CHAPTER III.
When I had attained the age of seventeen, my parents resolved that Ishould become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had hithertoattended the schools of Geneva; but my father thought it necessary, forthe completion of my education, that I should be made acquainted withother customs than those of my native country. My departure wastherefore fixed at an early date; but, before the day resolved uponcould arrive, the first misfortune of my life occurred--an omen, as itwere, of my future misery.
Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and shewas in the greatest danger. During her illness, many arguments had beenurged to persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had,at first, yielded to our entreaties; but when she heard that the life ofher favourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. Sheattended her sick bed,--her watchful attentions triumphed over themalignity of the distemper,--Elizabeth was saved, but the consequencesof this imprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third day mymother sickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarmingsymptoms, and the looks of her medical attendants prognosticated theworst event. On her death-bed the fortitude and benignity of this bestof women did not desert her. She joined the hands of Elizabeth andmyself:--"My children," she said, "my firmest hopes of future happinesswere placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now bethe consolation of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply myplace to my younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you;and, happy and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all?But these are not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resignmyself cheerfully to death, and will indulge a hope of meeting you inanother world."
She died calmly; and her countenance expressed affection even in death.I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent bythat most irreparable evil; the void that presents itself to the soul;and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so longbefore the mind can persuade itself that she, whom we saw every day, andwhose very existence appeared a part of our own, can have departed forever--that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished,and the sound of a voice so familiar, and dear to the ear, can behushed, never more to be heard. These are the reflections of the firstdays; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the evil, thenthe actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has not thatrude hand rent away some dear connection? and why should I describe asorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives,when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile thatplays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is notbanished. My mother was dead, but we had still duties which we ought toperform; we must continue our course with the rest, and learn to thinkourselves fortunate, whilst one remains whom the spoiler has not seized.
My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events,was now again determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite ofsome weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose,akin to death, of the house of mourning, and to rush into the thick oflife. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me. I wasunwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me; and, aboveall, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled.
She indeed veiled her grief, and strove to act the comforter to us all.She looked steadily on life, and assumed its duties with courage andzeal. She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call heruncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time, whenshe recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us. Sheforgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget.
The day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the lastevening with us. He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit himto accompany me, and to become my fellow student; but in vain. Hisfather was a narrow-minded trader, and saw idleness and ruin in theaspirations and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the misfortune ofbeing debarred from a liberal education. He said little; but when hespoke, I read in his kindling eye and in his animated glance arestrained but firm resolve, not to be chained to the miserable detailsof commerce.
_The day of my departure at length arrived._]
We sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other, norpersuade ourselves to say the word "Farewell!" It was said; and weretired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that theother was deceived: but when at morning's dawn I descended to thecarriage which was to convey me away, they were all there--my fatheragain to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth torenew her entreaties that I would write often, and to bestow the lastfeminine attentions on her playmate and friend.
I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away, and indulgedin the most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded byamiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutualpleasure, I was now alone. In the university, whither I was going, Imust form my own friends, and be my own protector. My life had hithertobeen remarkably secluded and domestic; and this had given me invinciblerepugnance to new countenances. I loved my brothers, Elizabeth, andClerval; these were "old familiar faces;" but I believed myself totallyunfitted for the company of strangers. Such were my reflections as Icommenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits and hopes rose. Iardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when athome, thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one place,and had longed to enter the world, and take my station among otherhuman beings. Now my desires were complied with, and it would, indeed,have been folly to repent.
I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during myjourney to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At length the highwhite steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted, and was conducted tomy solitary apartment, to spend the evening as I pleased.
The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction, and paid avisit to some of the principal professors. Chance--or rather the evilinfluence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway overme from the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my father'sdoor--led me first to Mr. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. Hewas an uncouth man, but deeply embued in the secrets of his science. Heasked me several questions concerning my progress in the differentbranches of science appertaining to natural philosophy. I repliedcarelessly; and, partly in contempt, mentioned the names of myalchymists as the principal authors I had studied. The professor stared:"Have you," he said, "really spent your time in studying such nonsense?"
I replied in the affirmative. "Every minute," continued M. Krempe withwarmth, "every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterlyand entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with exploded systemsand useless names. Good God! in what desert land have you lived, whereno one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies, which you haveso greedily imbibed, are a thousand years old, and as musty as they areancient? I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific age, tofind a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear sir, you mustbegin your studies entirely anew."
