English reader · Project Gutenberg #84

Chapter 3

Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus. English-only reading by default; you can also choose two-column reading in English and Chinese.

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This reading unit corresponds to Chapter 3 in the Project Gutenberg #84 edition of Frankenstein.

Who it is for

Modern reader note

English

When I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had hitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my father thought it necessary for the completion of my education that I should be made acquainted with other customs than those of my native country. My departure was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life occurred—an omen, as it were, of my future misery.

Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and she was in the greatest danger. During her illness many arguments had been urged to persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had at first yielded to our entreaties, but when she heard that the life of her favourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She attended her sickbed; her watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity of the distemper—Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of this imprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third day my mother sickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the looks of her medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her deathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of women did not desert her. She joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself. “My children,” she said, “my firmest hopes of future happiness were placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the consolation of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to my younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully to death and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.”

She died calmly, and her countenance expressed affection even in death. I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent by that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the soul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed for ever—that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard. These are the reflections of the first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the evil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has not that rude hand rent away some dear connection? And why should I describe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not banished. My mother was dead, but we had still duties which we ought to perform; we must continue our course with the rest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remains whom the spoiler has not seized.

My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events, was now again determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of some weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose, akin to death, of the house of mourning and to rush into the thick of life. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me. I was unwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above all, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled.

She indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the comforter to us all. She looked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and zeal. She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call her uncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time, when she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us. She forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget.

The day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the last evening with us. He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit him to accompany me and to become my fellow student, but in vain. His father was a narrow-minded trader and saw idleness and ruin in the aspirations and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the misfortune of being debarred from a liberal education. He said little, but when he spoke I read in his kindling eye and in his animated glance a restrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable details of commerce.

We sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor persuade ourselves to say the word “Farewell!” It was said, and we retired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the other was deceived; but when at morning’s dawn I descended to the carriage which was to convey me away, they were all there—my father again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to renew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last feminine attentions on her playmate and friend.

I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in the most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by amiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual pleasure—I was now alone. In the university whither I was going I must form my own friends and be my own protector. My life had hitherto been remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me invincible repugnance to new countenances. I loved my brothers, Elizabeth, and Clerval; these were “old familiar faces,” but I believed myself totally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such were my reflections as I commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits and hopes rose. I ardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when at home, thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one place and had longed to enter the world and take my station among other human beings. Now my desires were complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to repent.

I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my journey to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At length the high white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted and was conducted to my solitary apartment to spend the evening as I pleased.

The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a visit to some of the principal professors. Chance—or rather the evil influence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway over me from the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my father’s door—led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. He was an uncouth man, but deeply imbued in the secrets of his science. He asked me several questions concerning my progress in the different branches of science appertaining to natural philosophy. I replied carelessly, and partly in contempt, mentioned the names of my alchemists as the principal authors I had studied. The professor stared. “Have you,” he said, “really spent your time in studying such nonsense?”

I replied in the affirmative. “Every minute,” continued M. Krempe with warmth, “every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly and entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with exploded systems and useless names. Good God! In what desert land have you lived, where no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies which you have so greedily imbibed are a thousand years old and as musty as they are ancient? I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific age, to find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear sir, you must begin your studies entirely anew.”

So saying, he stepped aside and wrote down a list of several books treating of natural philosophy which he desired me to procure, and dismissed me after mentioning that in the beginning of the following week he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he omitted.

I returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long considered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I returned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any shape. M. Krempe was a little squat man with a gruff voice and a repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in favour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected a strain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come to concerning them in my early years. As a child I had not been content with the results promised by the modern professors of natural science. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my extreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the steps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the discoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very different when the masters of the science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth.

Such were my reflections during the first two or three days of my residence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming acquainted with the localities and the principal residents in my new abode. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information which M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures. And although I could not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow deliver sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what he had said of M. Waldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto been out of town.

