English reader · Project Gutenberg #84

Chapter 6

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 6 in the Project Gutenberg #84 edition of Frankenstein.

Who it is for

Modern reader note

English

Clerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from my own Elizabeth:

“My dearest Cousin,

“You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account. You are forbidden to write—to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor, is necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a long time I have thought that each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so long a journey, yet how often have I regretted not being able to perform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending on your sickbed 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 desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter into foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his elder brother returns to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of a military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your powers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the lake. I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point and permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.

“Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken place since you left us. The blue lake and snow-clad mountains—they never change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are regulated by the same immutable laws. My trifling occupations take up my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing none but happy, kind faces around me. Since you left us, but one change has taken place in our little household. Do you remember on what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you do not; I will relate her history, therefore in a few words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the third. This girl had always been the favourite of her father, but through a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed this, and when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother to allow her to live at our house. The republican institutions of our country have produced simpler and happier manners than those which prevail in the great monarchies that surround it. Hence there is less distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are more refined and moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the same thing as a servant in France and England. Justine, thus received in our family, learned the duties of a servant, a condition which, in our fortunate country, does not include the idea of ignorance and a sacrifice of the dignity of a human being.

“Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I recollect you once remarked that if you were in an ill humour, one glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica—she looked so frank-hearted and happy. My aunt conceived a great attachment for her, by which she was induced to give her an education superior to that which she had at first intended. This benefit was fully repaid; Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world: I do not mean that she made any professions I never heard one pass her lips, but you could see by her eyes that she almost adored her protectress. Although her disposition was gay and in many respects inconsiderate, yet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of my aunt. She thought her the model of all excellence and endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and manners, so that even now she often reminds me of her.

“When my dearest aunt died 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 affection. Poor Justine was very ill; but other trials were reserved for her.

“One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the exception of her neglected daughter, was left childless. The conscience of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the deaths of her favourites was a judgement from heaven to chastise her partiality. She was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor confirmed the idea which she had conceived. Accordingly, a few months after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her repentant mother. Poor girl! She wept when she quitted our house; she was much altered since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness and a winning mildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable for vivacity. Nor was her residence at her mother’s house of a nature to restore her gaiety. The poor woman was very vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of her brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting at length threw Madame Moritz into a decline, which at first increased her irritability, but she is now at peace for ever. She died on the first approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this last winter. Justine has just 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 expression 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 blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair. When he smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with health. He has already had one or two little wives, but Louisa Biron is his favourite, a pretty little girl 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 congratulatory visits on her approaching marriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes since the departure of Clerval from Geneva. But he has already recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is a widow, and much older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with everybody.

“I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety returns upon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor,—one line—one word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat you, write!

“Elizabeth Lavenza.

“Geneva, March 18th, 17—.”

“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed, when I had read her letter: “I will write instantly and relieve them from the anxiety they must feel.” I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but my convalescence had commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.

One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the several professors of the university. In doing this, I underwent a kind of rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind had sustained. Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even to the name of natural philosophy. When I was otherwise quite restored to health, the sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and had removed all my apparatus from my view. He had also changed my apartment; for he perceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had previously been my laboratory. But these cares of Clerval were made of no avail when I visited the professors. M. Waldman inflicted torture when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the astonishing progress I had made in the sciences. He soon perceived that I disliked the subject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed my feelings to modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement, to the science itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me out. What could I do? He meant to please, and he tormented me. I felt as if he had placed carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and cruel death. I writhed under his words, yet dared not exhibit the pain I felt. Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick in discerning the sensations of others, declined the subject, alleging, in excuse, his total ignorance; and the conversation took a more general turn. I thanked my friend from my heart, but I did not speak. I saw plainly that he was surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from me; and although I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence that knew no bounds, yet I could never persuade myself to confide in him that event which was so often present to my recollection, but which I feared the detail to another would only impress more deeply.

M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. “D—n the fellow!” cried he; “why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has outstript us all. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Ay, ay,” continued he, observing my face expressive of suffering, “M. Frankenstein is modest; an excellent quality in a young man. Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M. Clerval: I was myself when young; but that wears out in a very short time.”

M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned the conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.

Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes for natural science; and his literary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me. He came to the university with the design of making himself complete master of the oriental languages, and thus he should open a field for the plan of life he had marked out for himself. Resolved to pursue no inglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as affording scope for his spirit of enterprise. The Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit languages engaged his attention, and I was easily induced to enter on the same studies. Idleness had ever been irksome to me, and now that I wished to fly from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt great relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not only instruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists. I did not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for I did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary amusement. I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well repaid my labours. Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the authors of any other country. When you read their writings, life appears to consist in a warm sun and a garden of roses,—in the smiles and frowns of a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart. How different from the manly and heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!

Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was fixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several accidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable, and my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring. I felt this delay very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town and my beloved friends. My return had only been delayed so long, from an unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had become acquainted with any of its inhabitants. The winter, however, was spent cheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came its beauty compensated for its dilatoriness.

The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily which was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a personal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited. I acceded with pleasure to this proposition: I was fond of exercise, and Clerval had always been my favourite companion in the ramble of this nature that I had taken among the scenes of my native country.

We passed a fortnight in these perambulations: my health and spirits had long been restored, and they gained additional strength from the salubrious air I breathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and the conversation of my friend. Study had before secluded me from the intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught me to love the aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children. Excellent friend! how sincerely you did love me, and endeavour to elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own. A selfish pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature who, a few years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care. When happy, inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most delightful sensations. A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with ecstasy. The present season was indeed divine; the flowers of spring bloomed in the hedges, while those of summer were already in bud. I was undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an invincible burden.

Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he exerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled his soul. The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly astonishing: his conversation was full of imagination; and very often, in imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of wonderful fancy and passion. At other times he repeated my favourite poems, or drew me out into arguments, which he supported with great ingenuity.

We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon: the peasants were dancing, and every one we met appeared gay and happy. My own spirits were high, and I bounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity.

中文

随后,克莱瓦尔把下面这封信递给我。信是我的伊丽莎白写来的:

“我最亲爱的表哥:

“你病了,而且病得很重。即使亲爱善良的亨利不断来信,也仍然不足以让我真正放心。你被禁止写信,甚至不能拿笔;可亲爱的维克多,只要你亲手写一个字,就足以安定我们的心。我已经等了很久,总觉得下一班邮差一定会带来你的消息;也正是因为我不断劝说,才阻止叔父亲自去因戈尔施塔特。我没有让他承受这样一次漫长旅行的不便,甚至危险,可我又多少次后悔自己不能亲自去啊!我常想象,照顾你病床的责任也许落到一个拿钱办事的老护士身上,她不会猜到你的需要,更不可能像你可怜的表妹这样用关心和爱照顾你。不过现在已经过去了:克莱瓦尔写信说你确实正在康复。我热切希望很快就能看到你亲手写信证实这个消息。

“快点好起来,然后回到我们身边。你会发现一个快乐温暖的家,还有真心爱你的朋友。你父亲身体依然很好,他现在唯一的愿望,就是见到你,并确认你已经平安康复;那样以后,再没有什么忧虑会让他善良的脸蒙上阴影。要是你看到我们的欧内斯特有多大变化,一定会很高兴!他现在十六岁,精力充沛,性情活跃。他很想成为一个真正的瑞士人,去外国军队服役;但至少在他的哥哥回家以前,我们还舍不得让他走。叔父不喜欢他去遥远国家从军的想法,可欧内斯特没有你那种专心学习的能力。在他看来,读书就像一副令人厌恶的枷锁;他把时间全花在户外,不是爬山,就是在湖上划船。我担心,如果我们始终不肯让步、不允许他从事自己选定的职业,他迟早会变成一个游手好闲的人。

“除了亲爱的孩子们长大以外,自从你离开后,我们这里几乎没有什么变化。蓝色的湖水和积雪的群山——它们永远不会改变;我想,我们安静的家和知足的心也受着同样不变的规律支配。日常那些小事情占去我的时间,也让我感到愉快;而我所有付出,最终都会因为身边总是善良快乐的面孔得到回报。你离开以后,我们这个小家庭只发生过一次变化。你还记得贾斯汀·莫里茨是怎么来到我们家的吗?大概不记得了,所以我简单讲给你听。莫里茨夫人是个寡妇,有四个孩子,贾斯汀排行第三。这个女孩一直是父亲最喜欢的孩子,可说来奇怪,她母亲却偏偏不能容忍她;莫里茨先生去世后,母亲对她更加恶劣。我姨母注意到这些,于是贾斯汀十二岁时,说服她母亲让她到我们家生活。我们国家的共和制度使风俗比周围那些大君主国更简单、也更幸福,因此社会各阶层之间没有那么深的隔阂。下层人既不像别处那样贫穷,也没有受到同样程度的轻视,所以他们的举止和道德往往更加体面。在日内瓦,‘仆人’这个身份和法国、英国所理解的并不一样。贾斯汀来到我们家后,学习一个家庭帮佣应该做的事情;可在我们幸运的国家,这种身份并不意味着必须无知,更不意味着牺牲做人的尊严。

