Frankenstein Picture Version PDF

1 1.  Presented to the LIBRARY of the UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO by Mrs. Andrew Kellogg  cfi&n/.- M^ / />, :HMb FRANKENSTEIN BIT MASOT Wo SME1LILIEY. SEEN BY...

1 1.  Presented to the LIBRARY of the UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO by Mrs. Andrew Kellogg  cfi&n/.- M^ / />, :HMb FRANKENSTEIN BIT MASOT Wo SME1LILIEY. SEEN BY iERVATIC ' ,:>]0 i{EET. 5 jAv re-. ' ' '  INTRODUCTION. IX would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature, and awaken thrilling horror one to make the reader dread to look round, to curdle the blood, and quicken the beatings of the heart. If I did not accomplish these things, my ghost story would be unworthy of its name. I thought and pondered vainly. I felt that blank incapability of invention which is the greatest misery of authorship, when dull Nothing replies to our anxious invocations. Have you thought of a story ? I was asked each morning, and each morning I was forced to reply with a mortifying negative. Every thing must have a beginning, to speak in San- chean phrase and that beginning must be linked to ; something that went before. The Hindoos give the world an elephant to support it, but they make the ele- phant stand upon a tortoise. Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos ; the materials must, in the first place, be afforded can give form to dark, shapeless : it substances, but cannot bring into being the substance itself. In all matters of discovery and invention, even of those that appertain to the imagination, we are con- tinually reminded of the story of Columbus and his egg. Invention consists in the capacity of seizing on the capabilities of a subject, and in the power of moulding and fashioning ideas suggested to it. Many and long were the conversations between Lord Byron and Shelley, to which I was a devout but nearly silent listener. During one of these, various philo- sophical doctrines were discussed, and among others the nature of the principle of life, and whether there was any probability of its ever being discovered and communicated. They talked of the experiments of X INTRODUCTION. Dr. Darwin, (I speak not of what the Doctor really did, or said that he did, but, as more to my purpose, of what was then spoken of as having been done by him,) who pre- served a piece of vermicelli in a glass case, till by some extraordinary means it began to move with voluntary motion. Not thus, after all, would life be given. Per- haps a corpse would be re-animated galvanism had ; given token of such things: perhaps the component parts of a creature might be manufactured, brought to- gether, and endued with vital warmth. Night waned upon this talk, and even the witching hour had gone by, before we retired to rest. When I placed my head on my pillow, I did not sleep, nor could I be said to think. My imagination, unbidden, possessed and guided me, gifting the successive images that arose in my mind with a vividness far beyond the usual bounds of reverie. I saw with shut eyes, but acute mental vision, I saw the pale student of un- hallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life, and stir with an uneasy, half vital motion. Frightful must it be for supremely frightful ; would be the effect of any human endeavour to mock the stupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world. His success would terrify the artist; he would rush away from his odious handywork, horror-stricken. He would hope that, left to itself, the slight spark of life which he had communicated would fade that this ; thing, which had received such imperfect animation, would subside into dead matter; and he might sleep in the belief that the silence of the grave would quench for ever the transient existence of the hideous corpse  INTRODUCTION. XI which he had looked upon as the cradle of life. He sleeps but he is awakened he opens his eyes behold ; ; ; the horrid thing stands at his bedside, opening his cur- tains, and looking on him with yellow, watery, but speculative eyes. I opened mine The idea so possessed my in terror. mind, that a of fear ran through me, and I wished thrill to exchange the ghastly image of my fancy for the realities around. I see them still ; the very room, the dark parquet, the closed shutters, with the moonlight struggling through, and the sense I had that the glassy lake and white high Alps were beyond. I could not so easily get rid of my hideous phantom ; still it haunted me. I must try to think of something else. I recurred tomy ghost story, my tiresome unlucky ghost story! O if I could only contrive one which would frighten ! my reader as I myself had been frightened that night ! Swift as light and as cheering was the idea that broke in upon me. " I have found it 1 What terrified me will terrify othersand I need only describe the spectre ; which had haunted my midnight pillow." On the mor- row I announced that I had thought of a story. I began was on a dreary night of No- that day with the words, It vember, making only a transcript of the grim terrors of my waking dream. At first I thought but of a few pages of a short tale ; but Shelley urged me to develope the idea at greater length. I certainly did not owe the suggestion of one incident, nor scarcely of one train of feeling, to my hus- band, and yet but for his incitement, it would never have taken the form in which it was presented to the world. From this declaration I must except the preface. As far as I can recollect, it was entirely written by him. Xll INTRODUCTION. And now, once again, I bid my hideous progeny go forth and prosper. I have an affection for it, for it was the offspring of happy days, when death and grief were but words, which found no true echo in my heart. Its several pages speak of many a walk, many a drive, and many a conversation, when I was not alone ; and my com- panion was one who, in this world, I shall never see more. But this is for myself ; my readers have nothing to do with these associations. 1 will add but one word as to the alterations I have made. They are principally those of style. I have changed no portion of the story, nor introduced any new ideas or circumstances. I have mended the lan- guage where it was so bald as to interfere with the interest of the narrative; and these changes occur almost exclusively in the beginning of the first volume. Throughout they are entirely confined to such parts as are mere adjuncts to the story, leaving the core and substance of it untouched, M. W. S. London, October 1 5. 1831.  PREFACE. THE event on which this fiction is founded, has been supposed, by Dr. Darwin, and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence. I shall not be supposed as according the remotest degree of serious faith to such an imagination ; yet, in assuming it as the basis of a work of fancy, I have not considered my- self 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 en- chantment. It was recommended by the novelty of the situations which it developes ; and, however impossible as a physical fact, affords a point of view to the imagination human passions more comprehensive for the delineating of 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, Shakspeare, 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 amuse- ment 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 exer- cising any untried resources of mind. Other motives were Z PBEFACHSJ. 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 readeryet my chief concern in this respect ; has been limited to the 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 character and situation of the hero are by no means to be conceived as existing always in my own con- viction j 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 en- virons of Geneva. The season was cold and rainy, and in the evenings we crowded around a blazing wood fire, and occasionally amused ourselves with some German stories of ghosts, which happened to fall into our hands. These tales excited in us a playful desire of imitation. Two other friends (a tale from the pen of one of whom would be far more acceptable to the public than any thing I can ever hope to produce) and myself agreed to write each a story, founded on some supernatural occurrence. The weather, however, suddenly became serene ; and my two friends left me on a journey among the Alps, and lost, in the magnificent scenes which they present, all memory of their ghostly visions. The following tale is the only one which has been completed. Marlow, September, 1817.  FRANKENSTEIN ; OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. LETTER I. To Mrs. Saville, England. St. Petersburgh, Dec. llth, 17. You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have re- garded with such evil forebodings. I arrived here yesterday; and my first task is to assure dear sister of my welfare,my and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking. I am already far north of London j and as I walk in the streets of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon mycheeks, 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. In- spirited 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 de- light. There, Margaret, the sun is for ever visible; its broad disk just skirting the horizon, and diffusing a per- petual 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 may 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 ex- B 2 4 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB, ample, 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 dis- cover the wondrous power which attracts the needle ; and may regulate a thousand celestial observations, that require only this voyage to render their seeming eccentricities con- sistent for ever. 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 con- test 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 en- thusiasm which elevates me to heaven ; for nothing con- much to tranquillise the mind as a steady purpose, tributes so 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  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 5 it to heaven. I also became a poet, and for one year lived in a Paradise of my own creation ; 1 imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the names of Homer and Shakspeare are consecrated. You are well acquainted with my failure, and how heavily I bore the disappointment. But just at that time I inherited the for- tune 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 com- menced 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 sciencefrom which a naval adventurer might derive the greatest practical advantage. Twice I actually hired my- self 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 ear- nestness ; 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 is firm ; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed. am about to proceed on a I long and emergencies of which will difficult voyage, the 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 quickly over the snow in their sledges ; fly the motion is pleasant, and, in my opinion, far more agree- able than that of an English stage-coach. The cold is not excessive, if you are wrapped in furs, a dress which I have B 3 6 FRANKENSTEIN j OR, 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 intention is to hire a ship there, which can my 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. To Mrs. Saville, England. Archangel, 28th March, 17 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 col- lecting my sailors ; whom those I have already engaged, appear to be men on whom I can depend, and are certainly possessed of dauntless courage. But have one want which I have never yet been able I 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 j but that is a poor medium for the communication of  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 7 feeling. I desire the company could sym- of a man who pathise 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 my own, to approve or amend tastes are like 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, un- allied 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 en- dowments of humanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel : finding that he was unem- ployed 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 mild- B 4 8 FRANKENSTEIN ; OH, ness of his discipline. This circumstance, added to his well known integrity and dauntless courage, made me very desirous to engage him. Ayouth passed in solitude, my best years spent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the groundwork of my character, that I can- not overcome an intense distaste to the usual brutality ex- ercised on board ship : I 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 mo- derate 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 so- licited the young woman's father to consent to her marriage with her lover. But the old man decidedly refused, think- ing himself bound in honour to my friend ; who, when he found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor re- turned until he heard that his former mistress was married " What a noble fellow " according to her inclinations. ! you will exclaim. He is so ; but then he