Frankenstein (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

  Chapter XII

  1 (p. 103) the ass and the lap-dog: In Jean de La Fontaine’s Fables (book 4, chap. 5), the lapdog is petted for fawning on its master, but the ass is punished severely when he attempts to emulate the dog’s behavior. See Fables of La Fontaine, 2 vols., translated by Elizur Wright, Jr., New York: Derby and Jackson, 1860, vol. 1, pp. 137-138.

  Chapter XIII

  1 (p. 106) Volney’s Ruins of Empires: The monster’s introduction to history and philosophy was written by Constantin François Chasseboeuf, comte de Volney (1757-1820), a revolutionary and Napoleonic senator. Les Ruines; ou, Meditations sur les revolutions des empires ( 1791 ) was a widely read series that elaborated on the count’s radical thoughts.

  Chapter XV

  1 (p. 114) the books: The first three books the monster perused were all part of Shelley’s reading the previous year, and they profoundly affected her shaping of the monster as well as the text. Milton’s Paradise Lost is quoted and referenced throughout Frankenstein; the monster and Victor both sympathize closely with Milton’s Satan, the “overreacher” and outcast. The Greek essayist Plutarch (c. A.D. 46-125) is most famous for his Parallel Lives, a collection of biographies of famous Greeks and Romans. The English translation of Plutarch’s Lives profoundly affected English literature, particularly Shakespeare’s plays. Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther (see chap. 9, note 1 ) popularized the new emotional awareness of the Romantic age-a radical departure from the order and control exemplified by Enlightenment writers. The monster’s expressiveness and passion were probably inspired in part by Werther’s great despair and dramatic suicide.

  2 (p. 115) “the path of my departure was free”: Percy Shelley’s poem “Mutability,” quoted on page 87 (see chap. X, note 2), is referenced again here (the monster slightly misquotes the third-to-last line). Victor’s creation has discovered for himself the opportunities for change and growth in his life but mourns his lack of guidance, sympathy, and support.

  3 (p. 115) peaceable lawgivers: Reading Plutarch’s Lives gave the monster the ability to name-drop in this way. Numa Pomplius (715-673 B.C.) was the second king of Rome; Solon (sixth century B.C.) was an Athenian poet and statesman ; Lycurgus (390-324 B.C.) was also an Athenian statesman. These three historical figures are distinguished from Romulus, the legendary founder of Rome (with Remus), and Theseus, a legendary Athenian hero.

  4 (p. 1 17) Adain’s supplication to his Creator: The monster is remembering either the quote that found its way onto the tide page of Frankenstein (Paradise Lost, book 10, lines 743-745) or another one from the same work (book 8, lines 379-397).

  Chapter XVI

  1 (p. 121) Cursed, cursed creator!: The monster evokes Job’s agony several times in his speech. Though Job himself never went so far as to curse his creator, he does exclaim, “Let the day perish wherein I was born” (the Bible, Job 3:3; King James Version), continuing with “Why died I not from the womb? Why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly?” (Job 3 :11 ) .

  2 (p. 121 ) bore a hell within me: The monster’s pronouncement is an echo of Satan’s in Paradise Lost: “Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell” (book 4, line 7 S ) .

  3 (p. 123) enveloped by the flames: The inflamed tree branch brings to mind Frankenstein’s “electric” moment of enlightenment and the blasted tree in chapter II. Whereas the creator was infatuated with the creative force of fire, the created is determined to utilize its destructive capabilities.

  Chapter XVIII

  1 (p. 138) During this voyage ... occupy the scene: Mary and Percy Shelley made a similar trip down the Rhine River in 1814; it is recounted in Mary Shelley’s History of a Six Weeks’ Tour, published in 1817. Clerval’s descriptions of his visits to French lakes and mountains in the next paragraph are based on more recollections of 1814 that are included in Shelley’s travelogue of that trip.

  2 (p. 139) “very poetry of nature”: Shelley herself notes that the quote is from “Rimini” (1816), by the English Romantic poet Leigh Hunt (1784-1859). The original “poet of nature” was Wordsworth (Percy Shelley’s poem “To Wordsworth,” written in 1816, begins by invoking the “Poet of Nature”). From his chivalrous flights of fancy in chapter II to his Byronic orientalism in chapter VI and his current interest in nature poetry and the sympathetic imagination, Clerval continues to expand his literary horizons. In the quote from “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey” (lines 76-83), Wordsworth recalls his instinctive connection to nature in his youth; though he no longer possesses it, he claims to have developed a new, mature sympathy for humanity.

  Chapter XIX

  1 (p. 141) his plan: Clerval’s interest in colonizing India demonstrates that he has inherited some of his father’s business acumen after all. The British Empire in India was initiated by Robert Clive’s victory at Plassey in 17 5 7 ; by 1818 the British controlled nearly all of the country south of the Sutlej River and had reduced their most powerful Indian opposition to vassalage.

  2 (p. 142) the beginning of October: On page 140, Frankenstein claimed to have first seen “the white cliffs of Britain” in late December. Either he is confused (thus demonstrating himself to be an unreliable narrator), or Shelley herself has made an error.

  3 (p. 142) Falkland ... Goring: Lucius Cary, Viscount Falkland (1610-1643), was a scholar and moderate royalist and the secretary of state to Charles I; he deliberately went to his death at the battle of Newbury in 1643. George, Baron Goring (1608-1657), was an ambitious (and unscrupulous) royalist general.

  4 (p. 143) illustrious Hampden: Frankenstein is momentarily inspired by the story of John Hampden (1594-1643), a parliamentarian who was famous for his opposition to Charles I and died for his beliefs.

  5 (p. 143) cabinets of natural history: The reference is probably to grottoes, such as the High Tor Grotto between Matlock and Madock Bath.

  6 (p. 144) the various lakes: Clerval and Frankenstein are now visiting the Lake District, a popular tourist destination and home and inspiration to Wordsworth, Coleridge, Lamb, and other “Lake Poets” in the early 1800s.

  Chapter XX

  1 (p. 149) on your wedding-night: This ominous and often-repeated line has several implications. Most obviously, the monster seems to be warning of his interference with Frankenstein’s marital plans. Additionally, since Frankenstein has just destroyed the monster’s hopes of having a wedding night of his own, the monster’s desire to be with Frankenstein during this time seems strangely intimate, and even hints of incest.

  Chapter XXI

  1 (p. 163) laudanum: First compounded by Paracelsus, laudanum is a mixture of opium and alcohol that was considered to be a healthful elixir. Many artists and writers experimented with the addictive substance, including Byron, Polidori, and the Shelleys. Hallucination was one of its effects, and Frankenstein experiences terrible nightmares once he doubles his dose.

  Chapter XXII

  1 (p. 165) sea of ice: Frankenstein last visited the Mer de Glace at Chamounix before meeting and speaking with the monster for the first time (p. 87).

  Chapter XXIII

  1 (p. 173) on its bridal bier: The image of Elizabeth’s body thrown across the bed was inspired by The Nightmare ( 17 81 ) , a painting by the artist Henry Fuseli, who frequented the intellectual circles of Shelley’s parents. See Shelley: The Pursuit, by Richard Holmes, New York: E. P. Dutton, 1975, plate 6.

  2 (p. 173) the breath had ceased: This scene was foreshadowed in Frankenstein’s nightmare following the creation of the monster that fateful November night (p. 52; see chap. V, note 2). In both instances, Victor attempts to embrace Elizabeth but discovers a corpse in his arms instead.

  3 (p. 177) you know not what it is you say: Frankenstein’s last spoken words before he begins his pursuit of the monster are an echo of Jesus’ pronouncement when he is brought to Calvary to be crucified: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (the Bible, Luke 23:34, King James Version).

  Chapter XXIV

  1 (p. 179)
that now torments me: Frankenstein’s pledge for vengeance on the monster mirrors the monster’s cry for justice on page 149. The creator has also switched places with his creation and is now the pursuer instead of the pursued.

  2 (p. 179) Tartary: Tatary, or Tatarstan, as it is known today, is a vast region in central and western Siberia. It is interesting to note that, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, Tartary is a variant of Tartarus, the infernal abyss below Hades where Zeus hurled the Titans.

  3 (p. 181) the Mediterranean: In 400 B.C. the Athenian writer Xenophon (431- 362 B.C.) led some ten thousand Greeks to safety by the sea, after the Persian rebel prince they had been supporting was defeated. See The Persian Expedition, by Xenophon, translated by Rex Warner, Middlesex, England. Penguin, 1972, pp. 177-220.

  4 (p. 186) like the archangel: In describing his fall, Frankenstein compares himself with Milton’s Satan, who, in Paradise Lost, cast out of heaven, fell down to “bottomless perdition, there to dwell/In Adamantine Chains and penal Fire” (book 1, lines 47-48).

  5 (p. 190) The die is cast: In Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the figures of Death and Life-in-Death cast dice for the mariner, and Life-in-Death wins (lines 195-198). When Walton agrees to turn back instead of forge on, he is saving his life but, as an ambitious man with thwarted desires, is also entering his own sort of living hell.

  6 (p. 194) My heart was fashioned: As on page 88, the monster’s personal philosophy brings to mind the first line of Rousseau’s Emile. He wishes his creator had taken the advice Rousseau proffers in the third paragraph of book 1: “Cultivate and water the young plant before it dies. Its fruits will one day be your delights. Form an enclosure around your child’s soul at an early date.” See Emile; or, On Education, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, translated by Allan Bloom, New York: Basic Books, 1979, p. 38.

  7 (p. 194) became my good: See Satan’s declaration in Paradise Lost: “Evil, be thou my good” (book 4, line 110).

  8 (p. 195) I am alone: The monster is correct in assuming his situation is even worse that Satan’s; even after his fall, Satan still had the support and companionship of the throng of angels who rebelled alongside him.

  9 (p. 196) this injustice: The monster’s sense of the unequal justice with which he has been served recalls Godwin’s stance on the rights of man in Political Justice: ”The rights of one man cannot clash with or be destructive of the rights of another; for this, instead of rendering the subject an important branch of truth and morality, as the advocates of the rights of man certainly understand it to be, would be to reduce it to a heap of unintelligible jargon and inconsistency” (book 2, chap. 5). See An Enquiry Concerning Political Justice and Its Influence on General Virtue and Happiness, by William Godwin, edited by Raymond A. Preston, New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1926, p. 61.

  10 (p. 197) my ashes: For a man whose troubles were instigated by harnessing the power of fire and who came to think of himself as a “blasted tree,” cremation seems an appropriate end. What is strangely haunting about Shelley’s reference to a funeral pyre is that her husband, Percy, would be cremated after his death by drowning in 1822 (recall, too, the foreshadowed death of their son William; see chap. VII, note 1). For an artistic representation of Shelley’s cremation, see Mary Shelley, by Miranda Seymour, New York: Grove Press, 2000, plate 44: The Funeral of Shelley (1889), by Louis-Edouard-Paul Fournier.

  INSPIRED BY FRANKENSTEIN

  It grossed something like 12 million dollars and started a cycle of so-called boy-meets-ghoul horror films.

  -BORIS KARLOFF, RECALLED ON HIS DEATH IN 1969

  Steeped in literary traditions and communities, Mary Shelley was perhaps destined to write, but ironically the true legacy of Frankenstein is a visual one. The London Morning Post’s early review of Presumption (1823), the first of many plays based on Shelley’s book, noted that “the representation of this piece upon the stage is of astonishing, of enchanting, interest.” pp While the novel has a strong dramatic quality, it is almost as if the monster must be seen for a real appreciation of the conceptual thrust of the story. Indeed, the decisive moment in the text occurs when Victor Frankenstein first lays eyes on the creation he has feverishly toiled on for months; he recoils in horror, his blood turns icy cold, and he runs. In the novel, the monster embodies Frankenstein’s exalted ego, shortsight edness, and folly; onstage, the monster holds the mirror to the audience. In bearing witness to the hideous visage of the monster, the audience immediately shares Frankenstein’s repulsion and understands his desire to escape.

  With the advent of motion pictures, the fascination with the visuality of Frankenstein found the perfect medium. Frankenstein the novel has spawned more fihn adaptations than any other work of fiction. Cinematic history is rife with variations, sequels, and spin-offs, some of which bear little or no resemblance to the original work, with nimmakers from Thomas Edison (1910) to Andy Warhol (1974) to Kenneth Branagh (1994) offering their interpretations. Spoofs, notable for their ridiculousness, include Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948) and Mel Brooks’s Young Frankenstein ( 19 74) . But it was James Whale’s Frankenstein of 1931 that made movie history, with Boris Karloff cast as the monster. Whale, one of the only openly gay artists working in Hollywood at the time, injects an outsider’s perspective into Shelley’s narrative. The creature that emerges from this process is a melange of the grotesque and the pathetic, and he is both terrifying and pitiable. The protruding forehead, the raised stitches running like rail ties over his ghastly flesh, and the electric nodes jutting from his neck combine to create one of the most persistent images in American iconography and indeed in human culture.

  Karloff’s made-up and costumed features have given way to the undying celebrity of the monster itself (whom most people erroneously dub “Frankenstein”); not unlike the monster in Shelley’s novel, the cinematic image cast into the world no longer needs a creator. The square face and zombie posture, whether loosely based on Boris Karloff or not, are immediately recognizable to millions, many of whom have not even read the novel. This monster no longer resembles a mirror held up to the audience; rather the image becomes something to stare at and be darkly obsessed with. Frankenstein the cinematic icon is one of the most recurrent and remarkable images of the twentieth century.

  COMMENTS & QUESTIONS

  In this section, we aim to provide the reader with an array of perspectives on the text, as well as questions that challenge those perspectives. The commentary has been culled from sources as diverse as reviews contemporaneous with the work, letters written by the author, literary criticism of later generations, and appreciations written throughout the book’s history. Following the commentaries, a series of questions seeks to filter Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein through a variety of points of view and bring about a richer understanding of this enduring work.

  Comments

  QUARTERLY REVIEW

  The monster, by the easy process of listening at the window of a cottage, acquires a complete education: he learns to think, to talk, to read prose and verse; he becomes acquainted with geography, history, and natural philosophy, in short, ‘a most delicate monster.’ This credible course of study, and its very natural success, [is] brought about by a combination of circumstances almost as natural. In the aforesaid cottage, a young Frenchman employed his time in teaching an Arabian girl all these fine things, utterly unconscious that while he was

  ‘whispering soft lessons in his fair one’s ear,’

  he was also tutoring Frankenstein’s hopeful son. The monster, however, by due diligence, becomes highly accomplished: he reads Plutarch’s Lives, Paradise Lost, Volney’s Ruin of Empires, and the Sorrows of Werter. Such were the works which constituted the Greco-Anglico-Germanico-Gallico-Arabic library of a Swabian hut, which, if not numerous, was at least miscellaneous, and reminds us, in this particular, of Lingo’s famous combination of historic characters-‘Mahamet, Heliogabalus, Wat Tyler, and Jack the Painter.‘ He learns also [to] decipher some writings which he car
ried off from the laboratory in which he was manufactured; by these papers he becomes acquainted with the name and residence of Frankenstein and his family, and as his education has given him so good a taste as to detest himself, he has also the good sense to detest his creator for imposing upon him such a horrible burden as conscious existence, and he therefore commences a series of bloody persecutions against the unhappy Frankenstein-he murders his infant brother, his young bride, his bosom friend; even the very nursery maids of the family are not safe from his vengeance, for he contrives that they shall be hanged for robbery and murder which he himself commits.

  The monster, however, has some method in his madness: he meets his Prometheus in the valley of Chamouny, and, in a long conversation, tells him the whole story of his adventures and his crimes, and declares that he will ‘spill more blood and become worse,’ unless Frankenstein will make (we should perhaps say build) a wife for him: the Sorrows of Werter had, it seems, given him a strange longing to find a Charlotte, of a suitable size, and it is plain that none of Eve’s daughters, not even the enormous Charlotte of the Varieties herself, would have suited this stupendous fantoccino.

  January 1818

  PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

  The novel of “Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus,” is undoubtedly, as a mere story, one of the most original and complete productions of the age. We debate with ourselves in wonder as we read it, what could have been the series of thoughts, what could have been the peculiar experiences that awakened them, which conducted in the author’s mind, to the astonishing combination of motives and incidents and the startling catastrophe which compose this tale. There are perhaps some points of subordinate importance which prove that it is the Author’s first attempt. But in this judgment, which requires a very nice discrimination, we may be mistaken. For it is conducted throughout with a firm and steady hand. The interest gradually accumulates, and advances towards the conclusion with the accelerated rapidity of a rock rolled down a mountain. We are held breathless with suspense and sympathy, and the heaping up of incident on incident, and the working of passion out of passion. We cry “hold, hold, enough”—but there is yet something to come, and like the victim whose history it relates we think we can bear no more, and yet more is to be borne. Pelion is heaped on Ossa, and Ossa on Olympus. We climb Alp after Alp, until the horizon is seen, blank, vacant and limitless, and the head turns giddy, and the ground seems to fail under the feet.