“你也许记得,贾斯汀以前很得你喜欢。我记得你有一次说,只要自己心情不好,看她一眼就会好起来,原因同阿里奥斯托赞美安杰丽卡时说的一样——她看起来那么真诚而快乐。姨母非常喜欢她,因此让她接受了比原先计划更好的教育。而这份恩惠也完全得到回报;贾斯汀是世上最懂得感恩的孩子。我不是说她会说什么漂亮话,我从没听她表达过;可是从她的眼睛里,就能看出她几乎崇拜自己的保护者。她虽然性格活泼,在不少事情上也有些粗心,可姨母每一个动作、每一种习惯,她都会认真观察。她把姨母看作一切美好品质的榜样,努力模仿她的说话方式和举止,所以即使到了现在,她也常常让我想起姨母。

“我最亲爱的姨母去世时,大家都沉浸在自己的悲痛中,几乎没人注意可怜的贾斯汀。姨母生病期间,她一直极其担心、极其用心地照顾她。后来,贾斯汀自己也病得很重;可命运还为她准备了更多考验。

“她的兄弟姐妹一个接一个死去。到最后,她母亲除了这个曾被自己冷落的女儿以外,再没有别的孩子。这个女人的良心开始不安,她渐渐相信,自己最疼爱的孩子一个个死去,是上天惩罚她过去偏心的结果。她是天主教徒,我想,她的告解神父也强化了这种想法。因此,在你去因戈尔施塔特几个月后,后悔的母亲把贾斯汀叫回家。可怜的女孩!离开我们家时,她哭得很伤心。姨母去世以后,她整个人已经变了;悲伤让她原本活泼的举止多了一种温柔而讨人喜欢的平和。可回到母亲家生活,并不能让她恢复快乐。可怜的莫里茨夫人在悔恨这件事上极其反复无常。有时她会求贾斯汀原谅自己过去的恶意;可更多时候,她反而责怪贾斯汀,说兄弟姐妹的死都是她造成的。长期烦躁和折磨最终使莫里茨夫人患上消耗性疾病,起初病情还让她更加易怒,不过现在,她已经永远安息。她在上个冬天刚开始变冷时去世。贾斯汀刚刚回到我们这里;我可以向你保证,我非常疼爱她。她聪明、温柔,而且非常漂亮;像我前面说过的那样,她的神态和表情总让我不断想起我亲爱的姨母。

“我还得和你说几句,讲讲亲爱的小威廉。真希望你能亲眼看到他;就他的年龄来说,他长得很高,有一双带笑意的蓝眼睛、深色睫毛和卷曲的头发。他一笑,两边红润健康的脸颊上会各出现一个小酒窝。他已经有过一两个‘小妻子’了,不过最喜欢的是路易莎·比龙,一个漂亮的五岁小姑娘。

“好了,亲爱的维克多,我猜你现在一定想听一点日内瓦那些善良人家的闲话。漂亮的曼斯菲尔德小姐已经因为即将嫁给一位年轻英国绅士约翰·墨尔本而接受大家的祝贺。她那个长得不好看的妹妹玛侬,去年秋天嫁给了富有的银行家迪维拉尔先生。你最喜欢的同学路易·马努瓦尔,自从克莱瓦尔离开日内瓦以后遭遇了好几件不幸。不过,他已经恢复精神,听说马上要娶一个活泼漂亮的法国女人——塔韦尼埃夫人。她是个寡妇,而且比马努瓦尔大不少;不过大家都很喜欢她,她也非常受欢迎。

“亲爱的表哥,写到这里,我自己的心情也好了一些;可是临近结尾,担心又回来了。写信吧,我最亲爱的维克多——一行也好,一个字也好,对我们来说都会像祝福一样。请替我们向亨利表达一万次感谢,感谢他的善良、爱护和一封又一封来信,我们是真心感激。再见,我的表哥;请照顾好自己,我求你,写信给我们吧!”