is wholly un- educated he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind of ignorant : carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his con- duct 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  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 9 may never know, that I am wavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate ; voyage is only now and my 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 j 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 my undertaking. It is impossible to communi- cate to you a conception of the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which I am preparing to ee depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to the land of mist and snow j" but I shall kill no albatross, therefore do not be alarmed for my safety, or if I should come back to fc " you as worn and woful as the Ancient Mariner ? You 1 wih 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 pains-taking; 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 pre- sent to write to me by every opportunity I may re- : ceive 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. 10 FRANKENSTEIN j OB, LETTER III. To Mrs. Saville, England. MY DEAR SISTER, Jul y 7th ' 17 I WRITE a few lines in haste, to say that I am safe, and well advanced on my voyage. This letter will reach Eng- land 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 pur- pose ; 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 sum- mer, 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 renovat- ing 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 spring- ing 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.  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 11 LETTER IV. To Mrs, Savitte, England. August 5th, 17. So strange an accident has happened to us, that I cannot forhear recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before these papers can come into your pos- session. Monday (July 3 1st),, we were nearly surrounded Last by which closed in the ship on all sides, scarcely leav- ice, ing 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 com- rades 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 pro- gress 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 12 FRANKENSTEIN; on, 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 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 appeared on deck, the master said, I " 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, " Before I come on board although with a foreign accent. " will your vessel," said he, 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 de- struction, 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 whothus 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 at- tempted 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 chim- ney of the kitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered, and ate a little soup, which restored him wonderfully.  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 13 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 any one 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 some- times 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 tor- mented 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." rd ff Fare- " well ! It was said ; and we retired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the other was de- ceived 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, Elizabeth to renew her entreaties that I my would write often, and to bestow the last feminine attentions on her playmate and friend. it,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 plea- sure, I was now alone. In the university, whither I was going, I must form my own friends, and be my own pro- tector. My life had hitherto been remarkably secluded and domestic ; and this had given me invincible repugnance to new countenances. I loved mybrothers, Elizabeth, and Clerval ; these were " old familiar faces ; " but I believed myself totally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such were my reflections as 1 commenced my journey ; but as I proceeded, my and hopes rose. I ardently desired spirits 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 32 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, station among other human heings. Now my desires were complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to repent. I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflec- tions during journey to Ingolstadt, which was long my 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 Mr. 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 appertain- ing 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 stept aside, and wrote down a list of several books treating of natural philosophy, which he desired me to procure j 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, a fellow-professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he omitted.  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. S3 I returned home,, not disappointed, for I have said that I had long considered those authors useless whom the pro- fessor reprobated ; but I returned, not at all the more in- clined to recur to these studies in any shape. M. Krempe was a squat man, with a gruff voice and a repulsive little countenance the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me ; in favour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected a have given an account strain, perhaps, I of the conclusions concerning them in my I had come to 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 enquirers 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 immor- tality and power such views, although futile, were grand : ; but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the enquirer 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 my new abode. But as the ensuing principal residents in 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 recol- lected 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 ex- pressive of the greatest benevolence j a few grey hairs co- vered his temples, but those at the back of his head were D 34 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, 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 learn- ing, pronouncing with fervour the names of the most dis- tinguished 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, pro- mised impossibilities, and performed nothing. The mo- dern 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 mi- croscope 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  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 35 remained