From this day natural philosophy,
and particularly chemistry, in
the most comprehensive sense
of the term, became nearly my
sole occupation. I read with
ardour those works, so full of
genius and discrimination, which
modern inquirers have written
on these subjects. I attended
the lectures, and cultivated
the acquaintance, of the men
of science of the university;
and I found even in M. Krempe
a great deal of sound sense and
real information, combined, it
is true, with a repulsive physiognomy
and manners, but not on that
account the less valuable. In
M. Waldman I found a true friend.
His gentleness was never tinged
by dogmatism; and his instructions
were given with an air of frankness
and good nature that banished
every idea of pedantry. In a
thousand ways he smoothed for
me the path of knowledge, and
made the most abstruse inquiries
clear and facile to my apprehension.
My application was at first fluctuating
and uncertain; it gained strength
as I proceeded, and soon became
so ardent and eager that the
stars often disappeared in the
light of morning whilst I was
yet engaged in my laboratory.
As I applied so closely, it
may be easily conceived that
my progress was rapid. My ardour
was indeed the astonishment of
the students, and my proficiency
that of the masters. Professor
Krempe often asked me, with a
sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa
went on? whilst M. Waldman expressed
the most heartfelt exultation
in my progress. Two years passed
in this manner, during which
I paid no visit to Geneva, but
was engaged, heart and soul,
in the pursuit of some discoveries,
which I hoped to make. None but
those who have experienced them
can conceive of the enticements
of science. In other studies
you go as far as others have
gone before you, and there is
nothing more to know; but in
a scientific pursuit there is
continual food for discovery
and wonder. A mind of moderate
capacity, which closely pursues
one study, must infallibly arrive
at great proficiency in that
study; and I, who continuity
sought the attainment of one
object of pursuit, and was solely
wrapt up in this, improved so
rapidly that, at the end of two
years, I made some discoveries
in the improvement of some chemical
instruments which procured me
great esteem and admiration at
the university. When I had arrived
at this point, and had become
as well acquainted with the theory
and practice of natural philosophy
as depended on the lessons of
any of the professors at Ingolstadt,
my residence there being no longer
conducive to my improvement,
I thought of returning to my
friends and my native town, when
an incident happened that protracted
my stay.
One of the phenomena which
had peculiarly attracted my attention
was the structure of the human
frame, and, indeed, any animal
endued with life. Whence, I often
asked myself, did the principle
of life proceed? It was a bold
question, and one which has ever
been considered as a mystery;
yet with how many things are
we upon the brink of becoming
acquainted, if cowardice or carelessness
did not restrain our inquiries.
I revolved these circumstances
in my mind, and determined thenceforth
to apply myself more particularly
to those branches of natural
philosophy which relate to physiology.
Unless I had been animated by
an almost supernatural enthusiasm,
my application to this study
would have been irksome, and
almost intolerable. To examine
the causes of life, we must first
have recourse to death. I became
acquainted with the science of
anatomy: but this was not sufficient;
I must also observe the natural
decay and corruption of the human
body. In my education my father
had taken the greatest precautions
that my mind should be impressed
with no supernatural horrors.
I do not ever remember to have
trembled at a tale of superstition,
or to have feared the apparition
of a spirit. Darkness had no
effect upon my fancy; and a churchyard
was to me merely the receptacle
of bodies deprived of life, which,
from being the seat of beauty
and strength, had become food
for the worm. Now I was led to
examine the cause and progress
of this decay, and forced to
spend days and nights in vaults
and charnel-houses. My attention
was fixed upon every object the
most insupportable to the delicacy
of the human feelings. I saw
how the fine form of man was
degraded and wasted; I beheld
the corruption of death succeed
to the blooming cheek of life;
I saw how the worm inherited
the wonders of the eye and brain.
I paused, examining and analysing
all the minutia of causation,
as exemplified in the change
from life to death, and death
to life, until from the midst
of this darkness a sudden light
broke in upon me--a light so
brilliant and wondrous, yet so
simple, that while I became dizzy
with the immensity of the prospect
which it illustrated, I was surprised,
that among so many men of genius
who had directed their inquiries
towards the same science, that
I alone should be reserved to
discover so astonishing a secret.
