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 sick bed 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
return 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 related
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 reined 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 judgment 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 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 expressions
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 very 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 to 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, as 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 Sanscrit
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 rambles 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
did you 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. |