“伊丽莎白·拉文扎。”

“日内瓦,17——年3月18日。”

读完信,我喊道:“亲爱的、最亲爱的伊丽莎白!我马上写信,让他们不再这样担心。”我写了信,可这么一点努力已经让我非常疲倦。不过我的康复已经开始,而且此后一直稳步进行。再过两个星期,我便能够离开房间。

康复以后,我最先要做的事情之一,就是把克莱瓦尔介绍给大学里的几位教授。在这个过程中,我受了一种很不适合自己精神创伤的折磨。自从那个致命夜晚——我全部劳动结束、也是我全部不幸开始的夜晚——以后,我甚至对“自然哲学”这个名字都产生了强烈厌恶。即使身体已经完全恢复,只要看见一件化学仪器,我的神经症状就会重新发作。亨利注意到这一点,把所有实验器具都从我眼前移走;他还替我换了住处,因为看出我已经厌恶那间从前当作实验室的房间。可当我去拜访教授时,克莱瓦尔的体贴全部失去作用。瓦尔德曼先生满怀善意、热情地赞美我在科学上取得的惊人进步,可这些话对我来说简直是酷刑。他很快看出我不愿谈这个话题,却不知道真正原因,只以为我是谦虚,于是从我的进步转而谈起科学本身,显然想让我放松并参与谈话。我能怎么办?他想让我高兴,却在折磨我。我觉得仿佛他正一件一件、小心地把那些未来会用来慢慢折磨死我的刑具摆在眼前。我听着这些话,内心痛苦扭曲,却不敢表现出来。克莱瓦尔永远能敏锐看出别人情绪,他立刻以自己完全不懂这些知识为理由,把话题岔开,让谈话转向一般事情。我从心里感谢朋友,却一句也没说。我清楚看见他很惊讶,但他从来没有试图逼我说出秘密。我对他的爱里混着无限敬意,可即使如此,我仍无法说服自己把那件不断回到记忆中的事情告诉他,因为我害怕一旦向别人详细讲述,只会让它在自己心里刻得更深。

克伦佩先生却没有这样顺从。在我当时几乎无法承受任何刺激的敏感状态下,他粗鲁而直白的赞美,甚至比瓦尔德曼善意的认可更让我痛苦。“该死的家伙!”他喊道,“克莱瓦尔先生,我向你保证,他已经超过我们所有人。你尽管瞪大眼睛,可事实就是这样。几年前,这个年轻人还像相信福音一样坚信科内利厄斯·阿格里帕;如今,他已经跑到大学最前面了。若再不赶紧把他压下去,我们这些人都要没脸见人。对,对,”他看见我脸上露出痛苦,又继续说,“弗兰肯斯坦先生很谦虚,这是年轻人非常优秀的品质。你知道,克莱瓦尔先生,年轻人应该对自己没有太大把握。我年轻时也是这样;不过这种东西很快就会消失。”

克伦佩先生接下来开始长篇赞美自己。幸运的是,这终于把话题从那个让我痛苦的主题上移开。

克莱瓦尔从来不认同我对自然科学的兴趣,他的文学追求也同过去占据我的研究完全不同。他来到大学,是为了彻底掌握东方语言,从而打开自己已经规划的人生道路。他决心不让自己过一种毫无光彩的生活,于是把眼光投向东方,认为那里能够为自己的进取精神提供舞台。波斯语、阿拉伯语和梵语成为他研究的重点,而我很容易被说服,同他一起学习这些语言。无所事事一直让我难受;如今我想逃避反省,又憎恶过去的研究,于是同朋友一起做学生,让我得到很大解脱。我不仅从东方学作品中得到知识,也得到安慰。我没有像他一样追求对各种语言分支的批判性掌握,因为我只想把它们当作暂时消遣。我阅读只是为了理解意思,而这些作品给我的回报远超过付出。它们的忧郁能够安慰人,它们的欢乐又能提升人,这种感觉是我读其他任何国家的作者都没有体验过的。读这些作品时,人生仿佛只由温暖的太阳和玫瑰花园组成,还有一个美丽敌人的微笑和皱眉,以及燃烧自己心灵的火焰。这同希腊和罗马那种阳刚、英雄式的诗歌多么不同!

