Reading Help Frankenstein Ch.1-9
happened?" `
` `
` I motioned him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the `
` room in the extremest agitation. Tears also gushed from the eyes of `
` Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune. `
` `
` "I can offer you no consolation, my friend," said he; "your disaster is `
` irreparable. What do you intend to do?" `
` `
` "To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses." `
` `
` During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation; `
` he could only express his heartfelt sympathy. "Poor William!" said he, `
` "dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had `
` seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his `
` untimely loss! To die so miserably; to feel the murderer's grasp! How `
` much more a murdered that could destroy radiant innocence! Poor little `
` fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but `
` he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever. `
` A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain. He can no longer `
` be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable `
` survivors." `
` `
` Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words `
` impressed themselves on my mind and I remembered them afterwards in `
` solitude. But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a `
` cabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend. `
` `
` My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I `
` longed to console and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends; `
` but when I drew near my native town, I slackened my progress. I could `
` hardly sustain the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind. I `
` passed through scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen `
` for nearly six years. How altered every thing might be during that `
` time! One sudden and desolating change had taken place; but a thousand `
` little circumstances might have by degrees worked other alterations, `
` which, although they were done more tranquilly, might not be the less `
` decisive. Fear overcame me; I dared no advance, dreading a thousand `
` nameless evils that made me tremble, although I was unable to define `
` them. I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. `
` I contemplated the lake: the waters were placid; all around was calm; `
` and the snowy mountains, `the palaces of nature,' were not changed. By `
` degrees the calm and heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my `
` journey towards Geneva. `
` `
` The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I `
` approached my native town. I discovered more distinctly the black `
` sides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc. I wept like a `
` child. "Dear mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your `
` wanderer? Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and `
` placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?" `
` `
` I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on `
` these preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative `
` happiness, and I think of them with pleasure. My country, my beloved `
` country! who but a native can tell the delight I took in again `
` beholding thy streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely `
` lake! `
` `
` Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night `
` also closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I `
` felt still more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of `
` evil, and I foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most `
` wretched of human beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only `
` in one single circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and `
` dreaded, I did not conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was `
` destined to endure. It was completely dark when I arrived in the `
` environs of Geneva; the gates of the town were already shut; and I was `
` obliged to pass the night at Secheron, a village at the distance of `
` half a league from the city. The sky was serene; and, as I was unable `
` to rest, I resolved to visit the spot where my poor William had been `
` murdered. As I could not pass through the town, I was obliged to cross `
` the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais. During this short voyage `
` I saw the lightning playing on the summit of Mont Blanc in the most `
` beautiful figures. The storm appeared to approach rapidly, and, on `
` landing, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its progress. It `
` advanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain coming `
` slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased. `
` `
` I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm `
` increased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash `
` over my head. It was echoed from Saleve, the Juras, and the Alps of `
` Savoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the `
` lake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire; then for an instant `
` every thing seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered itself `
` from the preceding flash. The storm, as is often the case in `
` Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. The `
` most violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over the part of the `
` lake which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of `
` Copet. Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another `
` darkened and sometimes disclosed the Mole, a peaked mountain to the `
` east of the lake. `
` `
` While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on `
` with a hasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I `
` clasped my hands, and exclaimed aloud, "William, dear angel! this is `
` thy funeral, this thy dirge!" As I said these words, I perceived in the `
` gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I `
` stood fixed, gazing intently: I could not be mistaken. A flash of `
` lightning illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to `
` me; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect more hideous `
` than belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, `
` the filthy daemon, to whom I had given life. What did he there? Could `
` he be (I shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No `
` sooner did that idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of `
` its truth; my teeth chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree `
` for support. The figure passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. `
` `
` Nothing in human shape could have destroyed the fair child. HE was the `
` murderer! I could not doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an `
` irresistible proof of the fact. I thought of pursuing the devil; but `
` it would have been in vain, for another flash discovered him to me `
` hanging among the rocks of the nearly perpendicular ascent of Mont `
` Saleve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the south. He soon reached `
` the summit, and disappeared. `
` `
` I remained motionless. The thunder ceased; but the rain still `
` continued, and the scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. I `
` revolved in my mind the events which I had until now sought to forget: `
` the whole train of my progress toward the creation; the appearance of `
` the works of my own hands at my bedside; its departure. Two years had `
` now nearly elapsed since the night on which he first received life; and `
` was this his first crime? Alas! I had turned loose into the world a `
` depraved wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; had he not `
` murdered my brother? `
` `
` No one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the remainder of the `
` night, which I spent, cold and wet, in the open air. But I did not `
` feel the inconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in `
` scenes of evil and despair. I considered the being whom I had cast `
` among mankind, and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes `
` of horror, such as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light `
` of my own vampire, my own spirit let loose from the grave, and forced `