Partly from curiosity and partly from idleness, I went into the lecturing room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very unlike his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but with an aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs covered his temples, but those at the back of his head were nearly black. His person was short but remarkably erect and his voice the sweetest I had ever heard. He began his lecture by a recapitulation of the history of chemistry and the various improvements made by different men of learning, pronouncing with fervour the names of the most distinguished discoverers. He then took a cursory view of the present state of the science and explained many of its elementary terms. After having made a few preparatory experiments, he concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget:

“The ancient teachers of this science,” said he, “promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters promise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted and that the elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers, whose hands seem only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses of nature and show how she works in her hiding-places. They ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows.”

Such were the professor’s words—rather let me say such the words of the fate—enounced to destroy me. As he went on I felt as if my soul were grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were touched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception, one purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein—more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.

I closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a state of insurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I had no power to produce it. By degrees, after the morning’s dawn, sleep came. I awoke, and my yesternight’s thoughts were as a dream. There only remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies and to devote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess a natural talent. On the same day I paid M. Waldman a visit. His manners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public, for there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture which in his own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness. I gave him pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had given to his fellow professor. He heard with attention the little narration concerning my studies and smiled at the names of Cornelius Agrippa and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had exhibited. He said that “These were men to whose indefatigable zeal modern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names and arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in a great degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The labours of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.” I listened to his statement, which was delivered without any presumption or affectation, and then added that his lecture had removed my prejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his instructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended labours. I requested his advice concerning the books I ought to procure.

“I am happy,” said M. Waldman, “to have gained a disciple; and if your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success. Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the greatest improvements have been and may be made; it is on that account that I have made it my peculiar study; but at the same time, I have not neglected the other branches of science. A man would make but a very sorry chemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge alone. If your wish is to become really a man of science and not merely a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of natural philosophy, including mathematics.”

He then took me into his laboratory and explained to me the uses of his various machines, instructing me as to what I ought to procure and promising me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in the science not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the list of books which I had requested, and I took my leave.

Thus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny.

中文

我十七岁时,父母决定让我去因戈尔施塔特大学学习。此前我一直在日内瓦的学校读书,但父亲认为,要让教育真正完整,我还应该接触本国以外的风俗和生活方式。因此,我原本很快就要动身,可在出发日期到来以前,我人生中的第一次灾难发生了——仿佛预告着未来苦难的一个征兆。

伊丽莎白染上了猩红热,病得非常严重,一度生命垂危。她生病期间,家人不断劝母亲不要亲自照料她。母亲起初听从了我们的请求,可当她得知自己最疼爱的孩子可能活不下来时,再也无法压住忧虑,还是来到病床边亲自照顾。她细致入微的照料终于战胜了疾病,伊丽莎白得救了;可母亲这种不顾自身安危的做法,却给她自己带来了致命后果。第三天,母亲也病倒了,发热伴随着最危险的症状,医生们的神情已经预示最坏的结果。临终时,这位最坚强、最慈爱的女性仍没有失去勇气和善意。她拉起我和伊丽莎白的手,把我们的手放在一起,说:“我的孩子们,我对未来幸福最大的希望,就是看到你们结合在一起。如今,这个愿望只能成为你们父亲今后的安慰。伊丽莎白,我亲爱的孩子,你以后要代替我照顾年幼的弟弟们。唉,我真舍不得离开你们。像我这样一生幸福、受尽爱护的人,要离开所有亲人,难道不痛苦吗?可我不该这样想。我会努力平静地接受死亡,并怀着希望,相信我们还能在另一个世界相见。”