整个夏天都在这些学习中过去。我原定秋末回日内瓦,可因为接连发生几件意外,行程一再推迟。后来冬天和大雪都来了,道路被认为无法通行,于是归程又拖到第二年春天。我非常痛苦,因为我迫切想再看见故乡和亲爱的朋友们。我之所以一直拖到这么晚才回去,只是因为不愿在克莱瓦尔还没有认识当地任何人时,把他独自留在陌生地方。不过,那个冬天我们过得很愉快;虽然春天来得异常迟,可它真正到来时,美丽足以补偿长久等待。

五月已经开始,我每天都等着一封会确定出发日期的信。就在这时,亨利提议在因戈尔施塔特周围进行一次徒步旅行,让我亲自向这个生活了这么久的地方告别。我愉快地答应。一直以来我都喜欢运动,而过去在故乡那些风景中徒步时,克莱瓦尔也总是我最喜欢的伙伴。

我们整整徒步旅行两个星期。我的健康和精神早已恢复,而清新的空气、路途上不断遇到的自然景象以及朋友的谈话,又让我变得更加强健。过去的研究使我与其他人隔绝,也让我越来越不合群;可克莱瓦尔重新唤醒了我心里更美好的感情。他再次教会我热爱自然景色,也热爱孩子们快乐的面孔。多么优秀的朋友!你真诚地爱我,一直努力提升我的心灵,直到它能够接近你的高度。自私的追求曾让我的内心变得狭窄而僵硬,直到你的温柔和感情重新温暖并打开我的感受。我又变回几年前那个幸福的人——被所有人爱着,也爱着所有人,没有忧虑,也没有悲伤。人在幸福时,即使没有生命的自然也能带来最愉悦的感受。晴朗天空和翠绿田野让我欣喜若狂。这个季节确实像神迹一样美丽;春花已经在树篱间开放,夏花也开始结出花苞。过去一年里,那些尽管我努力摆脱却一直像不可战胜的重担压着我的念头,如今终于没有再打扰我。

亨利因为我的快乐而高兴,也真心分享我的感受。他尽力逗我开心,同时表达自己心里不断涌出的情绪。这时候,他精神世界的丰富简直让人惊讶:他的谈话充满想象力;常常模仿波斯和阿拉伯作家的风格,编出充满奇异幻想和激情的故事。有时,他会背诵我最喜欢的诗;有时又故意引我参加辩论,并用极其巧妙的方式支持自己的观点。

一个星期日下午,我们回到学校。乡下人正在跳舞,路上遇见的每个人都显得快乐而轻松。我的精神也非常高涨,带着完全不受约束的欢乐和愉快,一路轻快地向前走。

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Clerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from my own Elizabeth:

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“My dearest Cousin,

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“You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account. You are forbidden to write—to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor, is necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a long time I have thought that each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so long a journey, yet how often have I regretted not being able to perform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending on your sickbed 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.

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“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 desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter into foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his elder brother returns to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of a military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your powers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the lake. I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point and permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.

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“Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken place since you left us. The blue lake and snow-clad mountains—they never change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are regulated by the same immutable laws. My trifling occupations take up my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing none but happy, kind faces around me. Since you left us, but one change has taken place in our little household. Do you remember on what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you do not; I will relate her history, therefore in a few words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the third. This girl had always been the favourite of her father, but through a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed this, and when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother to allow her to live at our house. The republican institutions of our country have produced simpler and happier manners than those which prevail in the great monarchies that surround it. Hence there is less distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are more refined and moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the same thing as a servant in France and England. Justine, thus received in our family, learned the duties of a servant, a condition which, in our fortunate country, does not include the idea of ignorance and a sacrifice of the dignity of a human being.

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“Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I recollect you once remarked that if you were in an ill humour, one glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica—she looked so frank-hearted and happy. My aunt conceived a great attachment for her, by which she was induced to give her an education superior to that which she had at first intended. This benefit was fully repaid; Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world: I do not mean that she made any professions I never heard one pass her lips, but you could see by her eyes that she almost adored her protectress. Although her disposition was gay and in many respects inconsiderate, yet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of my aunt. She thought her the model of all excellence and endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and manners, so that even now she often reminds me of her.

