Reading Help Frankenstein Ch.1-9
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the face of man; all sound of joy or complacency was torture to me; `
` solitude was my only consolation--deep, dark, deathlike solitude. `
` `
` My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my `
` disposition and habits and endeavoured by arguments deduced from the `
` feelings of his serene conscience and guiltless life to inspire me with `
` fortitude and awaken in me the courage to dispel the dark cloud which `
` brooded over me. "Do you think, Victor," said he, "that I do not `
` suffer also? No one could love a child more than I loved your `
` brother"--tears came into his eyes as he spoke--"but is it not a duty `
` to the survivors that we should refrain from augmenting their `
` unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty `
` owed to yourself, for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or `
` enjoyment, or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no `
` man is fit for society." `
` `
` This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I `
` should have been the first to hide my grief and console my friends if `
` remorse had not mingled its bitterness, and terror its alarm, with my `
` other sensations. Now I could only answer my father with a look of `
` despair and endeavour to hide myself from his view. `
` `
` About this time we retired to our house at Belrive. This change was `
` particularly agreeable to me. The shutting of the gates regularly at `
` ten o'clock and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that `
` hour had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome `
` to me. I was now free. Often, after the rest of the family had `
` retired for the night, I took the boat and passed many hours upon the `
` water. Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and `
` sometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to `
` pursue its own course and gave way to my own miserable reflections. I `
` was often tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only `
` unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and `
` heavenly--if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and `
` interrupted croaking was heard only when I approached the shore--often, `
` I say, I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters `
` might close over me and my calamities forever. But I was restrained, `
` when I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly `
` loved, and whose existence was bound up in mine. I thought also of my `
` father and surviving brother; should I by my base desertion leave them `
` exposed and unprotected to the malice of the fiend whom I had let loose `
` among them? `
` `
` At these moments I wept bitterly and wished that peace would revisit my `
` mind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that `
` could not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author `
` of unalterable evils, and I lived in daily fear lest the monster whom I `
` had created should perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure `
` feeling that all was not over and that he would still commit some `
` signal crime, which by its enormity should almost efface the `
` recollection of the past. There was always scope for fear so long as `
` anything I loved remained behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot `
` be conceived. When I thought of him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became `
` inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so `
` thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my `
` hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a `
` pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I when there have `
` precipitated him to their base. I wished to see him again, that I `
` might wreak the utmost extent of abhorrence on his head and avenge the `
` deaths of William and Justine. Our house was the house of mourning. My `
` father's health was deeply shaken by the horror of the recent events. `
` Elizabeth was sad and desponding; she no longer took delight in her `
` ordinary occupations; all pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the `
` dead; eternal woe and tears she then thought was the just tribute she `
` should pay to innocence so blasted and destroyed. She was no longer `
` that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks `
` of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. The first `
` of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited `
` her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest smiles. `
` `
` "When I reflect, my dear cousin," said she, "on the miserable death of `
` Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before `
` appeared to me. Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and `
` injustice that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient `
` days or imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to `
` reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men `
` appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other's blood. Yet I am `
` certainly unjust. Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty; and `
` if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly `
` she would have been the most depraved of human creatures. For the sake `
` of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend, `
` a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if `
` it had been her own! I could not consent to the death of any human `
` being, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to `
` remain in the society of men. But she was innocent. I know, I feel `
` she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that confirms me. `
` Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can `
` assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were walking on `
` the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding and `
` endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and Justine were `
` assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free, `
` and perhaps respected. But even if I were condemned to suffer on the `
` scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a `
` wretch." `
` `
` I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I, not in deed, `
` but in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my `
` countenance, and kindly taking my hand, said, "My dearest friend, you `
` must calm yourself. These events have affected me, God knows how `
` deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of `
` despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me `
` tremble. Dear Victor, banish these dark passions. Remember the `
` friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. Have we lost `
` the power of rendering you happy? Ah! While we love, while we are `
` true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native `
` country, we may reap every tranquil blessing--what can disturb our `
` peace?" `
` `
` And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every `
` other gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my `
` heart? Even as she spoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at `
` that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her. `
` `
` Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of `
` heaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were `
` ineffectual. I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial `
` influence could penetrate. The wounded deer dragging its fainting `
` limbs to some untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had `
` pierced it, and to die, was but a type of me. `
` `
` Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me, but `
` sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily `
` exercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable `
` sensations. It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left `
` my home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine valleys, sought `
` in the magnificence, the eternity of such scenes, to forget myself and `
` my ephemeral, because human, sorrows. My wanderings were directed `
` towards the valley of Chamounix. I had visited it frequently during my `
` boyhood. Six years had passed since then: _I_ was a wreck, but nought `
` had changed in those savage and enduring scenes. `
` `
` I performed the first part of my journey on horseback. I afterwards `
` hired a mule, as the more sure-footed and least liable to receive `
` injury on these rugged roads. The weather was fine; it was about the `
` middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of `
` Justine, that miserable epoch from which I dated all my woe. The `
` weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in `
` the ravine of Arve. The immense mountains and precipices that overhung `
` me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and `
` the dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty as `
` Omnipotence--and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less `
` almighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here `
` displayed in their most terrific guise. Still, as I ascended higher, `
` the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character. `
` Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains, the `
` impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from `
` among the trees formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was `
` augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and `
` shining pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another `
` earth, the habitations of another race of beings. `
` `
` I passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine, which the river `
` forms, opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that `
` overhangs it. Soon after, I entered the valley of Chamounix. This `
` valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and `
` picturesque as that of Servox, through which I had just passed. The `
` high and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries, but I saw no `
` more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers approached `
` the road; I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche and `
` marked the smoke of its passage. Mont Blanc, the supreme and `
` magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding aiguilles, `
` and its tremendous dome overlooked the valley. `
` `
` A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this `
` journey. Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and `
` recognized, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the `
` lighthearted gaiety of boyhood. The very winds whispered in soothing `
` accents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more. Then again the `
` kindly influence ceased to act--I found myself fettered again to grief `
` and indulging in all the misery of reflection. Then I spurred on my `
` animal, striving so to forget the world, my fears, and more than all, `
` myself--or, in a more desperate fashion, I alighted and threw myself on `
` the grass, weighed down by horror and despair. `
` `
` At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix. Exhaustion succeeded `
` to the extreme fatigue both of body and of mind which I had endured. `
` For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid `
` lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of `
` the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath. The same lulling sounds `
` acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head `
` upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed `
` the giver of oblivion. `
` `
` `
` `
`
` solitude was my only consolation--deep, dark, deathlike solitude. `
` `
` My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my `
` disposition and habits and endeavoured by arguments deduced from the `
` feelings of his serene conscience and guiltless life to inspire me with `
` fortitude and awaken in me the courage to dispel the dark cloud which `
` brooded over me. "Do you think, Victor," said he, "that I do not `
` suffer also? No one could love a child more than I loved your `
` brother"--tears came into his eyes as he spoke--"but is it not a duty `
` to the survivors that we should refrain from augmenting their `
` unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty `
` owed to yourself, for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or `
` enjoyment, or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no `
` man is fit for society." `
` `
` This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I `
` should have been the first to hide my grief and console my friends if `
` remorse had not mingled its bitterness, and terror its alarm, with my `
` other sensations. Now I could only answer my father with a look of `
` despair and endeavour to hide myself from his view. `
` `
` About this time we retired to our house at Belrive. This change was `
` particularly agreeable to me. The shutting of the gates regularly at `
` ten o'clock and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that `
` hour had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome `
` to me. I was now free. Often, after the rest of the family had `
` retired for the night, I took the boat and passed many hours upon the `
` water. Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and `
` sometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to `
` pursue its own course and gave way to my own miserable reflections. I `
` was often tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only `
` unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and `
` heavenly--if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and `
` interrupted croaking was heard only when I approached the shore--often, `
` I say, I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters `
` might close over me and my calamities forever. But I was restrained, `
` when I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly `
` loved, and whose existence was bound up in mine. I thought also of my `
` father and surviving brother; should I by my base desertion leave them `
` exposed and unprotected to the malice of the fiend whom I had let loose `
` among them? `
` `
` At these moments I wept bitterly and wished that peace would revisit my `
` mind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that `
` could not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author `
` of unalterable evils, and I lived in daily fear lest the monster whom I `
` had created should perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure `
` feeling that all was not over and that he would still commit some `
` signal crime, which by its enormity should almost efface the `
` recollection of the past. There was always scope for fear so long as `
` anything I loved remained behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot `
` be conceived. When I thought of him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became `
` inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so `
` thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my `
` hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a `
` pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I when there have `
` precipitated him to their base. I wished to see him again, that I `
` might wreak the utmost extent of abhorrence on his head and avenge the `
` deaths of William and Justine. Our house was the house of mourning. My `