她平静地去世了,甚至死亡也没有抹去她脸上温柔慈爱的神情。我无需详细描述,当最亲密的纽带被死亡这种无法挽回的力量撕断时,人会有怎样的感受;灵魂会突然面对多么巨大的空缺,脸上又会呈现怎样的绝望。人的心要经过很久,才能相信那个每天都看得见、仿佛已经成为自己生命一部分的人,真的永远离开了;才能接受那双熟悉眼睛里的光已经熄灭,那道亲切而亲爱的声音再也不会响起。最初几天,人反复思考的就是这些。可随着时间过去,死亡的事实被一次次证明,悲痛真正尖锐的部分才开始出现。不过,谁没有被那只粗暴的手夺走过自己所爱的人呢?我又为什么要详细描写一种每个人都曾经、也迟早都会经历的悲伤?终于会有一天,悲伤不再是一种必需,而更像一种人愿意继续沉浸其中的情绪;即使嘴角重新出现笑容,人也不会因为觉得那是对死者的冒犯而强行压下去。母亲已经去世,可我们仍有必须履行的责任。我们必须继续同其他人一起生活,也要学会这样想:只要身边仍有一个所爱的人尚未被死亡夺走,我们就仍该认为自己是幸运的。

因为这些事情,我去因戈尔施塔特的行程一度推迟;现在,出发的决定再次确定下来。我请求父亲再给我几周时间。我觉得,刚刚经历丧亲,就马上离开这座像死亡一样安静的哀悼之家,投入喧闹生活之中,简直像一种亵渎。那是我第一次真正经历悲伤,所以更让我害怕。我不愿离开那些仍留在身边的人,尤其希望看到我亲爱的伊丽莎白多少得到一点安慰。

伊丽莎白确实把自己的悲伤藏了起来,并努力成为我们所有人的安慰者。她正视生活,也以勇气和热情承担起生活交给她的责任。她把全部心力都给了那些她一直称作叔父和表兄弟的人。她从来没有像这时这样动人:她重新找回脸上的阳光,把所有微笑都给了我们;她甚至忘记自己的痛苦,只为了帮助我们忘记悲伤。

终于到了我出发的那一天。克莱瓦尔陪我们度过最后一个晚上。他曾努力说服父亲允许自己同我一起去,成为我的同学,可一直没有成功。他父亲是个眼界狭窄的商人,只从儿子的抱负和理想里看到懒惰与破产。亨利因为失去接受完整教育的机会而深深痛苦。他很少说什么,可每当开口时,我都能从他明亮起来的眼睛和充满活力的神情中,看出一种被压抑却坚定的决心:他绝不会让自己永远被锁在琐碎而可悲的商业生活里。

那天晚上我们坐到很晚,谁也舍不得离开,也没人能说出“再见”两个字。终于还是说了,大家各自回房,表面上都假装准备休息,心里却都知道对方根本睡不着。可第二天清晨,我走下楼准备登上马车时,他们全都在那里:父亲再次为我祝福;克莱瓦尔再次紧握我的手;我的伊丽莎白又一次叮嘱我要常写信,还像往常一样,为自己的童年伙伴和朋友做最后那些细致的照料。

我坐进马车,陷入最忧郁的思绪。从前我身边永远都有亲切的伙伴,我们每天都努力让彼此快乐;可现在,我独自一人。到了大学以后,我必须自己结交朋友,也必须自己保护自己。我此前的人生极其安静封闭,几乎全部围绕家庭展开,这让我对陌生面孔产生一种怎么也克服不了的排斥。我爱弟弟们,爱伊丽莎白,也爱克莱瓦尔;这些都是“熟悉的旧面孔”,而我相信自己完全不适合和陌生人相处。旅程刚开始时,我就是这样想的;可随着不断前行,我的精神和希望又逐渐高涨起来。我强烈渴望获得知识。在家时,我常觉得年轻岁月被困在一个地方很不公平,也一直希望真正进入世界,在人群中找到自己的位置。如今愿望已经实现,若还因此后悔,未免太愚蠢了。

前往因戈尔施塔特的旅程漫长又疲惫,我有足够时间反复思考这些事,也想了很多别的事情。终于,小城高高的白色尖塔出现在视野里。我下车后,被带到一间孤零零的住处,接下来的晚上可以完全按自己的意思安排。

第二天早晨,我送上介绍信,又拜访了几位主要教授。偶然——或者更准确地说,是从我不情愿地离开父亲家门那一刻起便支配着我的邪恶力量、那位毁灭天使——让我首先见到自然哲学教授克伦佩先生。他举止粗鲁,却确实精通自己的学科。他问了我许多问题,了解我在自然哲学各个分支上学到什么程度。我漫不经心地回答,又带着几分轻蔑,把自己一直研读的那些炼金术家名字说了出来。教授瞪大眼睛:“你真的把时间花在这种胡说八道上?”