Remember, I am not recording
the vision of a madman. The sun
does not more certainly shine
in the heavens, than that which
I now affirm is true. Some miracle
might have produced it, yet the
stages of the discovery were
distinct and probable. After
days and nights of incredible
labour and fatigue, I succeeded
in discovering the cause of generation
and life; nay, more, I became
myself capable of bestowing animation
upon lifeless matter.
The astonishment which I had
at first experienced on this
discovery soon gave place to
delight and rapture. After so
much time spent in painful labour,
to arrive at once at the summit
of my desires was the most gratifying
consummation of my toils. But
this discovery was so great and
overwhelming that all the steps
by which I had been progressively
led to it were obliterated, and
I beheld only the result. What
had been the study and desires
of the wisest men since the creation
of the world was now within my
grasp. Not that, like a magic
scene, it all opened upon me
at once: the information I had
obtained was of a nature rather
to direct my endeavours so soon
as I should point them towards
the object of my search, than
to exhibit that object already
accomplished. I was like the
Arabian who had been buried with
the dead, and found a passage
to life, aided only by one glimmering,
and seemingly ineffectual, light.
I see by your eagerness, and
the wonder and hope which your
eyes express, my friend, that
you expect to be informed of
the secret with which I am acquainted;
that cannot be: listen patiently
until the end of my story, and
you will easily perceive why
I am reserved upon that subject.
I will not lead you on, unguarded
and ardent as I then was, to
your destruction and infallible
misery. Learn from me, if not
by my precepts, at least by my
example, how dangerous is the
acquirement of knowledge, and
how much happier that man is
who believes his native town
to be the world, than he who
aspires to become greater than
his nature will allow.
When I found so astonishing
a power placed within my hands,
I hesitated a long time concerning
the manner in which I should
employ it. Although I possessed
the capacity of bestowing animation,
yet to prepare a frame for the
reception of it, with all its
intricacies of fibres, muscles,
and veins, still remained a work
of inconceivable difficulty and
labour. I doubted at first whether
I should attempt the creation
of a being like myself, or one
of simpler organisation; but
my imagination was too much exalted
by my first success to permit
me to doubt of my ability to
give life to an animal as complex
and wonderful as man. The materials
at present within my command
hardly appeared adequate to so
arduous an undertaking; but I
doubted not that I should ultimately
succeed. I prepared myself for
a multitude of reverses; my operations
might be incessantly baffled,
and at last my work be imperfect:
yet, when I considered the improvement
which every day takes place in
science and mechanics, I was
encouraged to hope my present
attempts would at least lay the
foundations of future success.
Nor could I consider the magnitude
and complexity of my plan as
any argument of its impracticability.
It was with these feelings that
I began the creation of a human
being. As the minuteness of the
parts formed a great hinderance
to my speed, I resolved, contrary
to my first intention, to make
the being of a gigantic stature;
that is to say, about eight feet
in height, and proportionably
large. After having formed this
determination, and having spent
some months in successfully collecting
and arranging my materials, I
began.
No one can conceive the variety
of feelings which bore me onwards,
like a hurricane, in the first
enthusiasm of success. Life and
death appeared to me ideal bounds,
which I should first break through,
and pour a torrent of light into
our dark world. A new species
would bless me as its creator
and source; many happy and excellent
natures would owe their being
to me. No father could claim
the gratitude of his child so
completely as I should deserve
theirs. Pursuing these reflections,
I thought, that if I could bestow
animation upon lifeless matter,
I might in process of time (although
I now found it impossible) renew
life where death had apparently
devoted the body to corruption.
These thoughts supported my
spirits, while I pursued my undertaking
with unremitting ardour. My cheek
had grown pale with study, and
my person had become emaciated
with confinement. Sometimes,
on the very brink of certainty,
I failed; yet still I clung to
the hope which the next day or
the next hour might realise.
One secret which I alone possessed
was the hope to which I had dedicated
myself; and the moon gazed on
my midnight labours, while, with
unrelaxed and breathless eagerness,
I pursued nature to her hiding-places.
Who shall conceive the horrors
of my secret toil, as I dabbled
among the unhallowed damps of
the grave, or tortured the living
animal to animate the lifeless
clay? My limbs now tremble and
my eyes swim with the remembrance;
but then a resistless, and almost
frantic, impulse urged me forward;
I seemed to have lost all soul
or sensation but for this one
pursuit. It was indeed but a
passing trance that only made
me feel with renewed acuteness
so soon as, the unnatural stimulus
ceasing to operate, I had returned
to my old habits. I collected
bones from charnel houses; and
disturbed, with profane fingers,
the tremendous secrets of the
human frame. In a solitary chamber,
or rather cell, at the top of
the house, and separated from
all the other apartments by a
gallery and staircase, I kept
my workshop of filthy creation:
my eye-balls were starting from
their sockets in attending to
the details of my employment.
The dissecting room and the slaughterhouse
furnished many of my materials;
and often did my human nature
turn with loathing from my occupation,
whilst, still urged on by an
eagerness which perpetually increased,
I brought my work near to a conclusion.
The summer
months passed while I was thus
engaged, heart and
soul, in one pursuit. It was
a most beautiful season; never
did the fields bestow a more
plentiful harvest, or the vines
yield a more luxuriant vintage:
but my eyes were insensible to
the charms of nature. And the
same feelings which made me neglect
the scenes around me caused me
also to forget those friends
who were so many miles absent,
and whom I had not seen for so
long a time. I knew my silence
disquieted them; and I well remembered
the words of my father: "I know
that while you are pleased with
yourself, you will think of us
with affection, and we shall
hear regularly from you. You
must pardon me if I regard any
interruption in your correspondence
as a proof that your other duties
are equally neglected."
I knew well, therefore, what
would be my father's feelings;
but I could not tear my thoughts
from my employment, loathsome
in itself, but which had taken
an irresistible hold of my imagination.
I wished, as it were, to procrastinate
all that related to my feelings
of affection until the great
object, which swallowed up every
habit of my nature, should be
completed.
I then thought that my father
would be unjust if he ascribed
my neglect to vice, or faultiness
on my part; but I am now convinced
that he was justified in conceiving
that I should not be altogether
free from blame. A human being
in perfection ought always to
preserve a calm and peaceful
mind, and never to allow passion
or a transitory desire to disturb
his tranquillity. I do not think
that the pursuit of knowledge
is an exception to this rule.
If the study to which you apply
yourself has a tendency to weaken
your affections, and to destroy
your taste for those simple pleasures
in which no alloy can possibly
mix, then that study is certainly
unlawful, that is to say, not
befitting the human mind. If
this rule were always observed;
if no man allowed any pursuit
whatsoever to interfere with
the tranquillity of his domestic
affections, Greece had not been
enslaved; Caesar would have spared
his country; America would have
been discovered more gradually;
and the empires of Mexico and
Peru had not been destroyed.
But I forget that I am moralising
in the most interesting part
of my tale; and your looks remind
me to proceed.
My father made no reproach
in his letters, and only took
notice of my silence by inquiring
into my occupations more particularly
than before. Winter, spring,
and summer passed away during
my labours; but I did not watch
the blossom or the expanding
leaves--sights which before always
yielded me supreme delight--so
deeply was I engrossed in my
occupation. The leaves of that
year had withered before my work
drew near to a close; and now
every day showed me more plainly
how well I had succeeded. But
my enthusiasm was checked by
my anxiety, and I appeared rather
like one doomed by slavery to
toil in the mines, or any other
unwholesome trade, than an artist
occupied by his favourite employment.
Every night I was oppressed by
a slow fever, and I became nervous
to a most painful degree; the
fall of a leaf startled me, and
I shunned my fellow-creatures
as if I had been guilty of a
crime. Sometimes I grew alarmed
at the wreck I perceived that
I had become; the energy of my
purpose alone sustained me: my
labours would soon end, and I
believed that exercise and amusement
would then drive away incipient
disease; and I promised myself
both of these when my creation
should be complete. |