alpine summers- she found ample scope for admiration
and delight. While my companion contemplated with a serious and
satisfied spirit the magnificent appearances of things, I delighted in
investigating their causes. The world was to me a secret which I
desired to divine. Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden
laws of nature, gladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me,
are among the earliest sensations I can remember.
On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents
gave up entirely their wandering life, and fixed themselves in their
native country. We possessed a house in Geneva, and a campagne on
Belrive, the eastern shore of the lake, at the distance of rather more
than a league from the city. We resided principally in the latter, and
the lives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion. It
was my temper to avoid a crowd, and to attach myself fervently to a
few. I was indifferent, therefore, to my schoolfellows in general; but
I united myself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among
them. Henry Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a
boy of singular talent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and
even danger, for its own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry
and romance. He composed heroic songs, and began to write many a
tale of enchantment and knightly adventure. He tried to make us act
plays, and to enter into masquerades, in which the characters were
drawn from the heroes of Roncesvalles, of the Round Table of King
Arthur, and the chivalrous train who shed their blood to redeem the
holy sepulchre from the hands of the infidels.
No human being could have passed a happier childhood than
myself. My parents were possessed by the very spirit of kindness and
indulgence. We felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot
according to their caprice, but the agents and creators of all the
many delights which we enjoyed. When I mingled with other families,
I distinctly discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and
gratitude assisted the development of filial love.
My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but
by some law in my temperature they were turned, not towards childish
pursuits, but to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things
indiscriminately. I confess that neither the structure of languages,
nor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states,
possessed attractions for me. It was the secrets of heaven and earth
that I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of
things, or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man
that occupied me, still my inquiries were directed to the
metaphysical, or, in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the
world.
Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral
relations of things. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes,
and the actions of men, were his theme; and his hope and his dream was
to become one among those whose names are recorded in story, as the
gallant and adventurous benefactors of our species. The saintly soul
of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful
home. Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet
glance of her celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us.
She was the living spirit of love to soften and attract: I might
have become sullen in my study, rough through the ardour of my nature,
but that she was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own
gentleness. And Clerval- could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit-
of Clerval?- Yet he might not have been so perfectly humane, so
thoughtful in his generosity- so full of kindness and tenderness
amidst his passion for adventurous exploit, had she not unfolded to
him the real loveliness of beneficence, and made the doing good the
end and aim of his soaring ambition.
I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of
childhood, before misfortune had tainted my mind, and changed its
bright visions of extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow
reflections upon self. Besides, drawing the picture of early days, I
also record those events which led, by insensible steps, to my after
tale of misery: for when I would account to myself for the birth of
that passion, which afterwards ruled my destiny, I find it arise
like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost forgotten sources
but, swelling as it as it proceeded, it became the torrent which, in
its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys.
Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I
desire, therefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led
to my predilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age,
we all went on a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon: the
inclemency of the weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the
inn. In this house I chanced to find a volume of the works of
Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it with apathy; the theory which he
attempts to demonstrate, and the wonderful facts which he relates,
soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new light seemed to
dawn upon my mind; and, bounding with joy, I communicated my discovery
to my father. My father looked carelessly at the title page of my
book, and said, "Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste
your time upon this; it is sad trash."
If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to
explain to me that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely
exploded, and that a modern system of science had been introduced,
which possessed much greater powers than the ancient, because the
powers of the latter were chimerical, while those of the former were
real and practical; under such circumstances, I should certainly
have thrown Agrippa aside, and have contented my imagination, warmed
as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my former studies. It
is even possible that the train of my ideas would never have
received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the cursory glance
my father had taken of my volume by no means assured me that he was
acquainted with its contents; and I continued to read with the
greatest avidity.
When I returned home, my first care was to procure the whole works
of this author, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I
read and studied the wild fancies of these writers with delight;
they appeared to me treasures known to few beside myself I have
described myself as always having been embued with a fervent longing
to penetrate the secrets of nature. In spice of the intense labour and
wonderful discoveries of modern philosophers, I always came from my
studies discontented and unsatisfied. Sir Isaac Newton is said to have
avowed that he felt like a child picking up shells beside the great
and unexplored ocean of truth. Those of his successors in each
branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted appeared, even
to my boys apprehensions, as tyros engaged in the same pursuit.
The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him, and was
acquainted with their practical uses. The most learned philosopher
knew little more. He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but
her immortal lineaments were still a wonder and a mystery. He might
dissect, anatomise, and give names; but, not to speak of a final
cause, causes in their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly
unknown to him. I had gazed upon the fortifications and impediments
that seemed to keep human beings from entering the citadel of
nature, and rashly and ignorantly I had repined.
But here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper
and knew more. I took their word for all that they averred, and I
became their disciple. It may appear strange that such should arise in
the eighteenth century; but while I followed the routine of
education in the schools of Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self
taught with regard to my favourite studies. My father was not
scientific, and I was left to struggle with a child's blindness, added
to a student's thirst for knowledge. Under the guidance of my new
preceptors, I entered with the greatest diligence into the search of
the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life; but the latter soon
obtained my undivided attention. Wealth was an inferior object; but
what glory would attend the discovery, if I could banish disease
from the human frame, and render man invulnerable to any but a violent
death!
Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils
was a promise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the
fulfillment of which I most eagerly sought; and if my incantations
were always unsuccessful, I attributed the failure rather to my own
inexperience and mistake than to a want of skill or fidelity in my
instructors. And thus for a time I was occupied by exploded systems,
mingling, like an unadept, a thousand contradictory theories, and
floundering desperately in a very slough of multifarious knowledge,
guided by an ardent imagination and childish reasoning, till an
accident again changed the current of my ideas.
When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house
near Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible
thunderstorm. It advanced from behind the mountains of Jura; and the
thunder burst at once with frightful loudness from various quarters of
the heavens. I remained, while the storm lasted, watching its progress
with curiosity and delight. As I stood at the door, on a sudden I
beheld a stream of fire issue from an old and beautiful oak which
stood about twenty yards from our house; and so soon as the dazzling
light vanished the oak had disappeared, and nothing remained but a
blasted stump. When we visited it the next morning, we found the
tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered by the
shock, but entirely reduced to thin ribands of wood. I never beheld
anything so utterly destroyed.
Before this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of
electricity. On this occasion a man of great research in natural
philosophy was with us, and, excited by this catastrophe, he entered
on the explanation of a theory which he had formed on the subject of
electricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing to
me. All that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa,
Albertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by
some fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my
accustomed studies. It seemed to me as if nothing would or could
ever be known. All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew
despicable. By one of those caprices of the mind, which we are perhaps
most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former
occupations; set down natural history and all its progeny as a
deformed and abortive creation; and entertained the greatest disdain
for a would-be science, which could never even step within the
threshold of real knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to
the mathematics, and the branches of study appertaining to that
science, as being built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my
consideration.
Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight
ligaments are we bound to prosperity or ruin. When I look back, it
seems to me as if this almost miraculous change of inclination and
will was the immediate suggestion of the guardian angel of my life-
the last effort made by the spirit of preservation to avert the
storm that was even then hanging in the stars, and ready to envelope
me. Her victory was announced by an unusual tranquillity and
gladness of soul, which followed the relinquishing of my ancient and
latterly tormenting studies. It was thus that I was to be taught to
associate evil with their prosecution, happiness with their disregard.
It was a strong effort of the spirit of good; but it was
ineffectual. Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had
decreed my utter and terrible destruction.
CHAPTER III
-
WHEN I had attained the age of seventeen, my parents resolved that
I should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had
hitherto attended the schools of Geneva; but my father thought it
necessary, for the completion of my education, that I should be made
acquainted with other customs than those of my native country. My
departure was therefore fixed at an early date; but before the day
resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life
occurred- an omen, as it were, of my future misery.
Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe,
and she was in the greatest danger. During her illness, many arguments
had been urged to persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon
her. She had, at first, yielded to our entreaties; but when she
heard that the life of her favourite was menaced, she could no
longer control her anxiety. She attended her sick bed- her watchful
attentions triumphed over the malignity of the distemper- Elizabeth
was saved, but the consequences of this imprudence were fatal to her
preserver. On the third day my mother sickened; her fever was
accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the looks of her
medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her death-bed
the fortitude and benignity of this best of women did not desert
her. She joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself:- "My children," she
said, "my firmest hopes of future happiness were placed on the
prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the consolation
of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to my
younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and,
happy and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all?
But these are not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign
myself cheerfully to death, and will indulge a hope of meeting you
in another world."
She died calmly; and her countenance expressed affection even in
death. I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties
are rent by that most irreparable evil; the void that presents
itself to the soul; and the despair that is exhibited on the
countenance. It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that
she, whom we saw every day, and whose very existence appeared a part
of our own, can have departed for ever- that the brightness of beloved
eye can have been extinguished, and the sound of a voice so
familiar, and dear to the ear, can be hushed, never more to be
heard. These are the reflections of the first days; but when the lapse
of time proves the reality of the evil, then the actual bitterness
of grief commences. Yet from whom has not that rude hand rent away
some dear connection? and why should I describe a sorrow which all
have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives, when grief is
rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile that plays upon
the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not banished. My
mother was dead, but we had still duties which we ought to perform; we
must continue our course with the rest, and learn to think ourselves
fortunate, whilst one remains whom the spoiler has not seized.
My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these
events, was now again determined upon. I obtained from my father a
respite of some weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave
the repose, akin to death, of the house of mourning, and to rush
into the thick of life. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less
alarm me. I was unwilling to quit the sight of those that remained
to me; and, above all, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some
degree consoled.
She indeed veiled her grief, and strove to act the comforter to us
all. She looked steadily on life, and assumed its duties with
courage and zeal. She devoted herself to those whom she had been
taught to call her uncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting as
at this time when she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent
them upon us. She forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make
us forget.