我回答说是的。克伦佩先生立刻激动起来:“你花在这些书上的每一分钟、每一刻,全部彻底浪费掉了。你只是在脑子里塞满早已破产的体系和毫无用处的名字。天哪!你到底住在什么荒蛮地方,竟然没有一个人好心告诉你,你如此贪婪吸收的这些幻想,已经陈旧了一千年,既发霉又过时?我真没想到,在这样一个开明而科学的时代,居然还能遇到阿尔伯图斯·马格努斯和帕拉塞尔苏斯的门徒。亲爱的先生,你必须把整个学习过程从头开始。”

说完,他走到一边,写下一份自然哲学书单,要我去购买。随后,他又告诉我,下周初自己要开始讲授一门介绍自然哲学整体关系的课程;而同事瓦尔德曼先生则会在他不上课的那些隔日讲化学,然后便让我离开。

我回到住处时并不失望,因为前面已经说过,那些被教授批评的作者,我早就开始觉得没有用了;可我也没有因此更想以任何形式重新学习自然哲学。克伦佩先生个子矮胖,嗓音粗哑,面孔又让人不舒服,因此这个老师完全没能让我对他的研究产生好感。也许我前面用一种过于哲学化、过于连贯的方式解释了自己少年时形成的观点。事实上,小时候的我一直不满足于现代自然科学教授能够给出的成果。由于年纪太小,又没有人在这方面指导,我的思想极其混乱。我沿着时间的道路倒退回知识的过去,用当代研究者的发现换来被遗忘炼金术家的梦想。此外,我也看不起现代自然哲学的实际用途。旧时代那些大师追求的是不朽和力量,这些目标虽然虚妄,却很宏大;现在却完全不同。现代研究者的野心,似乎只是为了摧毁那些原本让我对科学感兴趣的幻想。我被要求用一点价值不大的现实,去交换无边宏伟的幻梦。

来到因戈尔施塔特最初两三天,我主要用来熟悉新环境和这里的重要人物,心里反复想的就是这些。下一周开始时,我想起克伦佩先生提到的课程。虽然我实在不愿去听那个自负的小矮个站在讲台上发表长篇高论,却想起他提到瓦尔德曼先生。这个人此前一直不在城里,所以我还从未见过。

一半出于好奇,一半也是闲得无聊,我走进讲堂。不久以后,瓦尔德曼先生也进来了。他和自己的同事完全不同。看起来大约五十岁,脸上表现出最大的仁慈;两鬓有几缕灰发,后脑的头发却几乎仍是黑的。他个子不高,却站得异常挺直,声音是我听过最悦耳的。讲课开始时,他先概述化学的发展历史,以及不同学者所做的各种改进;说到最杰出的发现者时,他总带着热烈的敬意。随后,他简单介绍这门科学当时的发展状态,解释许多基础术语。做了几个演示实验后,他以一段赞颂现代化学的话结束课程,而这段话我永远不会忘记:

他说:“这门科学的古代导师承诺了不可能做到的事,却什么也没有完成。现代大师承诺得很少;他们知道金属无法真正转化,也知道长生不老药只是幻想。可这些哲学家——他们的手看起来似乎只适合在泥土里摸索,眼睛也只是为了盯着显微镜和坩埚——却真正创造了奇迹。他们深入自然最隐秘的角落,揭示她在隐藏之处如何运作。他们登上天空;他们发现血液如何循环,也理解我们呼吸的空气具有什么性质。他们获得了新的、几乎无限的力量;他们能支配天空的雷霆,模仿地震,甚至用无形世界自己的影子来嘲弄它。”

