Friday, September 27, 2019

FRANKENSTEIN FULL BOOK

INTRODUCTION. IX 

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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 : it can give form to dark, shapeless 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 in terror. The idea so possessed my mind, that a thrill of fear ran through me, and I wished 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 to my 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 others ; and 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 that day with the words, It was on a dreary night of No- 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 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, 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 reader ; yet 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 my dear sister of my welfare, 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 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. 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- tributes 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 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 science from 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. 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 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 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. 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 ; 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 j but that is a poor medium for the communication of THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 7 feeling. I desire the company of a man who could sym- 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 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, 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. 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 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 according to her inclinations. " What a noble fellow ! " 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 ; 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 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 depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to ee 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 you as worn and woful as the fc Ancient Mariner ? " You wih 1 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. Last Monday (July 3 1st),, we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed in the ship on all sides, scarcely leav- 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 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 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 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 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." <( 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 dae- mon, 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 enquiries." " Certainly ; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine." 14 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, ft And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation ; you have benevolently restored me to life." Soon after this he enquired 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 decay- ing 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 ob- ject should appear in sight. Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occur- rence 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 ex- cites 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 THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 15 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 con- tinually on the 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 fer- vour that warmed me, how gladly I would sacrifice my for- tune, 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 cu- riosity; 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 : 1 6 FRANKENSTEIN j OR, 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 every thing, 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, seems 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 judg- ment ; a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled for clearness and precision ; add to this a facility of ex- pression, and a voice whose varied intonations are soul-sub- duing music. THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 17 August 19. 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, ex- posing 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. Pre- pare to hear of occurrences which are usually deemed mar- vellous. Were we among the tamer scenes of nature, I might fear to encounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things wiU 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. " T 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 des- tiny : listen to my history, and you will perceive how irrevocably it is determined." c 18 FRANKENSTEIN ! OB, 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 melan- choly 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 repu- tation. 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 cha- racter, I cannot refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a merchant, who, from a flou- rishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into po- verty. 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 magni- THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 1Q ficence. 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 wretched- ness. 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 mean time he hoped to procure some respectable employ- ment 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 of any ex- ertion. 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 ad- versity. She procured plain work ; she plaited straw ; and by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely suf- ficient 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 en- tered the chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the c 2 20 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, 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 dis- posed 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 in- expressible grace to his behaviour to her. Every thing 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 imme- diately 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 at Naples, and as an infant accom- panied 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 THE 3IODERN PROMETHEUS. 21 their child, the innocent and helpless creature hestowed on them by Heaven,, whom to bring up to good,, and whose future lot it was in their hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they 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 Milan, 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 mould- ing 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. c 3 22 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, The peasant woman,, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and 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 me- mory of the antique glory of Italy, one among the schiavi ognor frementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its 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 j but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want, when Providence afforded her such powerful protec- tion. 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. Every one 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- to-morrow 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 THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 23 cherish. All praises bestowed on her, I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other fami- liarly 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 con- trast that subsisted in our characters drew us nearer toge- ther. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated dis- position; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense application, and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge. She busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets ; and in the majestic wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss home -{ sublime shapes of the mountains ; the changes of the sea- sons; 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 mag- nificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their causes. The world was to me a secret which I de- sired 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 24 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, the lives of my parents were passed in considerable seclu- sion. 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 com- posed 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 er/]-oyed. When I mingled with other families, I distinctly discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and grati- tude assisted the developement of filial love. - My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions ve- hement ; but by some law in my temperature they were turned, not towards childish pursuits, but to an eager de- sire 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 enquiries were directed to the metaphysical, or, in its high- est 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 THE MODERN PR031ETHEUS. 25 whose names are recorded in story, as the gallant and ad- venturous benefactors of our species. The saintly soul of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peace- ful 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 gentle- ness. And Clerval could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval? yet he might not have been so per- fectly 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, in drawing the picture of my 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 proceeded, it be- came the torrent which, in its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys. Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate j 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, bound- ing with joy, I communicated my discovery to my father. xiO FRANKEXSTEIN ; OR, My father looked carelessly at the titlepage 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 chi- merical, 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 trea- sures known to few beside myself. I have described my- self as always having been embued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of nature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern philosophers, I always came from my studies discontented and unsatis- fied. Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking up shells beside the great and unex- plored ocean of truth. Those of his successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted, appeared even to my boy's 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 THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 2? utterly unknown to him. I had gazed upon the fortifica- tions and impediments that seemed to keep human beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and igno- rantly I had repined. But here were books, and here were men who had pene- trated 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 w r ould at- tend 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 fulfilment 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 ^floun- dering desperately in a very slough of multifarious know- ledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish reason- ing, 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 thunder-storm. 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 28 FRANKENSTEIN ; OR, house ; and so soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing remained hut 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 any thing so utterly destroyed. Before this I was not unacquainted with the more ob- vious 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 gal- vanism, 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 imagin- ation ; 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 sug- gestion 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 tranquil- lity 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 prose- cution, happiness with their disregard. THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 29 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. I had attained the age of seventeen, my parents re- solved that I should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had hitherto attended the schools of Ge- neva ; but my father thought it necessary, for the comple- tion 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 j 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 con- trol her anxiety. She attended her sick bed, her watch- ful attentions triumphed over the malignity of the dis- temper, 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 Eliza- beth 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, SO FRANKENSTEIN j OR, 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 affec- tion 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 tlespair 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 a beloved eye can have been extinguished, and the sound of a voice so familiar, and clear 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 ob- tained 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 j and, above all, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled. She indeed veiled her grief, and strove to act the com- forter 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 THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 31 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 wx>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, my Elizabeth to renew her entreaties that I 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 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 1 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 i : THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 35 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 Para- 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. " 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 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 of his various machines ; instructing me as to 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 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 day natural philosophy, and particularly che- mistry, 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 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. My ardour was indeed the asto- 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 solely wrapt up in this, improved so rapidly, that, at the 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 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 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 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 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 will easily perceive why I am reserved upon that sub- ject. 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 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 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 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 owe their 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 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 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 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 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 the words of my father : f ' 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 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 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 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. 