The day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the
last evening with us. He had endeavoured to persuade his father to
permit him to accompany me, and to become my fellow student; but in
vain. His father was a narrow-minded trader, and saw idleness and ruin
in the aspirations and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the
misfortune of being debarred from a liberal education. He said little;
but when he spoke, I read in his kindling eye and in his animated
glance a restrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the
miserable details of commerce.
We sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other, nor
persuade ourselves to say the word "Farewell!" It was said; and we
retired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the
other was deceived: but when at morning's dawn I descended to the
carriage which was to convey me away, they were all there- my father
again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to
renew her entreaties that I would write often, and to bestow the
last feminine attentions on her playmate and friend.
I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away, and
indulged in the most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been
surrounded by amiable companions, continually engaged in
endeavouring to bestow mutual pleasure, I was now alone. In the
university, whither I was going, I must form my own friends, and be my
own protector. My life had hitherto been remarkably secluded and
domestic; and this had given me invincible repugnance to new
countenances. I loved my brothers, Elizabeth, and Clerval; these
were "old familiar faces"; but I believed myself totally unfitted
for the company of strangers. Such were my reflections as I
commenced my journey; but as I proceeded my spirits and hopes rose.
I ardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when
at home, thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one
place, and had longed to enter the world, and take my station among
other human beings. Now my desires were complied with, and it would,
indeed, have been folly to repent.
I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections
during my journey to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At
length the high white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted, and
was conducted to my solitary apartment, to spend the evening as I
pleased.
The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a
visit to some of the principal professors. Chance- or rather the
evil influence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent
sway over me from the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my
father's door- led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural
philosophy. He was an uncouth man, but deeply embued in the secrets of
his science. He asked me several questions concerning my progress in
the different branches of science appertaining to natural
philosophy. I replied carelessly; and, partly in contempt, mentioned
the names of my alchymists as the principal authors I had studied. The
professor stared; "Have you," he said, "really spent your time in
studying such nonsense?"
I replied in the affirmative. "Every minute," continued M.
Krempe with warmth, "every instant that you have wasted on those books
is utterly and entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with
exploded systems and useless names. Good God! in what desert land have
you lived, where no one was kind enough to inform you that these
fancies, which you have so greedily imbibed, are a thousand years old,
and as musty as they are ancient? I little expected, in this
enlightened and scientific age, to find a disciple of Albertus
Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear sir, you must begin your studies
entirely anew."
So saying, he stepped aside, and wrote down a list of several
books treating of natural philosophy, which he desired me to
procure; and dismissed me, after mentioning that in the beginning of
the following week he intended to commence a course of lectures upon
natural philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman,
fellow-professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that
he omitted.
I returned home, not disappointed, for I have said that I had long
considered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but
I returned, not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies
in any shape. M. Krempe was a little squat man, with a gruff voice and
a repulsive countenance the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess
me in favour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and
connected a strain, perhaps, I have given an account of the
conclusions I had come to concerning them in my early years. As a
child, I had not been content with the results promised by the
modern professors of natural science. With a confusion of ideas only
to be accounted for by my extreme youth, and my want of a guide on
such matters, I had retrod the steps of knowledge along the paths of
time, and exchanged the discoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams
of forgotten alchymists. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of
modern natural philosophy. It was very different when the masters of
the science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile,
were grand: but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the
inquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions
on which my interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to
exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth.
Such were my reflections during the first two or three days of
my residence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming
acquainted with the localities, and the principal residents in my
new abode. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the
information which M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures.
And although I could not consent to go and hear that little
conceited fellow deliver sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what
he had said of M. Waldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto
been out of town.
Partly from curiosity, and partly from idleness, I went into the
lecturing room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor
was very unlike his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age,
but with an aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few
grey hairs covered his temples, but those at the back of his head were
nearly black. His person was short, but remarkably erect; and his
voice the sweetest I had ever heard. He began his lecture by a
recapitulation of the history of chemistry, and the various
improvements made by different men of learning, pronouncing with
fervour the names of the most distinguished discoverers. He then
took a cursory view of the present state of the science, and explained
many of its elementary terms. After having made a few preparatory
experiments, he concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry,
the terms of which I shall never forget:-
"The ancient teachers of this science," said he, "promised
impossibilities, and performed nothing. The modern masters promise
very little they know that metals cannot be transmuted, and that the
elixir of life is a chimera. But these philosophers, whose hands
seem only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the
microscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate
into the recesses of nature, and show how she works in her hiding
places. They ascend into the heavens: they have discovered how the
blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have
acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the
thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the
invisible world with its own shadows."
Such were the professor's words- rather let me say such the
words of fate, enounced to destroy me. As he went on, I felt as if
my soul were grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various
keys were touched which formed the mechanism of my being: chord
after chord was sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought,
one conception, one purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul
of Frankenstein- more, far more, will I achieve: treading in the steps
already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers,
and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.
I closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a
state of insurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence
arise, but I had no power to produce it. By degrees after the
morning's dawn, sleep came. I awoke, and my yesternight's thoughts
were as a dream. There only remained a resolution to return to my
ancient studies, and to devote myself to a science for which I
believed myself to possess a natural talent. On the same day, I paid
M. Waldman a visit. His manners in private were even more mild and
attractive than in public; for there was a certain dignity in his mien
during his lecture, which in his own house was replaced by the
greatest affability and kindness. I gave him pretty nearly the same
account of my former pursuits as I had given to his
fellow-professor. He heard with attention the little narration
concerning my studies, and smiled at the names of Cornelius Agrippa
and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had exhibited.
He said, that "these were men to whose indefatigable zeal modern
philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their
knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new
names, and arrange in connected classifications, the facts which
they in a great degree had been the instruments of bringing to
light. The labours of men of genius, however erroneously directed,
scarcely ever fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of
mankind." I listened to his statement, which was delivered without any
presumption or affectation; and then added, that his lecture had
removed my prejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in
measured terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his
instructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have
made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended
labours. I requested his advice concerning the books I ought to
procure.
"I am happy," said M. Waldman, "to have gained a disciple; and
if your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of your
success. Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the
greatest improvements have been and may be made: it is on that account
that I have made it my peculiar study; but at the same time I have not
neglected the other branches of science. A man would make but a very
sorry chemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge
alone. If your wish is to become really a man of science, and not
merely a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to
every branch of natural philosophy, including mathematics."
He then took me into his laboratory, and explained to me the
uses of his various machines; instructing me as to what I ought to
procure, and promising me the use of his own when I should have
advanced far enough in the science not to derange their mechanism.
He also gave me the list of books which I had requested; and I took my
leave.
Thus ended a day memorable to me: it decided my future destiny.
CHAPTER IV
-
FROM this memorable day natural philosophy, and particularly
chemistry, in the most comprehensive sense of the term, became
nearly my sole occupation. I read with ardour those works, so full
of genius and discrimination, which modern inquirers have written on
these subjects. I attended the lectures, and cultivated the
acquaintance, of the men of science of the university; and I found
even in M. Krempe a great deal of sound sense and real information,
combined, it is true, with a repulsive physiognomy and manners, but
not on that account the less valuable. In M. Waldman I found a true
friend. His gentleness was never tinged by dogmatism and his
instructions were given with an air of frankness and good nature
that banished every idea of pedantry. In a thousand ways he smoothed
for me the path of knowledge, and made the most abstruse inquiries
clear and facile to my apprehension. My application was at first
fluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength as I proceeded, and soon
became so ardent and eager that the stars often disappeared in the
light of morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory.
As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my
progress was rapid. My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the
students, and my proficiency that of the masters. Professor Krempe
often asked me, with a sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa went on?
whilst M. Waldman expressed the most heartfelt exultation in my
progress. Two years passed in this manner, during which I paid no
visit to Geneva, but was engaged, heart and soul, in the pursuit of
some discoveries, which I hoped to make. None but those who have
experienced them can conceive of the enticements of science. In
other studies you go as far as others have gone before you, and
there is nothing more to know; but in a scientific pursuit there is
continual food for discovery and wonder. A mind of moderate
capacity, which closely pursues one study, must infallibly arrive at
great proficiency in that study; and I, who continually sought the
attainment of one object of pursuit, and was solely wrapped up in
this, improved so rapidly that, at the end of two years, I made some
discoveries in the improvement of some chemical instruments which
procured me great esteem and admiration at the university. When I
had arrived at this point, and had become as well acquainted with
the theory and practice of natural philosophy as depended on the
lessons of any of the professors at Ingolstadt, my residence there
being no longer conducive to my improvement, I thought of returning to
my friends and my native town, when an incident happened that
protracted my stay.
One of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted my attention
was the structure of the human frame, and, indeed, any animal endued
with life. Whence, I often asked myself, did the principle of life
proceed? It was a bold question, and one which has ever been
considered as a mystery; yet with how many things are we upon the
brink of becoming acquainted, if cowardice or carelessness did not
restrain our inquiries. I revolved these circumstances in my mind, and
determined thenceforth to apply myself more particularly to those
branches of natural philosophy which relate to physiology. Unless I
had been animated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm, my application
to this study would have been irksome, and almost intolerable. To
examine the causes of life, we must first have recourse to death. I
became acquainted with the science of, anatomy: but this was not
sufficient; I must also observe the natural decay and corruption of
the human body. In my education my father had taken the greatest
precautions that my mind should be impressed with no supernatural
horrors. I do not ever remember to have trembled at a tale of
superstition, or to have feared the apparition of a spirit. Darkness
had no effect upon my fancy; and a churchyard was to me merely the
receptacle of bodies deprived of life, which, from being the seat of
beauty and strength, had become food for the worm. Now I was led to
examine the cause and progress of this decay, and forced to spend days
and nights in vaults and charnel-houses. My attention was fixed upon
every object the most insupportable to the delicacy of the human
feelings. I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I
beheld the corruption of death succeed to the blooming cheek of
life; I saw how the worm inherited the wonders of the eye and brain. I
paused, examining and analysing all the minutiae of causation, as
exemplified in the change from life to death, and death to life, until
from the midst of this darkness a sudden light broke in upon me- a
light so brilliant and wondrous, yet so simple, that while I became
dizzy with the immensity of the prospect which it illustrated, I was
surprised, that among so many men of genius who had directed their
inquiries towards the same science, that I alone should be reserved to
discover so astonishing a secret.
Remember, I am not recording the vision of a madman. The sun
does not more certainly shine in the heavens, than that which I now
affirm is true. Some miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of
the discovery were distinct and probable. After days and nights of
incredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of
generation and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing
animation upon lifeless matter.
The astonishment which I had at first experienced on this
discovery soon gave place to delight and rapture. After so much time
spent in painful labour, to arrive at once at the summit of my desires
was the most gratifying consummation of my toils. But this discovery
was so great and overwhelming that all the steps by which I had been
progressively led to it were obliterated, and I beheld only the
result. What had been the study and desire of the wisest men since the
creation of the world was now within my grasp. Not that, like a
magic scene, it all opened upon me at once: the information I had
obtained was of a nature rather to direct my endeavours so soon as I
should point them towards the object of my search, than to exhibit
that object already accomplished. I was like the Arabian who had
been buried with the dead, and found a passage to life, aided only
by one glimmering, and seemingly ineffectual, light.
I see by your eagerness, and the wonder and hope which your eyes
express, my friend, that you expect to be informed of the secret
with which I am acquainted; that cannot be: listen patiently until the
end of my story, and you will easily perceive why I am reserved upon
that subject. I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then
was, to your destruction and infallible misery. Learn from me, if
not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the
acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who
believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to
become greater than his nature will allow.
When I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I
hesitated a long time concerning the manner in which I should employ
it. Although I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to
prepare a frame for the reception of it, with all its intricacies of
fibres, muscles, and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable
difficulty and labour. I doubted at first whether I should attempt the
creation of a being like myself, or one of simpler organisation; but
my imagination was too much exalted by my first success to permit me
to doubt of my ability to give life to an animal as complex and
wonderful as man. The materials at present within my command hardly
appeared adequate to so arduous an undertaking; but I doubted not that
I should ultimately succeed. I prepared myself for a multitude of
reverses; my operations might be incessantly baffled, and at last my
work be imperfect: yet, when I considered the improvement which
every day takes place in science and mechanics, I was encouraged to
hope my present attempts would at least lay the foundations of
future success. Nor could I consider the magnitude and complexity of
my plan as any argument of its impracticability. It was with these
feelings that I began the creation of a human being. As the minuteness
of the parts formed a great hindrance to my speed, I resolved,
contrary to my first intention, to make the being of a gigantic
stature; that is to say, about eight feet in height, and
proportionably large. After having formed this determination, and
having spent some months in successfully collecting and arranging my
materials, I began.
No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards,
like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death
appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and
pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless
me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would
owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his
child so completely as I should deserve theirs. Pursuing these
reflections, I thought, that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless
matter, I might in process of time (although I now found it
impossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body
to corruption.
These thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my
undertaking with unremitting ardour. My cheek had grown pale with
study, and my person had become emaciated with confinement. Sometimes,
on the very brink of certainty, I failed; yet still I clung to the
hope which the next day or the next hour might realise. One secret
which I alone possessed was the hope to which I had dedicated
myself; and the moon gazed on my midnight labours, while, with
unrelaxed and breathless eagerness, I pursued nature to her
hiding-places. Who shall conceive the horrors of my secret toil, as
I dabbled among the unhallowed damps of the grave, or tortured the
living animal, to animate the lifeless clay? My limbs now tremble
and my eyes swim with the remembrance; but then a resistless, and
almost frantic, impulse urged me forward; I seemed to have lost all
soul or sensation but for this one pursuit. It was indeed but a
passing trance that only made me feel with renewed acuteness so soon
as, the unnatural stimulus ceasing to operate, I had returned to my
old habits. I collected bones from charnel-houses; and disturbed, with
profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human frame. In a
solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house, and
separated from all the other apartments by a gallery and staircase,
I kept my workshop of filthy creation: my eye-balls were starting from
their sockets in attending to the details of my employment. The
dissecting room and the slaughter-house furnished many of my
materials; and often did my human nature turn with loathing from my
occupation, whilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually
increased, I brought my work near to a conclusion.
The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul,
in one pursuit. It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields
bestow a more plentiful harvest, or the vines yield a more luxuriant
vintage: but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature. And
the same feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me
also to forget those friends who were so many miles absent, and whom I
had not seen for so long a time. I knew my silence disquieted them;
and I well remembered the words of my father: "I know that while you
are pleased with yourself, you will think of us with affection, and we
shall hear regularly from you. You must pardon me if I regard any
interruption in your correspondence as a proof that your other
duties are equally neglected."
I knew well, therefore, what would be my father's feelings; but
I could not tear my thoughts from my employment, loathsome in
itself, but which had taken an irresistible hold of my imagination.