这就是教授的话——不,更准确地说,是命运亲口宣告的语言,它们注定要毁灭我。随着他不断说下去,我觉得自己的灵魂仿佛正同一个看得见摸得着的敌人搏斗;构成我精神的不同琴键被一根根按下,一条又一条琴弦被拨响,很快,我的头脑只剩下一个念头、一个想法、一个目标。弗兰肯斯坦的灵魂在心中呐喊:既然已经有人完成这么多,我还会做到更多、更多。我会沿着已经留下的脚印继续向前,却又开出一条新的道路;我要探索未知的力量,把创造最深处的秘密展现在世界面前。

那一夜我完全没有闭眼。我的内心处在反抗和骚乱之中。我知道某种秩序终究会从混乱里出现,可我无法主动让它形成。直到天亮以后很久,我才渐渐睡去。醒来时,昨夜那些翻腾的念头像一场梦,最后只剩下一个决定:重新回到自己早年的研究,并把全部精力投入一门我相信自己天生有才能的科学。就在当天,我去拜访瓦尔德曼先生。私下里的他比讲堂上更加温和、更有吸引力;讲课时,他举止中还有一种庄重,可在自己家里,这种庄重完全让位给亲切和善意。我大致把自己从前的学习经历又讲了一遍,就像告诉他同事时一样。他认真听完我关于学习的简短叙述,听到科内利厄斯·阿格里帕和帕拉塞尔苏斯这些名字时笑了,却没有像克伦佩先生那样轻蔑。他说:“现代哲学家今天拥有的大部分知识基础,其实要感谢这些人不知疲倦的热情。他们把许多事实带到光明中,而我们留下来的任务更容易,不过是给这些事实重新命名,并把它们整理成相互关联的分类。天才的劳动,即使方向错误,最终也很少不会给人类带来真实好处。”我听着这番毫不自负、也不装腔作势的话,随后告诉他,他的课程已经消除了我对现代化学家的偏见。我说得很克制,也保持着年轻学生面对老师时应有的谦逊和尊敬,没有泄露真正推动我未来研究的那股狂热——那时我没有人生经验,反而会因为这种狂热感到羞耻。最后,我请他建议自己应该购买哪些书。

瓦尔德曼先生说:“我很高兴自己赢得了一名学生。如果你的勤奋能够配得上你的能力,我毫不怀疑你会取得成功。化学是自然哲学中进步最大、而且未来还可能继续取得最大进步的分支,也正因为如此,我把它作为自己的专门研究。不过,我并没有忽视其他学科。一个人若只关心这一门知识,最终只会成为非常可怜的化学家。你若真的想成为科学家,而不是一个只会做小实验的人,我建议你研究自然哲学的每一个分支,其中也包括数学。”

随后,他带我进入自己的实验室,向我解释各种仪器的用途,告诉我应该购买哪些设备,并答应等我在科学上进步到足以保证不会弄坏这些机器以后,可以使用他的仪器。他也把我要求的书单交给我,我这才告辞。

就这样,一个让我永远难忘的日子结束了;这一天决定了我未来的命运。

English

When I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had hitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my father thought it necessary for the completion of my education that I should be made acquainted with other customs than those of my native country. My departure was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life occurred—an omen, as it were, of my future misery.

English

Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and she was in the greatest danger. During her illness many arguments had been urged to persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had at first yielded to our entreaties, but when she heard that the life of her favourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She attended her sickbed; her watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity of the distemper—Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of this imprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third day my mother sickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the looks of her medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her deathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of women did not desert her. She joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself. “My children,” she said, “my firmest hopes of future happiness were placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the consolation of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to my younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully to death and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.”

English

She died calmly, and her countenance expressed affection even in death. I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent by that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the soul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed for ever—that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard. These are the reflections of the first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the evil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has not that rude hand rent away some dear connection? And why should I describe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not banished. My mother was dead, but we had still duties which we ought to perform; we must continue our course with the rest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remains whom the spoiler has not seized.

English

My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events, was now again determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of some weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose, akin to death, of the house of mourning and to rush into the thick of life. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me. I was unwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above all, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled.