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. 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 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, 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. " 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, 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 Coleridge's " Ancient Mariner." 46 FRANKENSTEIN; OB, good fortune in being permitted to come to Ingolstadt. c ' You may easily believe," said he, (( how great was the diffi- culty to persuade my father that all necessary knowledge 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 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, f( 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 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. " My dear Victor," cried he, (c 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 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 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 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. {f 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 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 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 hand-writing. They hardly know how ill you have been, and are uneasy at your long silence." i, " Is that all, my dear Henry ? How could you suppose 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 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 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 to remark the improvement of our Ernest ! 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- ing the hills or rowing on the lake. I fear that he will be- 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 even now 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 after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was 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 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 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. " 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 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.
FRANKENSTEIN ; OK X to me, and I will defend it. Remember,, thou liast made me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine ; my joints more supple. But I will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to thee. I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king, if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other, and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. Remember, that I am thy creature ; I ought to be thy Adam ; but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Every where I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous." 1 e Begone ! I will not hear you. There can be no com- munity between you and me ; we are enemies. Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, in which one must fall." 1 e How can I move thee ? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion ? Believe me, Frankenstein r I was benevolent ; my soul glowed with love and humanity: but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me ; what hope can I gather from your fellow- creatures, who owe me nothing ? they spurn and hate me. The desert mountains and dreary glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here many days ; the caves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the only one which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they are kinder to me than your fellow-beings. If the multitude of mankind knew of my existence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for my destruction. Shall I not then hate them who abhor me ? I will keep no terms with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my wretchedness. Yet it is in your power to recompense me, and deliver them from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great, that not only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be swallowed up in the whirl- winds of its rage. Let your compassion be moved, and do THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 85 not disdain me. Listen to my tale : when you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me., as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me. The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they are, to speak in their own defence before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder ; and yet you would, with a sa- tisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man ! Yet I ask you not to spare me: listen to me ; and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of your hands." " Why do you call to my remembrance," I rejoined, " circumstances, of which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author ? Cursed be the day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw light ! Cursed (although I curse myself) be the hands that formed you ! You have made me wretched beyond expression. You have left me no power to consider whether I am just to you, or not. Begone ! relieve me from the sight of your detested form." " Thus I relieve thee, my creator," he said, and placed his hated hands before my eyes, which I flung from me with violence ; " thus I take from thee a sight which you abhor. Still thou canst listen to me, and grant me thy compassion, By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this from you. Hear my tale ; it is long and strange, and the tem- perature of this place is not fitting to your fine sensations ; come to the hut upon the mountain. The sun is yet high in the heavens ; before it descends to hide itself behind yon snowy precipices, and illuminate another world, you will have heard my story, and can decide. On you it rests, whether I quit for ever the neighbourhood of man, and lead a harmless life, or become the scourge of your fellow- creatures, and the author of your own speedy ruin." As he said this, he led the way across the ice : I fol- lowed. My heart was full, and I did not answer him ; but, as I proceeded, I weighed the various arguments that he had used, and determined at least to listen to his tale. I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my resolution. I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my brother, and I eagerly sought a confirm- G 3 8 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, ation or denial of this opinion. For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I complained of his wickedness. These motives urged me to comply with his demand. We crossed the ice, therefore, and as- cended the opposite rock. Tfye air was cold, and the rain again began to descend : we entered the hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy heart, and depressed spirits. But I consented to listen ; and, seating myself by the fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus began his tale. CHAPTER XI. " IT is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original era of my being : all the events of that period ap- pear confused and indistinct. A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard, and smelt, at the same time ; and it was, indeed, a long time before I learned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses. By degrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so that I was obliged to shut my eyes. Darkness then came over me, and troubled me; but hardly had I felt this, when, by opening my eyes, as I now sup- pose, the light poured in upon me again. I walked, and, I believe, descended ; but I presently found a great alter- ation in my sensations. Before, dark and opaque bodies had surrounded me, impervious to my touch or sight ; but I now found that I could wander on at liberty, with no obstacles which I could not either surmount or avoid. The light became more and more oppressive to me ; and, the heat wearying me as I walked, I sought a place where I could receive shade. This was the forest near Ingolstadt ; and here I lay by the side of a brook resting from my fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger and thirst. This roused me from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some berries which I found hanging on the trees, or lying on the THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 87 ground. I slaked my thirst at the brook ; and then lying down, was overcome by sleep. " It was dark when I awoke ; I felt cold also, and half- frightened, as it were instinctively, finding myself so de- solate. Before I had quitted your apartment, on a sensation of cold, I had covered myself with some clothes ; but these were insufficient to secure me from the dews of night. I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch ; I knew, and could distinguish, nothing ; but feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat down and wept. " Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens, and gave me a sensation of pleasure.' I started up, and beheld a radiant form rise from among the trees.* I gazed with a kind of wonder. It moved slowly, but it enlightened my path ; and I again went out in search of berries. I was still cold, when under one of the trees I found a huge cloak, with which I covered myself, and sat down upon the ground. No distinct ideas occupied my mind ; all was confused. I felt light, and hunger, and thirst, and dark- ness ; innumerable sounds rung in my ears, and on all sides various scents saluted me : the only object that I could distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with pleasure. " Several changes of day and night passed, and the orb of night had greatly lessened, when I began to distinguish my sensations from each other. I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with drink, and the trees that shaded me with their foliage. I was delighted when I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my ears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had often intercepted the light from my eyes. I began also to observe, with greater accuracy, the forms that surrounded me, and to perceive the boundaries of the radiant roof of light which canopied me. Sometimes I tried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds, but was unable. Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into silence again. " The moon had disappeared from the night, and again, * The moon. O 4 88 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, with a lessened form, showed itself, while I still remained in the forest. My sensations had, by this time, become distinct, and my mind received every day additional ideas. My eyes became accustomed to the light, and to perceive objects in their right forms ; I distinguished the insect from the herb, and, by degrees, one herb from another. I found that the sparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst those of the blackbird and thrush were sweet and enticing. e( One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been left by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the warmth I experienced from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live embers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain. How strange, I thought, that the same cause should produce such op- posite effects ! I examined the materials of the fire, and to my joy found it to be composed of wood. I quickly collected some branches ; but they were wet, and would not burn. I was pained at this, and sat still watching the operation of the fire. The wet wood which I had placed near the heat dried, and itself became inflamed. I reflected on this ; and, by touching the various branches, I disco- vered the cause, and busied myself in collecting a great quantity of wood, that I might dry it, and have a plentiful supply of fire. When night came on, and brought sleep with it, I was in the greatest fear lest my fire should be extinguished. 1 covered it carefully with dry wood and leaves, and placed wet branches upon it ; and then, spread- ing my cloak, I lay on the ground, and sunk into sleep. " It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was to visit the fire. I uncovered it, and a gentle breeze quickly fanned it into a flame. I observed this also, and contrived a fan of branches, which roused the embers when they were nearly extinguished. When night came again, I found, with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as heat ; and that the discovery of this element was useful to me in my food ; for I found some of the offals that the travellers had left had been roasted, and tasted much more savoury than the berries 1 gathered from the trees. I tried, therefore, to dress my food in the same manner, placing it on the live embers. I found that the berries THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. O[) were spoiled by this operation, and the nuts and roots much improved. " Food, however, became scarce ; and I often spent the whole day searching in vain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of hunger. When I found this, I resolved to quit the place that I had hitherto inhabited, to seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be more easily satisfied. In this emigration, I exceedingly lamented the loss of the fire which I had obtained through accident, and knew not how to reproduce it. I gave several hours to the serious consideration of this difficulty; but I was obliged to relinquish all attempt to supply it ; and, wrap- ping myself up in my cloak, I struck across the wood towards the setting sun. I passed three days in these rambles, and at length discovered the open country. A great fall of snow had taken place the night before, and the fields were of one uniform white ; the appearance was disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold damp substance that covered the ground. " It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and shelter ; at length I perceived a small hut, on a rising ground, which had doubtless been built for the convenience of some shepherd. This was a new sight to me; and I examined the structure with great curiosity. Finding the door open, I entered. An old man sat in it, near a fire, over which he was preparing his breakfast. He turned on hearing a noise ; and, perceiving me, shrieked loudly, and, quitting the hut, ran across the fields with a speed of which his debilitated form hardly appeared capable. His appearance, different from any I had ever before seen, and his flight, somewhat surprised me. But I was enchanted by the appearance of the hut : here the snow and rain could not penetrate ; the ground was dry ; and it presented to me then as exquisite and divine a retreat as Pandsemonium appeared to the daemons of hell after their sufferings in the lake of fire. I greedily devoured the remnants of the shep- herd's breakfast, which consisted of bread, cheese, milk, and wine; the latter, however, I did not like. Then, overcome by fatigue, I lay down among some straw, and fell asleep. " It was noon when I awoke ; and, allured by the 90 FRANKENSTE IN ; OR, warmth of the sun, which shone brightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my travels ; and, depositing the remains of the peasant's breakfast in a wallet I found, I proceeded across the fields for several hours, until at sunset I arrived at a village. How mira- culous did this appear ! the huts, the neater cottages, and stately houses, engaged my admiration by turns. The vegetables in the gardens, the milk and cheese that I saw placed at the windows of some of the cottages, allured my appetite. One of the best of these I entered; but I had hardly placed my foot within the door, before the children shrieked, and one of the women fainted. The whole vil- lage was roused ; some fled, some attacked me, until, grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of mis- sile weapons, I escaped to the open country, and fearfully took refuge in a low hovel, quite bare, and making a wretched appearance after the palaces I had beheld in the village. This hovel, however, joined a cottage of a neat and pleasant appearance ; but, after my late dearly bought experience, I dared not enter it. My place of refuge was constructed of wood, but so low, that I could with diffi- culty sit upright in it. No wood, however, was placed on the earth, which formed the floor, but it was dry; and although the wind entered it by innumerable chinks, I found it an agreeable asylum from the snow and rain. " Here then I retreated, and lay down happy to have found a shelter, however miserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more from the barbarity of man. " As soon as morning dawned, I crept from my kennel, that I might view the adjacent cottage, and discover if I could remain in the habitation I had found. It was situated against the back of the cottage, and surrounded on the sides which were exposed by a pig-sty and a clear pool of water. One part was open, and by that I had crept in ; but now I covered every crevice by which I might be per- ceived with stones and wood, yet in such a manner that I might move them on occasion to pass out : all the light I enjoyed came through the sty, and that was sufficient for me. fc Having thus arranged my dwelling, and carpeted it with clean straw, I retired ; for I saw the figure of a man THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 9 at a distance, and I remembered too well my treatment the night before, to trust myself in his power. I had first, however, provided for my sustenance for that day, by a loaf of coarse bread, which I purloined, and a cup with which I could drink, more conveniently than from my hand, of the pure water which flowed by my retreat. The floor was a little raised, so that it was kept perfectly dry, and by its vicinity to the chimney of the cottage it was tolerably warm, (e Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel, until something should occur which might alter my deter- mination. It was indeed a paradise, compared to the bleak forest, my former residence, the rain-dropping branches, and dank earth. I ate my breakfast with plea- sure, and was about to remove a plank to procure myself a little water, when I heard a step, and looking through a small chink, I beheld a young creature, with a pail on her head, passing before my hovel. The girl was young, and of gentle demeanour, unlike what I have since found cot- tagers and farm-house servants to be. Yet she was meanly dressed, a coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being her only garb ; her fair hair was plaited, but not adorned : she looked patient, yet sad. I lost sight of her ; and in about a quarter of an hour she returned, bearing the pail, which was now partly filled with milk. As she walked along, seemingly incommoded by the burden, a young man met her, whose countenance expressed a deeper despond- ence. Uttering a few sounds with an air of melancholy, he took the pail from her head, and bore it to the cottage himself. She followed, and they disappeared. Presently I saw the young man again, with some tools in his hand, cross the field behind the cottage ; and the girl was also busied, sometimes in the house, and sometimes in the yard. " On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the windows of the cottage had formerly occupied a part of it, but the panes had been filled up with wood. In one of these was a small and almost imperceptible chink, through which the eye could just penetrate. Through this crevice a small room was visible, whitewashed and clean, but very bare of furniture. In one corner, near a small fire, sat an old man, leaning his head on his hands in a disconsolate 9*2 FRANKENSTEIN j OR, attitude. The young girl was occupied in arranging the cottage ; but presently she took something out of a drawer, which employed her hands., and she sat down beside the old man, who, taking up an instrument, began to play, and to produce sounds sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the nightingale. It was a lovely sight, even to rne, poor wretch ! who had never beheld aught beautiful before. The silver hair and benevolent countenance of the aged cottager won my reverence, while the gentle manners of the girl enticed my love. He played a sweet mournful air, which I per- ceived drew tears from the eyes of his amiable companion, of which the old man took no notice, until she sobbed audibly; he then pronounced a few sounds, and the fair creature, leaving her work, knelt at his feet. He raised her, and smiled with such kindness and affection, that I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature : they were a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I had never before experienced, either from hunger or cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the window, unable to bear these emotions. " Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on his shoulders a load of wood. The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of his burden, and, taking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on the fire ; then she and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage, and he showed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese. She seemed pleased, and went into the garden for some roots and plants, which she placed in water, and then upon the fire. She afterwards continued her work, whilst the young man went into the garden, and appeared busily employed in digging and pulling up roots. After he had been employed thus about an hour, the young woman joined him, and they entered the cottage together. " The old man had, in the mean time, bseix pensive; but, on the appearance of his companions, he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down to eat. The meal was quickly despatched. The young woman was again occupied in arranging the cottage; the old man walked* before the cottage in the sun for a few minutes, leaning on the arm of the youth. Nothing could exceed in beauty the contrast THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 93 between these two excellent creatures. One was old, with silver hairs and a countenance beaming with benevolence and love : the younger was slight and graceful in his figure, and his features were moulded with the finest symmetry; yet his eyes and attitude expressed the utmost sadness and despondency. The old man returned to the cottage ; and the youth, with tools different from those he had used in the morning, directed his steps across the fields. " Night quickly shut in ; but, to my extreme wonder, I found that the cottagers had a means of prolonging light by the use of tapers, and was delighted to find that the setting of the sun did not put an end to the pleasure I experienced in watching my human neighbours. In the evening, the young girl and her companion were employed in various occupations which I did not understand ; and the old man again took up the instrument which produced the divine sounds that had enchanted me in the morning. So soon as he had finished, the youth began, not to play, but to utter sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling the harmony of the old man's instrument nor the songs of the birds : I since found that he read aloud, but at that time I knew nothing of the science of words or letters. " The family, after having been thus occupied for a short time, extinguished their lights, and retired, as I con- jectured, to rest. CHAPTER XII. <( I LAY on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences of the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these people ; and I longed to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well the treatment I had suffered the night before from the barbarous villagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I might hereafter think it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain quietly in my hovel, watching, and endeavouring to discover the motives which influenced their actions. fe The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun. 94 FRANKENSTEIN ; OR, The young woman arranged the cottage, and prepared the food ; and the youth departed after the first meal. " This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. The young man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various laborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be blind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument or in con- templation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the younger cottagers exhibited towards their vene- rable companion. They performed towards him every little office of affection and duty with gentleness ; and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles. " They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often went apart, and appeared to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness ; but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy ? They possessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes) and every luxury ; they had a fire to warm them when chill, and delicious viands when hungry ; they were dressed in excellent clothes : and, still more, they en- joyed one another's company and speech, interchanging each day looks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply ? Did they really express pain ? I was at first unable to solve these questions ; but perpetual attention and time explained to me many appearances which were at first enigmatic. f( A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of the uneasiness of this amiable family : it was poverty ; and they suffered that evil in a very distressing degree. Their nourishment consisted entirely of the vege- tables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, which gave very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely procure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottagers ; for several times they placed food before the old man, when they reserved none for themselves. " This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed, during the night, to steal a part of their store THE JIODEBN PROMETHEUS. 95 for my own consumption ; but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottagers, I abstained, and satis- fied myself with berries, nuts, and roots, which I gathered from a neighbouring wood. " I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist their labours. I found that the youth spent a great part of each day in collecting wood for the family fire ; and, during the night, I often took his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home firing sufficient for the consumption of several days. " I remember, the first time that I did this, the young woman, when she opened the door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a great pile of wood on the outside. She uttered some words in a loud voice, and the youth joined her, who also expressed surprise. I observed, with pleasure, that he did not go to the forest that day, but spent it in repairing the cottage, and cultivating the garden. (e By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that these people possessed a method of commu- nicating their experience and feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words they spoke sometimes, produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was in- deed a godlike science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it. But I was baffled in every attempt I made for this purpose. Their pronunciation was quick ; and the words they uttered, not having any apparent con- nection with visible objects, I was unable to discover any clue by which I could unravel the mystery of their refer- ence. By great application, however, and after having re- mained during the space of several revolutions of the moon in my hovel, I discovered the names that were given to some of the most familiar objects of discourse ; I learned and applied the words, fire, milk, bread, and wood. I learned also the names of the cottagers themselves. The youth and his companion had each of them several names^ but the old man had only one, which was father. The girl was called sister, or Agatha; and the youth Felix, bro- ther, or son. I cannot describe the delight I felt when I learned the ideas appropriated to each of these sounds, and 96 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, was able to pronounce them. I distinguished several other words, without being able as yet to understand or apply them ; such as good, dearest, unhappy. " I spent the winter in this manner. The gentle man- ners and beauty of the cottagers greatly endeared them to me : when they were unhappy,, I felt depressed ; when they rejoiced, I sympathised in their joys. I saw few hu- man beings beside them; and if any other happened to enter the cottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the superior accomplishments of my friends. The old man, I could perceive, often endeavoured to en- courage his children, as sometimes I found that he called them, to cast off their melancholy. He would talk in a cheerful accent, with an expression of goodness that be- stowed pleasure even upon me. Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes filled with tears, which she endeavoured to wipe away unperceived ; but I generally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful after having listened to the exhortations of her father. It was not thus with Felix. He was always the saddest of the group ; and, even to my unpractised senses, he ap- peared to have suffered more deeply than his friends. But if his countenance was more sorrowful, his voice was more cheerful than that of his sister, especially when he addressed the old man. that I should often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my unearthly occupation. I must absent myself from all I loved while thus employed. Once K3 134, FRANKENSTEIN ! OR, commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be restored to my family in peace and happiness. My pro- mise fulfilled, the monster would depart for ever. Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him, and put an end to my slavery for ever. These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I ex- pressed a wish to visit England ; but, concealing the true reasons of this request, I clothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I urged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to comply. After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy, that resembled madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a jour- ney, and he hoped that change of scene and varied amuse- ment would, before my return, have restored me entirely to myself. The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or at most a year, was the period contem- plated. One paternal kind precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion. Without previously com- municating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth, arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasburgh. This interfered with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task ; yet at the commencement of my journey the pre- sence of my friend could in no way be an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many hours of lonely, maddening reflection. Nay, Henry might stand between me and the intrusion of my foe. If I were alone, would he not at times force his abhorred presence on me, to remind me of my task, or to contemplate its progress ? To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was under- stood that my union with Elizabeth should take place im- mediately on my return. My father's age rendered him extremely averse to delay. For myself, there was one reward I promised myself from my detested toils one consolation for my unparalleled sufferings ; it was the prospect of that day when, enfranchised from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth, and forget the past in my union with her. I now made arrangements for my journey; but one THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 135 feeling haunfed me, which filled me with fear and agitation. During my absence I should leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy, and unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my departure. But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go ; and would he not accompany me to England ? This imagination was dreadful in itself, but soothing, inasmuch as it sup- posed the safety of my friends. I was agonised with 'the idea of the possibility that the reverse of this might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the slave of my creature, I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of the moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend would follow me, and exempt my family from the danger of his machinations. It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native country. My journey had been my own sug- gestion, and Elizabeth, therefore, acquiesced : but she was filled with disquiet at the idea of my suffering, away from her, the inroads of misery and grief. It had been her care which provided me a companion in Clerval and yet a man is blind to a thousand minute circumstances, which call forth a woman's sedulous attention. She longed to bid me hasten my return, a thousand conflicting emotions rendered her mute, as she bade me a tearful silent fare- well. I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around. I remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with me. Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful and majestic scenes; but my eyes were fixed and unobserving. I could only think of the bourne of my travels, and the work which was to occupy me whilst they endured. After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the contrast between us ! He was alive to every new scene ; joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting sun, K 4 136 FRANKENSTEIN ' OK, and more happy when he beheld it rise, and recommence a new day. He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape, and the appearances of the sky. " This is what it is to live," he cried, e ' now I enjoy existence ! But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you desponding and sorrowful ! " In truth, I was occupied by gloomy thoughts, and neither saw the descent of the evening star, nor the golden sunrise reflected in the Rhine. And you, my friend, would be far more amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections. I, a miser- able wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment. We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgb to Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London. During this voyage, we passed many willowy islands, and saw several beautiful towns. We stayed a day at Manheim, and, on the fifth from our departure from Strasburgh, arrived at Mayence. The course of the Rhine below Mayence becomes much more picturesque. The river descends rapidly, and winds between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw many ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by black woods, high and inaccessible. This part of the Rhine, indeed, presents a singularly variegated landscape. In one spot you view rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tre- mendous precipices, with the dark Rhine rushing beneath ; and, on the sudden turn of a promontory, flourishing vine- yards, with green sloping banks, and a meandering river, and populous towns occupy the scene. We travelled at the time of the vintage, and heard the song of the labourers, as we glided .down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and my spirits continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased. I lay at the bot- tom of the boat, and, as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a stranger. And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of Henry ? He felt as if he had been trans- ported to Fairy-land, and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by man. " I have seen," he said, (( the most beautiful THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 137 scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lu- cerne and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful appear- ance, were it not for the most verdant islands that relieve the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water, and gave you an idea of what the water-spout must be on the great ocean ; and the waves dash with fury the base of the mountain, where the priest and his mis- tress were overwhelmed by an avalanche, and where their dying voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind ; I have seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud : but this country, Victor, pleases ine more than all those wonders. The mountains of Swit- zerland are more majestic and strange ; but there is a charm in the banks of this divine river, that I never before saw equalled. Look at that castle which overhangs yon preci- pice ; and that also on the island, almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees j and now that group of labourers coming from among their vines ; and that village half hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely, the spirit that inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man, than those who pile the glacier, or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of our own country." Clerval ! beloved friend ! even now it delights me to record your words, and to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He was a being formed in the " very poetry of nature." His wild and enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart. His soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friend- ship was of that devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to look for only in the imagin- ation. But even human sympathies were not sufficient to satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature, which others regard only with admiration, he loved with ardour : 138 FRANKENSTEIN; OR, " The sounding cataract Haunted him like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to him An appetite ; a feeling, and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, or any interest UnborrowM from the eye "* And where does he now exist ? Is this gentle and lovely being lost for ever? Has this mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful and magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the life of its creator ; has this mind perished? Does it now only exist in my memory ? No, it is not thus ; your form so divinely wrought, and beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and consoles your unhappy friend. Pardon this gush of sorrow ; these ineffectual words are but a slight tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart, overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates. I will proceed with my tale. Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland ; and we resolved to post the remainder of our way ; for the wind was contrary, and the stream of the river was too gentle to aid us. Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery; but we arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England. It was on a clear morn- ing, in the latter days of December, that I first saw the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames pre- sented a new scene ; they were flat, but fertile, and almost every town was marked by the remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort, and remembered the Spanish ar- mada ; Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich, places which I had heard of even in my country. At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul's towering above all, and the Tower famed in English history. * Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey. THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 139 CHAPTER XIX. LONDON was our present point of rest ; we determined to remain several months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this time ; but this was with me a secondary object ; I was principally occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the com- pletion of my promise, and quickly availed myself of the letters of introduction that I had brought with me, ad- dressed to the most distinguished natural philosophers. If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness, it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had come over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of the information they might give me on the subject in which my interest was so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me ; when alone, 1 could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth ; the voice of Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory peace. But busy unin- teresting joyous faces brought back despair to my heart. I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my fellow-men ; this barrier was sealed with the blood of Wil- liam and Justine ; and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled my soul with anguish. But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive, and anxious to gain experience and instruc- tion. The difference of manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of instruction and amusement. He was also pursuing an object he had long had in view. His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had in his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had taken of its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of European colonisation and trade. In Britain only could he further the execution of his plan. He was for ever busy; and the only check to his enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the 140 FRANKENSTEIN ; OR, pleasures natural to one, who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by any care or bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him, alleging another engage- ment, that I might remain alone. I now also began to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this was to me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling on the head. Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips to quiver, and my heart to palpitate. After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person in Scotland, who had formerly been our visiter at Geneva. He mentioned the beauties of his native country, and asked us if those were not sufficient allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north as Perth, where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this invitation ; and I, although I abhorred society, wished to view again mountains and streams, and all the wondrous works with which Nature adorns her chosen dwelling-places. We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of this tour about the end of July. I packed up my chemical instruments, and the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland. We quitted London on the 27th of March, and remained a few days at Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us mountaineers ; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of stately deer, were all novelties to us. From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds were rilled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles I. had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 141 him, after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king, and his companions, the amiable Falkland., the insolent Goring, his queen, and son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city, which they might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its foot- steps. If these feelings had not found an imaginary gra- tification, the appearance of the city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration. The colleges are ancient and picturesque ; the streets are almost magnificent ; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters, which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and domes, embosomed among aged trees. I enjoyed this scene; and yet my enjoyment was em- bittered both by the memory of the past, and the anticipation of the future. I was formed for peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never visited my mind ; and if I was ever overcome by ennui, the sight of what is beautiful in nature, or the study of what is excellent and sublime in the productions of man, could always interest my heart, and communicate elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree ; the bolt has entered my soul ; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit, what I shall soon cease to be a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others, and intolerable to myself. We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs, and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most animating epoch of English history. Our little voyages of discovery were often pro- longed by the successive objects that presented themselves. We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden, and the field on which that patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated from its debasing and miserable fears, to con- template the divine ideas of liberty and self-sacrifice, of which these sights were the monuments and the remem- brancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains, and look around me with a free and lofty spirit ; but the 142 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB, iron had eaten into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my miserable self. We left Oxford with regret, and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland ; but every thing is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of distant white Alps, which always attendonthe piny mountains of my native country. We visited the wondrous cave, and the little cabinets of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same manner as in the collections at Servox and Cha- mounix. The latter name made me tremble, when pro- nounced by Henry ; and I hastened to quit Matlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated. From Derby, still journeying northward, we passed two months in Cumberland and Westmorland. I could now almost fancy myself among the Swiss mountains. The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the rocky streams, were all familiar and dear sights to me. Here also we made some acquaintances, who almost con- trived to cheat me into happiness. The delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than mine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found in his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could have imagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his inferiors.

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