a resolution ancient studies, and to return to my i to devote : myself which I believed myself to a science for 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 names of Cornelius Agrippa and Para- at the celsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had ex- hibited. He said, that ' these were men to whose inde- ' fatigable 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 advan- tage of mankind." I listened to his statement, which was delivered without any presumption or affectation j 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. " am " to have I happy/' said M. Waldman, 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 de-i partment of human knowledge alone. If your wish is to become really a man of science, and not merely a petty ex- D 2 86 FRANKENSTEIN; OB, perimentalist, 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 instructing me as to of his various machines ; what I ought to procure, and promisingwne 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 listof 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 day natural philosophy, and particularly che- this mistry, inthe 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 enquirers have written on these subjects. I at- tended 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 inform- ation, 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 enquiries 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. ardour was indeed the asto- My nishment of the students, and my proficiency that of the  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 37 masters. Professor Krempe often asked me, with a sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa went on ? whilst M. Wald- man 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 j 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 at the solely wrapt up in this, improved so rapidly, that, end of two years, I made some discoveries in the improve- ment 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 de- pended on the lessons of any of the professors at Ingolstadt, my residence there being no longer conducive to my im- provements, I thought of returning to my friends and my native town, when an incident happened that protracted ray stay. One of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted my was the structure of the human frame, and, attention 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 enquiries. 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, Jand almost in- tolerable. To examine the causes of life, we must first have recourse to death. I became acquainted with the D 3 38 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB, science of anatomy : but this was not sufficient j I must also observe the naturaldecay 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 be- came dizzy with the immensity of the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised, that among so many men of genius who had directed their enquiries towards the same science, that I alone should be reserved to discover so aston- ishing 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 gener- ation and life ; nay, more, I became myself capable of be- stowing 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  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 39 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 seem- ingly ineffectual, light. I see by your eagerness, and the wonder and hope which your eyes express, my friend, that you expect to be in- formed of the secret with which I am acquainted ; that cannot be : listen patiently until the end of my story, and you am reserved upon that sub- will easily perceive why I ject. unguarded and ardent as I I will not lead you on, 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 ca- pacity 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 organ- ization ; 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 D 4 40 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, considered the improvement which every day takes place in science and mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my pre- sent attempts would at least lay the foundations of future success. Nor could I consider the magnitude and com- plexity of plan as any argument of its impracticability, my It was with these feelings that I began the creation of a human being. As the minuteness of the parts formed a great hinderance 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 na- tures would owetheir being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs. Pursuing these reflections, J thought, that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible) re- new 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 ema- ciated 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  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 41 frantic, impulse, urged me forward ; I seemed to have lost allsoul 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, Ihad 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 separ- ated from all the other apartments by a gallery and stair- case, 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 work near to a conclusion. my 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 feelingsx 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 father : f I know that while you are pleased ' the words of my 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 feel- ings ; but I could not tear my thoughts from my employ- ment, loathsome in itself, but which had taken an irre- sistible 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 42 FRANKENSTEIN ,' OK, 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 em- pires ofMexico 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 enquiring 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 en- grossed 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 suc- ceeded. Butenthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, my 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.  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 43 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, I 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 white- ness ; 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 ex- ceeded 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, and continued a long time traversing my bedchamber, 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 forget- fulness. But it was in vain : I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Eliza- beth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of 44 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, 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 fore- head, 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 court- yard belonging to the house which I inhabited ; where J remained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catch- ing 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 counte- ! nance. 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 dis- covered to my sleepless and aching eyes the church of In- golstadt, its white steeple and clock, which indicated the  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 45 sixth hour. The porter opened the gates of the court, which had that night beenasylum, and I issued into the my 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, en- deavouring, 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."* 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 ob- served 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. " dear Frankenstein," exclaimed he, " how glad I am My 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, Eliza- beth, and all those scenes of home so dear to my recollec- tion. 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 wel- comed 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 " Ancient Mariner." Coleridge's 46 FRANKENSTEIN; OB, good fortune in being permittedto come to Ingolstadt. You c' may easily believe," said he, (( how great was the diffi- culty to persuade father that all necessary knowledge my was not comprised in the noble art of book-keeping ; 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 schoolmaster in the Vicar of Wake- ' field : 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 my father, brothers, and Elizabeth." left " and very happy, only a little uneasy that Very well, 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 I did not before remark how very ill you f( full in my face, appear ; so thin and pale ; you look as if you had been watching for several nights." " You have I have lately been so deeply guessed right ; 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 atmy college. I then reflected, and the thought made me shiver, that the creature whom I had left in my apartment might be there, alive, and walking about. still 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  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 47 nothing appeared. I stepped fearfully in : the apartment was empty ; and my bed-room 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 ac- count; and my loud, unrestrained, heartless laughter, fright- ened and astonished him. " (c 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 hands before not ask me," cried I, putting my my eyes, for I thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room ; " he can tell. Oh, save me ! save me !" I ima- gined 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 advanced age, and unfitness for so father's long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the ex- tent 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. 48 FRANKENSTEIN j OR, 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 for ever 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 pertina- city 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. " how kind, how very {f Dearest Clerval," exclaimed I, good you are to me.This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you promised yourself, has been con- sumed 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 j 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 " I will not mention change of colour, it, if it agitates you; but your father and cousin would be very happy if they received a letter from you in your own hand-writing. They hardly know how ill you have been, and are uneasy at your long silence." " Is that How could you suppose i, all, my dear Henry ?  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 49 that my first thought 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 per- haps 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 my hands. It was from my own Elizabeth : Ci My " You have been dearest Cousin, 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 Ingol- stadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveni- ences 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 ; and not a care will ever cloud his benevolent countenance. How pleased you would be remark the improvement of our Ernest to He ! is now sixteen, and full of activity and spirit. He is de- sirous to be a true Swiss, and to enter into foreign service ; 50 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB, but we cannot part with him, at least until his elder bro- ther 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, climb- I fear that he will be- ing the hills or rowing on the lake. come 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 chil- dren, 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 exer- tions 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 Jus- tine 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 per- versity, 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 for- tunate 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  THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 51 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, hy 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 evennow she often reminds me of her. " When my dearest aunt died, every one was too much occupied in their own grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness with the most anxious affec- tion. Poor Justine was very ill ; but other trials were re- served 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 your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was after called home by her repentant mother. Poor girl she wept ! when she quitted our house j she was much altered since the death of my aunt ; grief had given softness and a win- ning mildness to her manners, which had before been re- markable for vivacity. Nor was her residence at her mother's house of a nature to restore her The gaiety. 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 for ever. She died on the first approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this H 2 52 FRANKENSTEIN; OK, 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 of his age, with sweet laughing hlue 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 of five years of age. " dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged Now, in a littlegossip concerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield has already received the con- gratulatory 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.