` father's health was deeply shaken by the horror of the recent events. `
` Elizabeth was sad and desponding; she no longer took delight in her `
` ordinary occupations; all pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the `
` dead; eternal woe and tears she then thought was the just tribute she `
` should pay to innocence so blasted and destroyed. She was no longer `
` that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks `
` of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. The first `
` of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited `
` her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest smiles. `
` `
` "When I reflect, my dear cousin," said she, "on the miserable death of `
` Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before `
` appeared to me. Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and `
` injustice that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient `
` days or imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to `
` reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men `
` appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other's blood. Yet I am `
` certainly unjust. Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty; and `
` if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly `
` she would have been the most depraved of human creatures. For the sake `
` of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend, `
` a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if `
` it had been her own! I could not consent to the death of any human `
` being, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to `
` remain in the society of men. But she was innocent. I know, I feel `
` she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that confirms me. `
` Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can `
` assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were walking on `
` the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding and `
` endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and Justine were `
` assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free, `
` and perhaps respected. But even if I were condemned to suffer on the `
` scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a `
` wretch." `
` `
` I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I, not in deed, `
` but in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my `
` countenance, and kindly taking my hand, said, "My dearest friend, you `
` must calm yourself. These events have affected me, God knows how `
` deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of `
` despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me `
` tremble. Dear Victor, banish these dark passions. Remember the `
` friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. Have we lost `
` the power of rendering you happy? Ah! While we love, while we are `
` true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native `
` country, we may reap every tranquil blessing--what can disturb our `
` peace?" `
` `
` And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every `
` other gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my `
` heart? Even as she spoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at `
` that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her. `
` `
` Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of `
` heaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were `
` ineffectual. I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial `
` influence could penetrate. The wounded deer dragging its fainting `
` limbs to some untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had `
` pierced it, and to die, was but a type of me. `
` `
` Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me, but `
` sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily `
` exercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable `
` sensations. It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left `
` my home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine valleys, sought `
` in the magnificence, the eternity of such scenes, to forget myself and `
` my ephemeral, because human, sorrows. My wanderings were directed `
` towards the valley of Chamounix. I had visited it frequently during my `
` boyhood. Six years had passed since then: _I_ was a wreck, but nought `
` had changed in those savage and enduring scenes. `
` `
` I performed the first part of my journey on horseback. I afterwards `
` hired a mule, as the more sure-footed and least liable to receive `
` injury on these rugged roads. The weather was fine; it was about the `
` middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of `
` Justine, that miserable epoch from which I dated all my woe. The `
` weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in `
` the ravine of Arve. The immense mountains and precipices that overhung `
` me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and `
` the dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty as `
` Omnipotence--and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less `
` almighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here `
` displayed in their most terrific guise. Still, as I ascended higher, `
` the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character. `
` Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains, the `
` impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from `
` among the trees formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was `
` augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and `
` shining pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another `
` earth, the habitations of another race of beings. `
` `
` I passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine, which the river `
` forms, opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that `
` overhangs it. Soon after, I entered the valley of Chamounix. This `
` valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and `
` picturesque as that of Servox, through which I had just passed. The `
` high and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries, but I saw no `
` more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers approached `
` the road; I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche and `
` marked the smoke of its passage. Mont Blanc, the supreme and `
` magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding aiguilles, `
` and its tremendous dome overlooked the valley. `
` `
` A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this `
` journey. Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and `
` recognized, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the `
` lighthearted gaiety of boyhood. The very winds whispered in soothing `
` accents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more. Then again the `
` kindly influence ceased to act--I found myself fettered again to grief `
` and indulging in all the misery of reflection. Then I spurred on my `
` animal, striving so to forget the world, my fears, and more than all, `
` myself--or, in a more desperate fashion, I alighted and threw myself on `
` the grass, weighed down by horror and despair. `
` `
` At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix. Exhaustion succeeded `
` to the extreme fatigue both of body and of mind which I had endured. `
` For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid `
` lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of `
` the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath. The same lulling sounds `
` acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head `
` upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed `
` the giver of oblivion. `
` `
` `
` `
`