English

She indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the comforter to us all. She looked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and zeal. She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call her uncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time, when she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us. She forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget.

English

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.

English

We sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor persuade ourselves to say the word “Farewell!” It was said, and we retired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the other was deceived; but when at morning’s dawn I descended to the carriage which was to convey me away, they were all there—my father again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to renew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last feminine attentions on her playmate and friend.

English

I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in the most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by amiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual pleasure—I was now alone. In the university whither I was going I must form my own friends and be my own protector. My life had hitherto been remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me invincible repugnance to new countenances. I loved my brothers, Elizabeth, and Clerval; these were “old familiar faces,” but I believed myself totally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such were my reflections as I commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits and hopes rose. I ardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when at home, thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one place and had longed to enter the world and take my station among other human beings. Now my desires were complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to repent.

English

I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my journey to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At length the high white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted and was conducted to my solitary apartment to spend the evening as I pleased.

English

The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a visit to some of the principal professors. Chance—or rather the evil influence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway over me from the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my father’s door—led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. He was an uncouth man, but deeply imbued in the secrets of his science. He asked me several questions concerning my progress in the different branches of science appertaining to natural philosophy. I replied carelessly, and partly in contempt, mentioned the names of my alchemists as the principal authors I had studied. The professor stared. “Have you,” he said, “really spent your time in studying such nonsense?”

English

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.”

English

So saying, he stepped aside and wrote down a list of several books treating of natural philosophy which he desired me to procure, and dismissed me after mentioning that in the beginning of the following week he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he omitted.

English

I returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long considered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I returned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any shape. M. Krempe was a little squat man with a gruff voice and a repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in favour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected a strain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come to concerning them in my early years. As a child I had not been content with the results promised by the modern professors of natural science. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my extreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the steps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the discoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very different when the masters of the science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth.

English

Such were my reflections during the first two or three days of my residence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming acquainted with the localities and the principal residents in my new abode. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information which M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures. And although I could not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow deliver sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what he had said of M. Waldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto been out of town.

English

Partly from curiosity and partly from idleness, I went into the lecturing room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very unlike his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but with an aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs covered his temples, but those at the back of his head were nearly black. His person was short but remarkably erect and his voice the sweetest I had ever heard. He began his lecture by a recapitulation of the history of chemistry and the various improvements made by different men of learning, pronouncing with fervour the names of the most distinguished discoverers. He then took a cursory view of the present state of the science and explained many of its elementary terms. After having made a few preparatory experiments, he concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget:

English

“The ancient teachers of this science,” said he, “promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters promise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted and that the elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers, whose hands seem only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses of nature and show how she works in her hiding-places. They ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows.”

English

Such were the professor’s words—rather let me say such the words of the 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.

English

I closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a state of insurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I had no power to produce it. By degrees, after the morning’s dawn, sleep came. I awoke, and my yesternight’s thoughts were as a dream. There only remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies and to devote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess a natural talent. On the same day I paid M. Waldman a visit. His manners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public, for there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture which in his own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness. I gave him pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had given to his fellow professor. He heard with attention the little narration concerning my studies and smiled at the names of Cornelius Agrippa and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had exhibited. He said that “These were men to whose indefatigable zeal modern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names and arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in a great degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The labours of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.” I listened to his statement, which was delivered without any presumption or affectation, and then added that his lecture had removed my prejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his instructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended labours. I requested his advice concerning the books I ought to procure.

English

“I am happy,” said M. Waldman, “to have gained a disciple; and if your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success. Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the greatest improvements have been and may be made; it is on that account that I have made it my peculiar study; but at the same time, I have not neglected the other branches of science. A man would make but a very sorry chemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge alone. If your wish is to become really a man of science and not merely a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of natural philosophy, including mathematics.”

English

He then took me into his laboratory and explained to me the uses of his various machines, instructing me as to what I ought to procure and promising me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in the science not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the list of books which I had requested, and I took my leave.

English

Thus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny.