2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY2 Click to Read the Normal-Print Version (12 point) Click to Read the Large-Print Version (18 point) These two different sizes are included for printing. Youcan print this ebook in normal type, or large print type.For reading the ebook on your computer screen, you canuse your PDF reading software to change the type tomany different sizes.Hit your Enter (or Return) Key to advance down the pagesof this ebook. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY3 Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. (1831 edition). By Mary Shelley. Edited byMichael Pastore. Copyright 2002 by Zorba Press. All rights reserved. This collectionas a whole is copyrighted by Zorba Press, including all original material: Foreword,Chronology, Endnotes, and Study Questions. Also copyrighted is this unique text ofthe novel Frankenstein, which includes numerousrevisions and choices made by theZorba Press staff, based on a diligent study of the original work, and the latestscholarly resources. This ebook is being distributed free, yet Zorba Press retains the copyright and allrights. This permits you to read, to print, to read aloud, to make copies of, and togive away this ebook as many times as you like. When sharing or giving away thisebook, it must remain en toto, with no changes and no omissions or additions. Weencourage you to freely share this ebook. What is not allowed? Noone may sell orresell this ebook, or any part or parts of this ebook in any format as an ebook, as anaudio book, as a printed book, or any other format that currently exists or will beinvented without prior permission from Zorba Press. Also not permitted withoutprior permission is place this ebook on your web site or server, for viewing ordownloading. In many cases, however for example, public libraries we will behappy to allow this ebook to reside on your website for viewing or downloading byyour patrons.ISBN: 0-927379-87-2Published in July 2002. This PDF ebook is version 1.0. This edition contains twoebooks in one, normal print and large print. For reading, the reading software allowstype sizes to be changed to scores of different sizes; the purpose of our large-printedition is to allow the ebook to be printed the book in a normal (12 point) and a large(18 point) size. For all inquiries, please contact Zorba Press by email at frankenstein@zorbapress.comZorba Press Enhanced Classics editions include accurate electronic text, and originalsupplementary materials. For more titles in the Zorba Press Classics series, see ourwebsite: http://www.ZorbaPress.comFor information about Zorba Presss services (editing, writing, publishing, websitedevelopment) for authors, publishers, and non-profit organizations, please visit ZorbaPress at: http://www.ZorbaPress.com/services.htm 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY4 ContentsForeword Prometheus; or, the Ancient Frankensteinby Michael Pastore. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5Chronology of Mary Shelleys Life and Works . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10Authors Introduction to Frankenstein . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16Preface to Frankenstein (by Percy Bysshe Shelley) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (1831 edition, edited by Michael Pastore) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23Endnotes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188Works By Mary Shelley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189Talking About Frankenstein 26 Questions for Essays and Discussions . . . . . . . . 190Internet Resources About Mary Shelley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193About Zorba Press Books and Services . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194Read the Large-Print Version . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY5 Foreword:Prometheus or, The Ancient FrankensteinWho is Prometheus? In her novels significant subtitle, why did Mary Shelley comparehim with her protagonist, Victor Frankenstein?What can we learn from these tragicheroes about the precarious balance between technological progress and human life?When Greek mythology begins, Chaos governs the endless Universe, and at last givesbirth to Night and her brother Erebus primeval darkness. After aeons of emptiness,Love is born, then Light and Day, and finally Uranus (Father Heaven)and Gaea(Mother Earth).The 12 children of Uranus and Gaea were called Titans. Monstrous intheir size and powers, these Titans included Chronos (their ruler), Ocean, Atlas, andPrometheus. The children of these Titans were our familiar Greek gods who lived onMt. Olympus. Led by Zeus, the Olympian gods battled and conquered the Titans.Their victory was largely due to the efforts of the wise Prometheus, who had joinedtheir side. In the Greek language, the word Prometheus means forethought; and theadjective Promethean means boldly creative and life-giving. Prometheus hadbeen forethinking enough to ally