I wished, as it were, to procrastinate all that related to my feelings
of affection until the great object, which swallowed up every habit of
my nature, should be completed.
I then thought that my father would be unjust if he ascribed my
neglect to vice, or faultiness on my part; but I am now convinced that
he was justified in conceiving that I should not be altogether free
from blame. A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a
calm and peaceful mind, and never to allow passion or a transitory
desire to disturb his tranquillity. I do not think that the pursuit of
knowledge is an exception to this rule. If the study to which you
apply yourself has a tendency to weaken your affections, and to
destroy your taste for those simple pleasures in which no alloy can
possibly mix, then that study is certainly unlawful, that is to say,
not befitting the human mind. If this rule were always observed; if no
man allowed any pursuit whatsoever to interfere with the
tranquillity of his domestic affections, Greece had not been enslaved,
Caesar would have spared his country; America would have been
discovered more gradually; and the empires of Mexico and Peru had
not been destroyed.
But I forget that I am moralising in the most interesting part
of my tale; and your looks remind me to proceed.
My father made no reproach in his letters, and only took notice of
my silence by inquiring into my occupations more particularly than
before. Winter, spring, and summer passed away during my labours;
but I did not watch the blossom or the expanding leaves- sights
which before always yielded me supreme delight- so deeply was I
engrossed in my occupation. The leaves of that year had withered
before my work drew near to a close; and now every day showed me
more plainly how well I had succeeded. But my enthusiasm was checked
by my anxiety, and I appeared rather like one doomed by slavery to
toil in the mines, or any other unwholesome trade, than an artist
occupied by his favourite employment. Every night I was oppressed by a
slow fever, and I became nervous to a most painful degree; the fall of
a leaf startled me, and I shunned my fellow-creatures as if I had been
guilty of a crime. Sometimes I grew alarmed at the wreck I perceived
that I had become- the energy of my purpose alone sustained me: my
labours would soon end, and I believed that exercise and amusement
would then drive away incipient disease; and I promised myself both of
these when my creation should be complete.
CHAPTER V
-
IT WAS on a dreary night of November that I beheld the
accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to
agony, collected the instruments of life around me, that I might
infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet.
It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally
against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the
glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of
the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion
agitated its limbs.
How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how
delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had
endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had
selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful!- Great God! His
yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath;
his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly
whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast
with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun
white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and
straight black lips.
The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the
feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years,
for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this
I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an
ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished,
the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust
filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had
created, I rushed out of the room, continued a long time traversing my
bed chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude
succeeded to the tumult I had before endured; and I threw myself on
the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of
forgetfulness. But it was in vain: I slept, indeed, but I was
disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the
bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and
surprised, I embraced her; but as I imprinted the first kiss on her
lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared
to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in
my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms
crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started from my sleep with
horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth chattered, and
every limb became convulsed: when, by the dim and yellow light of
the moon, as it forced its way through the window shutters, I beheld
the wretch- the miserable monster whom I had created. He held up the
curtain of the bed and his eyes, if eyes they may be called, were
fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate
sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but
I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me,
but I escaped, and rushed down stairs. I took refuge in the
courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited; where I remained
during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest
agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as
if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to
which I had so miserably given life.
Oh! no mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A
mummy again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that
wretch. I had gazed on him while unfinished he was ugly then; but when
those muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became
a thing such as even Dante could not have conceived.
I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so
quickly and hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at
others, I nearly sank to the ground through languor and extreme
weakness. Mingled with this horror, I felt the bitterness of
disappointment; dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for
so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was so
rapid, the overthrow so complete!
Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned, and discovered to my
sleepless and aching eyes the church of Ingolstadt, white steeple
and clock, which indicated the sixth hour. The porter opened the gates
of the court, which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into
the streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the
wretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my
view. I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited, but
felt impelled to hurry on, although drenched by the rain which
poured from a black and comfortless sky.
I continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavouring, by
bodily exercise, to ease the load that weighed upon my mind. I
traversed the streets, without any clear conception of where I was, or
what I was doing. My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear; and I
hurried on with irregular steps, not daring to look about me:-
-
"Like one who, on a lonely road,
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And, having once turned round, walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread." *001
-
Continuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the
various diligences and carriages usually stopped. Here I paused, I
knew not why; but I remained some minutes with my eyes fixed on a
coach that was coming towards me from the other end of the street.
As it drew nearer, I observed that it was the Swiss diligence: it
stopped just where I was standing, and, on the door being opened, I
perceived Henry Clerval, who, on seeing me, instantly sprung out.
"My dear Frankenstein," exclaimed he, "how glad I am to see you! how
fortunate that you should be here at the very moment of my alighting!"
Nothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval; his presence
brought back to my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all those scenes
of home so dear to my recollection. I grasped his hand, and in a
moment forgot my horror and misfortune; I felt suddenly, and for the
first time during many months, calm and serene joy. I welcomed my
friend, therefore, in the most cordial manner, and we walked towards
my college. Clerval continued talking for some time about our mutual
friends, and his own good fortune in being permitted to come to
Ingolstadt. "You may easily believe," said he, "how great was the
difficulty to persuade my father that all necessary knowledge was
not comprised in the noble art of bookkeeping; and, indeed, I
believe I left him incredulous to the last, for his constant answer to
my unwearied entreaties was the same as that of the Dutch
school-master in the Vicar of Wakefield:- 'I have ten thousand florins
a year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.' But his affection
for me at length overcame his dislike of learning, and he has
permitted me to undertake a voyage of discovery to the land of
knowledge."
"It gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how
you left my father, brothers, and Elizabeth."
"Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear
from you so seldom. By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon
their account myself.- But, my dear Frankenstein," continued he,
stopping short, and gazing full in my face, "I did not before remark
how very ill you appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been
watching for several nights."
"You have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in
one occupation that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as
you see: but I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments
are now at an end, and that I am at length free."
I trembled excessively; I could not endure to think of, and far
less to allude to, the occurrences of the preceding night. I walked
with a quick pace, and we soon arrived at my college. I then
reflected, and the thought made me shiver, that the creature whom I
had left in my apartment might still be there, alive, and walking
about. I dreaded to behold this monster; but I feared still more
that Henry should see him. Entreating him, therefore, to remain a
few minutes at the bottom of the stairs, I darted up towards my own
room. My hand was already on the lock of the door before I recollected
myself I then paused; and a cold shivering came over me. I threw the
door forcibly open, as children are accustomed to do when they
expect a spectre to stand in waiting for them on the other side; but
nothing appeared. I stepped fearfully in: the apartment was empty; and
my bedroom was also freed from its hideous guest. I could hardly
believe that so great a good fortune could have befallen me; but
when I became assured that my enemy had indeed fled, I clapped my
hands for joy, and ran down to Clerval.
We ascended into my room, and the servant presently brought
breakfast; but I was unable to contain myself It was not joy only that
possessed me; I felt my flesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and
my pulse beat rapidly. I was unable to remain for a single instant
in the same place; I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and
laughed aloud. Clerval at first attributed my unusual spirits to joy
on his arrival; but when he observed me more attentively he saw a
wildness in my eyes for which he could not account; and my loud,
unrestrained, heartless laughter frightened and astonished him.
"My dear Victor," cried he, "what, for God's sake, is the
matter? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you are! What is the
cause of all this?"
"Do not ask me," cried I, putting my hands before my eyes for I
thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; "he can
tell.- Oh, save me! save me!" I imagined that the monster seized me; I
struggled furiously, and fell down in a fit.
Poor Clerval! what must have been his feelings? A meeting, which
he anticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I
was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless, and did not
recover my senses for a long, long time.
This was the commencement of a nervous fever, which confined me
for several months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I
afterwards learned that, knowing my father's advanced age, and
unfitness for so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would
make Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent
of my disorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and
attentive nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my
recovery, he did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed
the kindest action that he could towards them.
But I was in reality very ill; and surely nothing but the
unbounded and unremitting attentions of my friend could have
restored me to life. The form of the monster on whom I had bestowed
existence was forever before my eyes, and I raved incessantly
concerning him. Doubtless my words surprised Henry: he at first
believed them to be the wanderings of my disturbed imagination; but
the pertinacity with which I continually recurred to the same subject,
persuaded him that my disorder indeed owed its origin to some uncommon
and terrible event.
By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed
and grieved my friend, I recovered. I remember the first time I became
capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I
perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared, and that the young
buds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window. It
was a divine spring; and the season contributed greatly to my
convalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in
my bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as
cheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion.
"Dearest Clerval," exclaimed I, "how kind, how very good you are
to me. This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you
promised yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever
repay you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which
I have been the occasion; but you will forgive me."
"You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but
get well as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good
spirits, I may speak to you on one subject, may I not?"
I trembled. One subject! what could it be? Could he allude to an
object on whom I dared not even think?
"Compose yourself," said Clerval, who observed my change of
colour, "I will not mention it, if it agitates you; but your father
and cousin would be very happy if they received a letter from you in
your own handwriting. They hardly know how ill you have been, and
are uneasy at your long silence."
"Is that all, my dear Henry? How could you suppose that my first
thoughts would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love,
and who are so deserving of my love."
"If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be
glad to see a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is
from your cousin, I believe."
CHAPTER VI
-
CLERVAL then put the following letter into hands. It was from my own
Elizabeth:-
-
My dearest Cousin,- You have been ill, very ill, and even the
constant letters of dear kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me
on your account. You are forbidden to write- to hold a pen; yet one
word from you, dear Victor, is necessary to calm our apprehensions.
For a long time I have thought that each post would bring this line,
and my persuasions have restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey
to Ingolstadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveniences
and perhaps dangers of so long a journey; yet how often have I
regretted not being able to perform it myself! I figure to myself that
the task of attending on your sick bed has devolved on some mercenary
old nurse, who could never guess your wishes, nor minister to them
with the care and affection of your poor cousin. Yet that is over now:
Clerval writes that indeed you are getting better. I eagerly hope that
you will confirm this intelligence soon in your own handwriting.
Get well- and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful
home, and friends who love you dearly. Your father's health is
vigorous, and he asks but to see you- but to be assured that you are
well; not a care will ever cloud his benevolent countenance. How
pleased you would be to remark the improvement of our Ernest! He is
now sixteen, and full of activity and spirit. He is desirous to be a
true Swiss, and to enter into foreign service; but we cannot part with
him, at least until his elder brother return to us. My uncle is not
pleased with the idea of a military career in a distant country; but
Ernest never had your powers of application. He looks upon study as an
odious fetter;- his time is spent in the open air, climbing the
hills or rowing on the lake. I fear that he will become an idler,
unless we yield the point, and permit him to enter on the profession
which he has selected.
Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has
taken place since you left us. The blue lake, and snow-clad mountains,
they never change;- and I think our placid home and our contented
hearts are regulated by the same immutable laws. My trifling
occupations take up my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any
exertions by seeing none but happy, kind faces around me. Since you
left us, but one change has taken place in our little household. Do
you remember on what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family?
Probably you do not; I will relate her history, therefore, in a few
words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow with four children, of
whom Justine was the third. This girl had always been the favourite of
her father; but through a strange perversity, her mother could not
endure her, and after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My
aunt observed this- and, when Justine was twelve years of age,
prevailed on her mother to allow her to live at our house. The
republican institutions of our country have produced simpler and
happier manners than those which prevail in the great monarchies
that surround it. Hence there is less distinction between the
several classes of its inhabitants; and the lower orders, being
neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are more refined and
moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the same thing as a servant
in France and England. Justine, thus received in our family, learned
the duties of a servant, a condition which, in our fortunate
country, does not include the idea of ignorance, and a sacrifice of
the dignity of a human being.
Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I
recollect you once remarked, that if you were in an ill-humour, one
glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that
Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica- she looked so
frank-hearted and happy. My aunt conceived a great attachment for
her, by which she was induced to give her an education superior to
that which she had at first intended. This benefit was fully repaid;
Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world: I do not
mean that she made any professions; I never heard one pass her lips;
but you could see by her eyes that she almost adored her
protectress. Although her disposition was gay, and in many respects
inconsiderate, yet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of
my aunt. She thought her the model of all excellence, and
endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and manners, so that even now
she often reminds me of her.
When my dearest aunt died, everyone was too much occupied in their
own grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her
illness with the most anxious affection. Poor Justine was very ill;
but other trials were reserved for her.
One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the
exception of her neglected daughter, was left childless. The
conscience of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the
deaths of her favourites was a judgment from heaven to chastise her
partiality. She was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor
confirmed the idea which she had conceived. Accordingly, a few
months after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by
her repentant mother. Poor girl! She wept when she quitted our
house; she was much altered since the death of my aunt; grief had
given softness and a winning mildness to her manners, which had before
been remarkable for vivacity. Nor was her residence at her mother's
house of a nature to restore her gaiety. The poor woman was very
vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged Justine to forgive
her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of having caused the
deaths of her brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting at length
threw Madame Moritz into a decline, which at first increased her
irritability, but she is now at peace forever. She died on the first
approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this last winter.
Justine has returned to us; and I assure you I love her tenderly.
She is very clever and gentle, and extremely pretty; as I mentioned
before, her mien and her expressions continually remind me of my
dear aunt.
I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little
darling William. I wish you could see him; he is very tall for his
age, with sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling
hair. When he smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which
are rosy with health. He has already had one or two little wives,
but Louisa Biron is his favourite, a pretty little girl five years
of age.
Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little
gossip concerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield
has already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching
marriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly
sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn.
Your favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several
misfortunes since the departure of Clerval from Geneva. But he has
already recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of
marrying a very lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is
a widow, and much older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and
a favourite with everybody.
I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my
anxiety returns upon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor- one
line- one word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to
Henry for his kindness, his affection, and his many letters: we are
sincerely grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I
entreat you, write!
- Elizabeth Lavenza.
Geneva, March 18th, 17__.
-
"Dear, dear Elizabeth!" I exclaimed, when I had read her letter,
"I will write instantly, and relieve them from the anxiety they must
feel." I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but my
convalescence had commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another
fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.
One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval
to the several professors of the university. In doing this, I
underwent a kind of rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind
had sustained. Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours,
add the beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent
antipathy even to the name of natural philosophy. When I was otherwise
quite restored to health, the sight of a chemical instrument would
renew all the agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and had
removed all my apparatus from my view. He had also changed my
apartment; for he perceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room
which had previously been my laboratory. But these cares of Clerval
were made of no avail when I visited the professors. M. Waldman
inflicted torture when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the
astonishing progress I had made in the sciences. He soon perceived
that I disliked the subject; but not guessing the real cause, he
attributed my feelings to |
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