` to destroy all that was dear to me. `
` `
` Day dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town. The gates were `
` open, and I hastened to my father's house. My first thought was to `
` discover what I knew of the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be `
` made. But I paused when I reflected on the story that I had to tell. A `
` being whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met me at `
` midnight among the precipices of an inaccessible mountain. I `
` remembered also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at `
` the time that I dated my creation, and which would give an air of `
` delirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable. I well knew that `
` if any other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have `
` looked upon it as the ravings of insanity. Besides, the strange nature `
` of the animal would elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited `
` as to persuade my relatives to commence it. And then of what use would `
` be pursuit? Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the `
` overhanging sides of Mont Saleve? These reflections determined me, and `
` I resolved to remain silent. `
` `
` It was about five in the morning when I entered my father's house. I `
` told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library `
` to attend their usual hour of rising. `
` `
` Six years had elapsed, passed in a dream but for one indelible trace, `
` and I stood in the same place where I had last embraced my father `
` before my departure for Ingolstadt. Beloved and venerable parent! He `
` still remained to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood `
` over the mantel-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my `
` father's desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of `
` despair, kneeling by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb was `
` rustic, and her cheek pale; but there was an air of dignity and beauty, `
` that hardly permitted the sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a `
` miniature of William; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it. While `
` I was thus engaged, Ernest entered: he had heard me arrive, and `
` hastened to welcome me: "Welcome, my dearest Victor," said he. "Ah! I `
` wish you had come three months ago, and then you would have found us `
` all joyous and delighted. You come to us now to share a misery which `
` nothing can alleviate; yet you presence will, I hope, revive our `
` father, who seems sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions `
` will induce poor Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting self- `
` accusations.--Poor William! he was our darling and our pride!" `
` `
` Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother's eyes; a sense of mortal `
` agony crept over my frame. Before, I had only imagined the `
` wretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and `
` a not less terrible, disaster. I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more `
` minutely concerning my father, and her I named my cousin. `
` `
` "She most of all," said Ernest, "requires consolation; she accused `
` herself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her `
` very wretched. But since the murderer has been discovered--" `
` `
` "The murderer discovered! Good God! how can that be? who could attempt `
` to pursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the `
` winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw. I saw him too; he `
` was free last night!" `
` `
` "I do not know what you mean," replied my brother, in accents of `
` wonder, "but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery. No `
` one would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth will not be `
` convinced, notwithstanding all the evidence. Indeed, who would credit `
` that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, and fond of all the family, `
` could suddenly become so capable of so frightful, so appalling a `
` crime?" `
` `
` "Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is `
` wrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?" `
` `
`
` `
` I motioned him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the `
` room in the extremest agitation. Tears also gushed from the eyes of `
` Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune. `
` `
` "I can offer you no consolation, my friend," said he; "your disaster is `
` irreparable. What do you intend to do?" `
` `
` "To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses." `
` `
` During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation; `
` he could only express his heartfelt sympathy. "Poor William!" said he, `
` "dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had `
` seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his `
` untimely loss! To die so miserably; to feel the murderer's grasp! How `
` much more a murdered that could destroy radiant innocence! Poor little `
` fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but `
` he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever. `
` A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain. He can no longer `
` be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable `
` survivors." `
` `
` Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words `
` impressed themselves on my mind and I remembered them afterwards in `
` solitude. But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a `
` cabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend. `
` `
` My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I `
` longed to console and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends; `
` but when I drew near my native town, I slackened my progress. I could `
` hardly sustain the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind. I `
` passed through scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen `
` for nearly six years. How altered every thing might be during that `
` time! One sudden and desolating change had taken place; but a thousand `
` little circumstances might have by degrees worked other alterations, `
` which, although they were done more tranquilly, might not be the less `
` decisive. Fear overcame me; I dared no advance, dreading a thousand `
` nameless evils that made me tremble, although I was unable to define `
` them. I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. `
` I contemplated the lake: the waters were placid; all around was calm; `
` and the snowy mountains, `the palaces of nature,' were not changed. By `
` degrees the calm and heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my `
` journey towards Geneva. `
` `
` The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I `
` approached my native town. I discovered more distinctly the black `
` sides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc. I wept like a `
` child. "Dear mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your `
` wanderer? Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and `
` placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?" `
` `
` I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on `
` these preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative `
` happiness, and I think of them with pleasure. My country, my beloved `
` country! who but a native can tell the delight I took in again `
` beholding thy streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely `
` lake! `
` `
` Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night `
` also closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I `
` felt still more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of `
` evil, and I foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most `
` wretched of human beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only `
` in one single circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and `
` dreaded, I did not conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was `
` destined to endure. It was completely dark when I arrived in the `
` environs of Geneva; the gates of the town were already shut; and I was `
` obliged to pass the night at Secheron, a village at the distance of `
` half a league from the city. The sky was serene; and, as I was unable `
` to rest, I resolved to visit the spot where my poor William had been `
` murdered. As I could not pass through the town, I was obliged to cross `
` the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais. During this short voyage `
` I saw the lightning playing on the summit of Mont Blanc in the most `
` beautiful figures. The storm appeared to approach rapidly, and, on `
` landing, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its progress. It `
` advanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain coming `
` slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased. `
` `
` I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm `
` increased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash `
` over my head. It was echoed from Saleve, the Juras, and the Alps of `
` Savoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the `
` lake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire; then for an instant `
` every thing seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered itself `
` from the preceding flash. The storm, as is often the case in `
` Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. The `
` most violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over the part of the `
` lake which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of `
` Copet. Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another `
` darkened and sometimes disclosed the Mole, a peaked mountain to the `
` east of the lake. `
` `
` While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on `
` with a hasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I `
` clasped my hands, and exclaimed aloud, "William, dear angel! this is `
` thy funeral, this thy dirge!" As I said these words, I perceived in the `
` gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I `
` stood fixed, gazing intently: I could not be mistaken. A flash of `
` lightning illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to `
` me; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect more hideous `
` than belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, `
` the filthy daemon, to whom I had given life. What did he there? Could `
` he be (I shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No `
` sooner did that idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of `
` its truth; my teeth chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree `
` for support. The figure passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. `
` `
` Nothing in human shape could have destroyed the fair child. HE was the `
` murderer! I could not doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an `
` irresistible proof of the fact. I thought of pursuing the devil; but `
` it would have been in vain, for another flash discovered him to me `
` hanging among the rocks of the nearly perpendicular ascent of Mont `
` Saleve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the south. He soon reached `
` the summit, and disappeared. `
` `
` I remained motionless. The thunder ceased; but the rain still `
` continued, and the scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. I `
` revolved in my mind the events which I had until now sought to forget: `
` the whole train of my progress toward the creation; the appearance of `
` the works of my own hands at my bedside; its departure. Two years had `
` now nearly elapsed since the night on which he first received life; and `
` was this his first crime? Alas! I had turned loose into the world a `
` depraved wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; had he not `
` murdered my brother? `
` `
` No one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the remainder of the `
` night, which I spent, cold and wet, in the open air. But I did not `
` feel the inconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in `
` scenes of evil and despair. I considered the being whom I had cast `
` among mankind, and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes `
` of horror, such as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light `
` of my own vampire, my own spirit let loose from the grave, and forced `
` to destroy all that was dear to me. `
` `
` Day dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town. The gates were `
` open, and I hastened to my father's house. My first thought was to `
` discover what I knew of the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be `
` made. But I paused when I reflected on the story that I had to tell. A `
` being whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met me at `
` midnight among the precipices of an inaccessible mountain. I `
` remembered also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at `
` the time that I dated my creation, and which would give an air of `
` delirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable. I well knew that `
` if any other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have `
` looked upon it as the ravings of insanity. Besides, the strange nature `
` of the animal would elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited `
` as to persuade my relatives to commence it. And then of what use would `
` be pursuit? Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the `
` overhanging sides of Mont Saleve? These reflections determined me, and `
` I resolved to remain silent. `
` `
` It was about five in the morning when I entered my father's house. I `
` told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library `
` to attend their usual hour of rising. `
` `
` Six years had elapsed, passed in a dream but for one indelible trace, `
` and I stood in the same place where I had last embraced my father `
` before my departure for Ingolstadt. Beloved and venerable parent! He `
` still remained to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood `
` over the mantel-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my `
` father's desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of `
` despair, kneeling by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb was `
` rustic, and her cheek pale; but there was an air of dignity and beauty, `
` that hardly permitted the sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a `
` miniature of William; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it. While `
` I was thus engaged, Ernest entered: he had heard me arrive, and `
` hastened to welcome me: "Welcome, my dearest Victor," said he. "Ah! I `
` wish you had come three months ago, and then you would have found us `
` all joyous and delighted. You come to us now to share a misery which `
` nothing can alleviate; yet you presence will, I hope, revive our `
` father, who seems sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions `
` will induce poor Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting self- `
` accusations.--Poor William! he was our darling and our pride!" `
` `
` Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother's eyes; a sense of mortal `
` agony crept over my frame. Before, I had only imagined the `
` wretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and `
` a not less terrible, disaster. I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more `
` minutely concerning my father, and her I named my cousin. `
` `
` "She most of all," said Ernest, "requires consolation; she accused `
` herself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her `
` very wretched. But since the murderer has been discovered--" `
` `
` "The murderer discovered! Good God! how can that be? who could attempt `
` to pursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the `
` winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw. I saw him too; he `
` was free last night!" `
` `
` "I do not know what you mean," replied my brother, in accents of `
` wonder, "but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery. No `
` one would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth will not be `
` convinced, notwithstanding all the evidence. Indeed, who would credit `
` that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, and fond of all the family, `
` could suddenly become so capable of so frightful, so appalling a `
` crime?" `
` `
` "Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is `
` wrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?" `
` `
`