himself with Zeus, but his wisdom and his desire tohelp humankind soon angered the ruler of the gods. How did this rift begin? For thefirst act in his drama of rebellion, Prometheus created human beings from water andclay. Then he played a trick on Zeus. When humans offered slaughtered animals tosacrifice to the gods, Prometheus separated the meat from the fat. He covered themeat with a cows stomach, and under the fat he placed the bones. Forced tochoose, Zeus bypassed the tasteless stomach, and selected the fat and bones,thereby leaving the meat for humankind. Embarrassed by his bad choice, Zeus tried to save face. He decided that if men weregoing to have the good meat, then they should suffer by being forced to eat it raw:from the hungry humans he withheld the great tool called fire. But after lighting atorch on the sun, Prometheus stole the fire, and carried it down to Earth in a fennelstalk. Then he taught the race of humans a panoply of useful arts and sciences,including building, astronomy, mathematics, writing, metallurgy, and medicine. Zeus grew furious. Afraid of the potential of human power to unseat him, he swore toenact revenge. First Zeus revenged himself on human beings, who at that time 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY6 consisted of males only. Zeus created a woman named Pandora, then commanded theother gods to endow her with beauty and irresistible charm. On earth amongst men,Pandora opened a jar (not a box), and released all varieties of pestilence and evilsinto the human world.Prometheus was wise enough to add Hope to the bottom ofthe jar, one of his many gifts to humanity. Years later, angered at the failure of humans to pay tribute to the gods, Zeus decidedto wipe out humanity, so he arranged that the earth would be flooded. Once again,Prometheus came to the rescue. Prometheus warned his son and daughter-in-law,Deucalion and Pyrrha. Like Noah, these two saved themselves by escaping into an ark.When the waters subsided, an oracle told them to throw the bones of their motherover their shoulder. At first they were horrified at this advice; then they realized thatthe bones of the mother meant the stones of the earth. When they cast thesestones behind them, the stones sprouted into a new strong race of women and men.Zeus decided that Prometheus had meddled enough and more than enough. Heordered his henchmen, Force, Power, and Hephaestus, to seize Prometheus, andcarry him to near the ends of the earth, into the Caucasus Mountains in the formerSoviet Union. (Pedants, take note: the novel Frankenstein opens in a former SovietUnion town, St. Petersburg.) Here, Prometheus was chained to the side of amountain. Zeus demanded that Prometheus reveal the secret about which of his sonswould rise to murder him: but Prometheus refused to tell. Zeus ordered that avulture would, each morning, devour the liver of Prometheus. Each the night the liverwould grow back, and each morning the vulture would return for his breakfast. The Greek playwright Aeschylus wrote Prometheus Bound to immortalize his courageand defiance. In a passage that echoes the suffering of Frankenstein, Aeschyluswrites: Forever shall the intolerable present grind you down,And he who will release you is not born.Such fruit you reap for your man-loving ways.A god yourself, you did not dread Gods anger,But gave to mortals honor not their due.And therefore you must guard this joyless rock No rest, no sleep, no moments respite.Groans shall your speech be, lamentation your only words.How does the ancient Prometheus compare with the modern Frankenstein? ... For theGreeks, and for many who have retold this tale (including Byron in his 1816 poemPrometheus, and Percy Bysshe Shelley in his 1820 drama Prometheus Unbound)Prometheus was a hero. He created human beings. He defied the supreme god, and 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY7 would never reveal a secret. He saved humanity from destruction. For his defianceand his generous gift-bearing, he suffered in solitude for six hundred years.Like Prometheus, Victor Frankenstein understood a great secret, one that threatenedthe power of the ruling deity. For the benefit of humankind, Prometheus refused toreveal it; for the benefit of humanity and in hislust for glory Frankensteintransformed his knowledge into an artificial man. He failed to nurture this scratch-and-dent child; and thus, like any neglected and unloved being, the monstersfrustration made him a murderer. Destructiveness, writes Erich Fromm, is theoutcome of unlived lives.Frankenstein at times resembles the wise Prometheus, and at times resembled hisbrother, Epimetheus (meaning, afterthought), who, says Edith Hamilton, was ascatterbrained person who invariably followed his first impulse and then changed hismind.In portraying Victor Frankenstein as a fallible human an admixture ofwisdom and folly, courage and cowardice, knowledge and ignorance Mary Shelleyhas captured our double relationship with knowledge and technology. In his drama Faust, Goethe