So saying, he stept aside, and wrote down a list of several bookstreating of natural philosophy, which he desired me to procure; anddismissed me, after mentioning that in the beginning of the followingweek he intended to commence a course of lectures upon naturalphilosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, afellow-professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days thathe omitted.
I returned home, not disappointed, for I have said that I had longconsidered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but Ireturned, not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in anyshape. M. Krempe was a little squat man, with a gruff voice and arepulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me infavour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected astrain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had cometo concerning them in my early years. As a child, I had not been contentwith the results promised b
y the modern professors of natural science.With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my extreme youth,and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the steps ofknowledge along the paths of time, and exchanged the discoveries ofrecent enquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchymists. Besides, I hada contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was verydifferent, when the masters of the science sought immortality and power;such views, although futile, were grand: but now the scene was changed.The ambition of the enquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilationof those visions on which my interest in science was chiefly founded. Iwas required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities oflittle worth.
Such were my reflections during the first two or three days of myresidence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming acquaintedwith the localities, and the principal residents in my new abode. But asthe ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information which M. Krempehad given me concerning the lectures. And although I could not consentto go and hear that little conceited fellow deliver sentences out of apulpit, I recollected what he had said of M. Waldman, whom I had neverseen, as he had hitherto been out of town.
Partly from curiosity, and partly from idleness, I went into thelecturing room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professorwas very unlike his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, butwith an aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairscovered his temples, but those at the back of his head were nearlyblack. His person was short, but remarkably erect; and his voice thesweetest I had ever heard. He began his lecture by a recapitulation ofthe history of chemistry, and the various improvements made by differentmen of learning, pronouncing with fervour the names of the mostdistinguished discoverers. He then took a cursory view of the presentstate of the science, and explained many of its elementary terms. Afterhaving made a few preparatory experiments, he concluded with a panegyricupon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget:--
"The ancient teachers of this science," said he, "promisedimpossibilities, and performed nothing. The modern masters promise verylittle; they know that metals cannot be transmuted, and that the elixirof life is a chimera. But these philosophers, whose hands seem only madeto dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope orcrucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into therecesses of nature, and show how she works in her hiding places. Theyascend into the heavens: they have discovered how the blood circulates,and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almostunlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic theearthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows."
Such were the professor's words--rather let me say such the words offate, enounced to destroy me. As he went on, I felt as if my soul weregrappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys weretouched which formed the mechanism of my being: chord after chord wassounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception,one purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul ofFrankenstein,--more, far more, will I achieve: treading in the stepsalready marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, andunfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.
I closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a state ofinsurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but Ihad no power to produce it. By degrees, after the morning's dawn, sleepcame. I awoke, and my yesternight's thoughts were as a dream. Thereonly remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies, and todevote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess anatural talent. On the same day, I paid M. Waldman a visit. His mannersin private were even more mild and attractive than in public; for therewas a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture, which in his ownhouse was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness. I gave himpretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had given tohis fellow-professor. He heard with attention the little narrationconcerning my studies, and smiled at the names of Cornelius Agrippa andParacelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had exhibited. Hesaid, that "these were men to whose indefatigable zeal modernphilosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of theirknowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names,and arrange in connected classifications, the facts which they in agreat degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The laboursof men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail inultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind." I listened to hisstatement, which was delivered without any presumption or affectation;and then added, that his lecture had removed my prejudices againstmodern chemists; I expressed myself in measured terms, with the modestyand deference due from a youth to his instructor, without letting escape(inexperience in life would have made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasmwhich stimulated my intended labours. I requested his advice concerningthe books I ought to procure.
"I am happy," said M. Waldman, "to have gained a disciple; and if yourapplication equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success.Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the greatestimprovements have been and may be made: it is on that account that Ihave made it my peculiar study; but at the same time I have notneglected the other branches of science. A man would make but a verysorry chemist if he attended to that department of human knowledgealone. If your wish is to become really a man of science, and not merelya petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branchof natural philosophy, including mathematics."
He then took me into his laboratory, and explained to me the uses of hisvarious machines; instructing me as to what I ought to procure, andpromising me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enoughin the science not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the listof books which I had requested; and I took my leave.
Thus ended a day memorable to me: it decided my future destiny.
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