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“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 affection. Poor Justine was very ill; but other trials were reserved for her.

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“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 judgement from heaven to chastise her partiality. She was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor confirmed the idea which she had conceived. Accordingly, a few months after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her repentant mother. Poor girl! She wept when she quitted our house; she was much altered since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness and a winning mildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable for vivacity. Nor was her residence at her mother’s house of a nature to restore her gaiety. The poor woman was very vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of her brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting at length threw Madame Moritz into a decline, which at first increased her irritability, but she is now at peace for ever. She died on the first approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this last winter. Justine has just 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 expression continually remind me of my dear aunt.

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“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 blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair. When he smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with health. He has already had one or two little wives, but Louisa Biron is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age.

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“Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little gossip concerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield has already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching marriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes since the departure of Clerval from Geneva. But he has already recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a 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.

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“I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety returns upon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor,—one line—one word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat you, write!

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“Elizabeth Lavenza.

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“Geneva, March 18th, 17—.”

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“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed, when I had read her letter: “I will write instantly and relieve them from the anxiety they must feel.” I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but my convalescence had commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.

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One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the several professors of the university. In doing this, I underwent a kind of rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind had sustained. Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even to the name of natural philosophy. When I was otherwise quite restored to health, the sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and had removed all my apparatus from my view. He had also changed my apartment; for he perceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had previously been my laboratory. But these cares of Clerval were made of no avail when I visited the professors. M. Waldman inflicted torture when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the astonishing progress I had made in the sciences. He soon perceived that I disliked the subject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed my feelings to modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement, to the science itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me out. What could I do? He meant to please, and he tormented me. I felt as if he had placed carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and cruel death. I writhed under his words, yet dared not exhibit the pain I felt. Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick in discerning the sensations of others, declined the subject, alleging, in excuse, his total ignorance; and the conversation took a more general turn. I thanked my friend from my heart, but I did not speak. I saw plainly that he was surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from me; and although I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence that knew no bounds, yet I could never persuade myself to confide in him that event which was so often present to my recollection, but which I feared the detail to another would only impress more deeply.

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M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. “D—n the fellow!” cried he; “why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has outstript us all. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Ay, ay,” continued he, observing my face expressive of suffering, “M. Frankenstein is modest; an excellent quality in a young man. Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M. Clerval: I was myself when young; but that wears out in a very short time.”

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M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned the conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.

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Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes for natural science; and his literary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me. He came to the university with the design of making himself complete master of the oriental languages, and thus he should open a field for the plan of life he had marked out for himself. Resolved to pursue no inglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as affording scope for his spirit of enterprise. The Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit languages engaged his attention, and I was easily induced to enter on the same studies. Idleness had ever been irksome to me, and now that I wished to fly from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt great relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not only instruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists. I did not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for I did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary amusement. I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well repaid my labours. Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the authors of any other country. When you read their writings, life appears to consist in a warm sun and a garden of roses,—in the smiles and frowns of a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart. How different from the manly and heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!

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Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was fixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several accidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable, and my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring. I felt this delay very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town and my beloved friends. My return had only been delayed so long, from an unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had become acquainted with any of its inhabitants. The winter, however, was spent cheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came its beauty compensated for its dilatoriness.

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The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily which was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a personal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited. I acceded with pleasure to this proposition: I was fond of exercise, and Clerval had always been my favourite companion in the ramble of this nature that I had taken among the scenes of my native country.

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We passed a fortnight in these perambulations: my health and spirits had long been restored, and they gained additional strength from the salubrious air I breathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and the conversation of my friend. Study had before secluded me from the intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught me to love the aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children. Excellent friend! how sincerely you did love me, and endeavour to elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own. A selfish pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature who, a few years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care. When happy, inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most delightful sensations. A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with ecstasy. The present season was indeed divine; the flowers of spring bloomed in the hedges, while those of summer were already in bud. I was undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an invincible burden.

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Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he exerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled his soul. The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly astonishing: his conversation was full of imagination; and very often, in imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of wonderful fancy and passion. At other times he repeated my favourite poems, or drew me out into arguments, which he supported with great ingenuity.

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We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon: the peasants were dancing, and every one we met appeared gay and happy. My own spirits were high, and I bounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity.