Reading Help Frankenstein Ch.1-9
disorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive `
` nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he `
` did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest `
` action that he could towards them. `
` `
` But I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the unbounded and `
` unremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life. `
` The form of the monster on whom I had bestowed existence was forever `
` before my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him. Doubtless my `
` words surprised Henry; he at first believed them to be the wanderings `
` of my disturbed imagination, but the pertinacity with which I `
` continually recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder `
` indeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event. `
` `
` By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed and `
` grieved my friend, I recovered. I remember the first time I became `
` capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I `
` perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared and that the young `
` buds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window. It was `
` a divine spring, and the season contributed greatly to my `
` convalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in `
` my bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as `
` cheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion. `
` `
` "Dearest Clerval," exclaimed I, "how kind, how very good you are to me. `
` This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you promised `
` yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever repay `
` you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I `
` have been the occasion, but you will forgive me." `
` `
` "You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get `
` well as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I `
` may speak to you on one subject, may I not?" `
` `
` I trembled. One subject! What could it be? Could he allude to an `
` object on whom I dared not even think? "Compose yourself," said `
` Clerval, who observed my change of colour, "I will not mention it if it `
` agitates you; but your father and cousin would be very happy if they `
` received a letter from you in your own handwriting. They hardly know `
` how ill you have been and are uneasy at your long silence." `
` `
` "Is that all, my dear Henry? How could you suppose that my first `
` thought would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and `
` who are so deserving of my love?" `
` `
` "If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad to `
` see a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from `
` your cousin, I believe." `
` `
` `
` Chapter 6 `
` `
` 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 your self; and, I entreat `
` you, write! `
` `
` "Elizabeth Lavenza. `
` `
` "Geneva, March 18, 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 `
`
` nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he `
` did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest `
` action that he could towards them. `
` `
` But I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the unbounded and `
` unremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life. `
` The form of the monster on whom I had bestowed existence was forever `
` before my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him. Doubtless my `
` words surprised Henry; he at first believed them to be the wanderings `
` of my disturbed imagination, but the pertinacity with which I `
` continually recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder `
` indeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event. `
` `
` By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed and `
` grieved my friend, I recovered. I remember the first time I became `
` capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I `
` perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared and that the young `
` buds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window. It was `
` a divine spring, and the season contributed greatly to my `
` convalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in `
` my bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as `
` cheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion. `
` `
` "Dearest Clerval," exclaimed I, "how kind, how very good you are to me. `
` This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you promised `
` yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever repay `
` you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I `
` have been the occasion, but you will forgive me." `
` `
` "You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get `
` well as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I `
` may speak to you on one subject, may I not?" `
` `
` I trembled. One subject! What could it be? Could he allude to an `
` object on whom I dared not even think? "Compose yourself," said `
` Clerval, who observed my change of colour, "I will not mention it if it `
` agitates you; but your father and cousin would be very happy if they `
` received a letter from you in your own handwriting. They hardly know `
` how ill you have been and are uneasy at your long silence." `
` `
` "Is that all, my dear Henry? How could you suppose that my first `
` thought would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and `
` who are so deserving of my love?" `
` `
` "If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad to `
` see a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from `
` your cousin, I believe." `
` `
` `
` Chapter 6 `
` `
` 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 your self; and, I entreat `
` you, write! `
` `
` "Elizabeth Lavenza. `
` `
` "Geneva, March 18, 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 `
`