tried to show that the quest for pure knowledge alone isalways futile, and often self-destructive. Science can tell us how to make newinventions,yet it never comments about values, aboutwhether or not theseinventions are helpful or harmful to humankind.Men who tamper with the barebones of Technology must always remember what Frankenstein grasped too late. Thewarm whims of a science that destroys things are at least as prevalent as thescientists creations that bring us healthier and more comfortable lives.Prometheus is best known for stealing the gods fire and giving it to humankind: firethat symbolizes knowledge, science, power, destruction. England had brazenly seizedthis fire, and the years encompassing the Shelleys lives were overwhelmed by chaosand uncertainties.The world of 1812 (when Percy Shelley was aged 20 and Mary ateenager of 15) was not so different from own troubled world. War was in full force: in that year the U.S. declared war against Britain; andNapoleon would march an army of 550,000 into Russia then limp back to Paris sixmonths later with merely 20,000 men. In 1812, too, the arts were flourishing.Beethoven completed his 7th and 8th symphonies; Goethe finished his remarkablenovel Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship; the Grimm brothers first gave ustheir now-famous fairy tales. And Lord Byron brought "Byronic unhappiness" into ourlexicon when he published the first parts of his poem Childe Harold, about a man sobored and disgusted with English society that he tries to flee himself by roaming theEuropean world. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY8 What connects us denizens of the 2ist Century most closely to the era of the MaryShelley is that throughout her lifetime herworld was shocked by an unprecedentedinvasion of technology and rapid change. During the years 1782 to 1812 England waspummeled by scores of inventions that transformed daily life: the steam engine,the oil burner, the threshing machine, the steam-powered rotary motor (whichpowered cotton-spinning factories), the nail-making machine, the cotton gin, thepreserving jar for foods, the first horse-drawn railroad, lithography, electricity from acell, muskets with interchangeable parts, the submarine, iron trolley tracks, thesteamboat, street lighting by gas, the isolation of morphine, rockets introduced asmilitary weapons, and pardon the pun the flax machine. And perhaps somethingthat might have better been left undiscovered: techniques for canning food.The thirty years that followed, 1813-1843 (Mary Shelley is ages 16 to 46)were no lessinventive. Here the world acquires the steam locomotive, roads made from crushedstone, the kaleidoscope, the stethoscope, new chemical elements, the flat-bedcylinder press, electromagnetism, thermoelectricity, sound reproduction, ironrailroad bridges, waterproof fabric, Portland cement, the galvanometer, Ohm's Law,photography, the typewriter, matches, the telegraph, the reaping machine,the bicycle, rubber, hypnosis, ether for anesthesia, and scientific proof at last! that the sperm is essential to fertilization.The rural life was yielding to the burgeoning urban existence, where the overstressedwinners of the rat-race dreamed of building houses in the country hoping torecapture the tranquility of rural life. There were wisps of resistance to this newmechanized culture which threatened to vacuum up the old. In 1811 the Luddites inNorthern England began their rebelling by destroying the new machines which whirledtheir jobs away. But for better or worse, the world of England welcomed thisIndustrial Revolution which so much determined Mary Shelleys life and literary work.For Mary Shelley sensitive, perceptive, beautiful soul! looked into the abyss, andthe abyss stared back. She grasped the future and was terrified at what she saw. Marypre-envisioned the decline of the Romantic spirit: Reason and Science run amok witha gods power without the goddesss compassion. Feeling and Nature would bethrottled between the monsters paws. In the desperate loneliness of Frankensteinsmonster, we see Mary Shelleys strength and solitude, and chillingly we feel our own.Love would have healed her; and the true anecdote that follows lets us glimpse thedepths of her fearful loneliness and her need for love.When Percy Bysshe Shelley died in July 1822, his heartbroken friends Lord Byron,Edward Trelawney, and Leigh Hunt built a pyre and attempted to burn the corpse.The friends wept as they watched the body disintegrate to ashes, but they were 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY9 astonished to discover that the writers heart would not burn. For years, the heartwas kept by Shelleys friend, Leigh Hunt, until at last he was persuaded to return theheart to the devoted widow. For the remainder of her life, Mary kept the witheredheart inside the desk where she would write.Michael Pastore21 June 2002Ithaca, New York 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY10 Mary Shelley: A Chronology of Her Life and Works 1797August 30.Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin is born in London, the daughter ofthe well-known authors Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin.September 10.Ten days after giving birth to Mary, Marys mother dies at age 38, ofpuerperal fever (also called childbed fever).1814July 28.Deeply in love, Mary andPercy Bysshe Shelley leave England to livetogether in France. By August they are out of money and forced to return to England.September. During the next 6 months, due to poverty and debt Shelley had beenforced to borrow money at outrageously high interest rates Mary and Percy willchanges residences many times. To avoid creditors, Percy will often avoid going hometo Mary.The anger of Marys father (William Godwin) at the Mary-Percy relationship isincreased when false rumors circulate that Godwin sold Mary and Claire Clairmont toShelley for 2,200 pounds.1815January 22. Marys first child, a daughter, is born prematurely anddies 6 weekslater. 1816January 24. Son named William born to Mary and Percy Shelley.June 16. In a waking dream Mary envisions the kernel of her novel, Frankenstein.October 9. Fanny Inlay, the half sister of Mary Shelley, commits suicide by ingestingthe poison laudanum (a tincture of opium).December 10. Suicide by drowning of the 21-year-old Harriet Westbrook, the firstwife of Percy Bysshe Shelley. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY11 December 30. Marriage of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin to Percy Bysshe Shelley.1817May 14.Mary finishes writing the book Frankenstein.June.Mary writes a travel book, coauthored with Percy Shelley: Journal of a SixWeeks Tour.September 2. Daughter Clara born.1818March 11. The novel Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheusis published in threevolumes, 21 months after its original conception. No author is named on the bookspages, but the name Shelley appears on the spine of each book, and thus readersassumed that the books author was Percy Bysshe Shelley.March 12. Mary, Percy, Claire Clairmont and three children (one Claires) leave forItaly to avoid debtors, and to recover Percys health.September. Death of daughter, Clara.1819June 7. Death of Marys son, William.November. Mary Finishes the novella Mathilda. Too advanced for its time since thetheme is a fathers incestuous love for his daughter the book remains unpublishedin Marys lifetime. It is published 140 years later,in 1959.November 12. Birth of son Percy Florence, Marys only child who survives infancy.1820Mary writes the dramas Proserpine, and Midas.1821February 21. Poet John Keats dies in Rome, at age 25, of tuberculosis. News of the death reaches the Shelleys in April. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY12 Percy Bysshe Shelley completes his greatest work, the poem Adonais.December 1. Mary finishes her book, Valperga.1822June 16. Mary almost dies from hemorrhaging from a miscarriage. Husband Percysaves her life ingeniously, when he makes her sit in a bucket of ice.July 8. Death of Percy Bysshe Shelley (and his friend Edward Williams) by drowning;Shelley dies one month shy of his thirtieth birthday. When his friends burn the corpseon a fiery pyre, they are astonished to discover that the writers heart will not burn. July 19. After wondering and worrying about the whereabouts of their husbands forthe past 11 days, Mary and friend Jane Williams receive news from family friendTrelawney that the lifeless bodies have washed ashore. A book of Keatss poems isfound in the one of Shelleys pockets. Mary, widowed at age 25 with a two-and-one-half year-old son, decides that she willearn a living by publishing her own writings, and the writings of her husband Percy.1823August. The second edition of Frankenstein is published, this time the author isidentified, as Mary W. Shelley.1824Spring. Marys wealthy father-in-law threatens to withdraw child support for Marysson if anything by or about Percy Bysshe Shelley is published. Mary has recentlyedited and published Percys works, and 309 copies have been sold, when publicationis stopped abruptly due to the father-in-laws demand.May 15. At age 36, Lord Byron, close friend of the Shelleys, dies of a fever atMissolonghi, a year after joining the Greeks in their fight for freedom. Soon after,Mary begins writing her futuristic novel, The Last Man.1826Marys novel is published, The Last Man, which begins in the year 2073. Modern criticsbelieve that this excellent work is second in quality only to her Frankenstein. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY13 1831Mary publishes a revised version of Frankenstein,with an additional introductionexplaining how she conceived and wrote the work.1835Mary publishes Lodore, an autobiographical novel.1836April. Death of Marys father, William Godwin.1839Publication of The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, edited and annotated byMary.1844Mary writes Rambles in Germany and Italy.1845September. Fernando Gateschi and G. Byron try to blackmail Mary. The caseinvolves letters, perhaps love letters, that Mary had written to a married man.1846A possible blackmail attempt against Mary is made by Thomas Medwin.1848April 10. Marys health plummets after she is emotionally upset by the failure of theChartist Demonstration in London. Chartism was the movement by the working classto gain representation in Parliament; Chartists demanded universal suffrage for alladult males, andthat the property qualifications for membership in the House ofCommons should be abolished. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY14 June 22. Marys son Percy marries Jane St. John, who devotes herself to the care ofMary. 1853February 1. Mary Shelley dies, in London, at the age of 53. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY15 Frankenstein, or,the Modern PrometheusDid I request thee, Maker, from my clayTo mould me man?Did I solicit theeFrom darkness to promote me? Paradise Lostby Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) ShelleyThis is the text of the 1831 edition diligently edited by Zorba Press 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY16 Authors Introduction(by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley)The publishers of the standard novels, in selecting Frankenstein for one of theirseries, expressed a wish that I should furnish them with some account of the origin ofthe story. I am the more willing to comply because I shall thus give a general answerto the question so very frequently asked me - how I, then a young girl, came to thinkof and to dilate upon so very hideous an idea. It is true that I am very averse tobringing myself forward in print, but as my account will only appear as an appendageto a former production, and as it will be confined to such topics as have connectionwith my authorship alone, I can scarcely accuse myself of a personal intrusion.It is not singular that, as the daughter of two persons of distinguished literarycelebrity, I should very early in life have thought of writing. As a child I scribbled,and my favourite pastime during the hours given me for recreation was to "writestories." Still, I had a dearer pleasure than this, which was the formation of castles inthe air - the indulging in waking dreams - the following up trains of thought, whichhad for their subject the formation of a succession of imaginary incidents. My dreamswere at once more fantastic and agreeable than my writings. In the latter I was aclose imitator rather doing as others had done than putting down the suggestions ofmy own mind. What I wrote was intended at least for one other eye - my childhood's companion and friend; but my dreams were all my own; I accounted for them tonobody; they were my refuge when annoyed - my dearest pleasure when free.I lived principally in the country as a girl and passed a considerable time in Scotland.I made occasional visits to the more picturesque parts, but my habitual residence wason the blank and dreary northern shores of the Tay, near Dundee. Blank and drearyon retrospection I call them; they were not so to me then. They were the eerie offreedom and the pleasant region where unheeded I could commune with thecreatures of my fancy. I wrote then, but in a most commonplace style. It was beneaththe trees of the grounds belonging to our house, or on the bleak sides of the woodlessmountains near, that my true compositions, the airy flights of my imagination, wereborn and fostered. I did not make myself the heroine of my tales. Life appeared tome too common-place an affair as regarded myself. I could not figure to myself thatromantic woes or wonderful events would ever be my lot; but I was not confined tomy own identity, and I could people the hours with creations far more interesting tome at that age than my own sensations.After this my life became busier, and reality stood in place of fiction. My husband, 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY17 however, was from the first very anxious that I should prove myself worthy of myparentage and enrol myself on the page of fame. He was forever inciting me to obtainliterary reputation, which even on my own part I cared for then, though since I havebecome infinitely indifferent to it. At this time he desired that I should write, not somuch with the idea that I could produce anything worthy of notice, but that he mighthimself judge how far I possessed the promise of better things hereafter. Still I didnothing. Travelling, and the cares of a family, occupied my time; and study, in theway of reading or improving my ideas in communication with his far more cultivated mind was all of literary employment that engaged my attention. In the summer of 1816 we visited Switzerland and became the neighbours of LordByron. At first we spent our pleasant hours on the lake or wandering on its shores;and Lord Byron, who was writing the third canto of Childe Harold, was the only oneamong us who put his thoughts upon paper. These, as he brought them successively tous, clothed in all the light and harmony of poetry, seemed to stamp as divinetheglories of heaven and earth, whose influences we partook with him.But it proved a wet, ungenial summer, and incessant rain often confined us for daysto the house. Some volumes of ghost stories translated from the German into Frenchfell into our hands. There was the History of the Inconstant Lover, who, when hethought to clasp the bride to whom he had pledged his vows, found himself in thearms of the pale ghost of her whom he had deserted. There was the tale of the sinfulfounder of his race whose miserable doom it was to bestow the kiss of death on allthe younger sons of his fated house, just when they reached the age of promise. Hisgigantic, shadowy form, clothed like the ghost in Hamlet, in complete armour, butwith the beaver up, was seen at midnight, by the moon's fitful beams, to advanceslowly along the gloomy avenue. The shape was lost beneath the shadow of the castlewalls; but soon a gate swung back, a step was heard, the door of the chamberopened, and he advanced to the couch of the blooming youths, cradled in healthysleep. Eternal sorrow sat upon his face as he bent down and kissed the forehead ofthe boys, who from that hour withered like flowers snapped upon the stalk. I have not seen these stories since then, but their incidents are as fresh in my mind as if I had read them yesterday.We will each write a ghost story, said Lord Byron, and his proposition was accededto. There were four of us. The noble author began a tale, a fragment of which heprinted at the end of his poem of Mazeppa. Shelley, more apt to embody ideas andsentiments in the radiance of brilliant imagery and in the music of the mostmelodious verse that adorns our language than to invent the machinery of a story,commenced one founded on the experiences of his early life. Poor Polidori had someterrible idea about a skull-headed lady who was so punished for peeping through a 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY18 key-hole - what to see I forget: something very shocking and wrong of course, butwhen she was reduced to a worse condition than the renowned Tom of Coventry, hedid not know what to do with her and was obliged to dispatch her to the tomb of theCapulets, the only place for which she was fitted. The illustrious poets also, annoyedby the platitude of prose, speedily relinquished their uncongenial task.I busied myself to think of a story a story to rival those which had excited us tothis task. One which would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature and awakenthrilling horror - one to make the reader dread to look round, to curdle the blood,and quicken the beatings of the heart. If I did not accomplish these things, my ghoststory would be unworthy of its name. I thought and pondered - vainly. I felt thatblank incapability of invention which is the greatest misery of authorship, when dullNothing replies to our anxious invocations. Have you thought of a story? was askedeach morning, and each morning I was forced to reply with a mortifying negative.Everything must have a beginning, to speak in Sanchean phrase; and that beginningmust be linked to something that went before. The Hindus give the world an elephantto support it, but they make the elephant stand upon a tortoise. Invention, it must behumbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos; thematerials must, in the first place, be afforded: it can give form to dark, shapelesssubstances but cannot bring into being the substance itself. In all matters ofdiscovery and invention, even of those that appertain to the imagination, we arecontinually reminded of the story of Columbus and his egg. Invention consists in thecapacity of seizing on the capabilities of a subject and in the power of moulding andfashioning ideas suggested to it.Many and long were the conversations between Lord Byron and Shelley to which I wasa devout but nearly silent listener. During one of these, various philosophicaldoctrines were discussed, and among others the nature of the principle of life, andwhether there was any probability of its ever being discovered and communicated.They talked of the experiments of Dr. Darwin (I speak not of what the doctor reallydid or said that he did, but, as more to my purpose, of what was then spoken of ashaving been done by him), who preserved a piece of vermicelli in a glass case till bysome extraordinary means it began to move with voluntary motion. Not thus, afterall, would life be given. Perhaps a corpse would be reanimated; galvanism had giventoken of such things: perhaps the component parts of a creature might bemanufactured, brought together, and endued with vital warmth.Night waned upon this talk, and even the witching hour had gone by before weretired to rest. When I placed my head on my pillow I did not sleep, nor could I besaid to think. My imagination, unbidden, possessed and guided me, gifting the 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY19 successive images that arose in my mind with a vividness far beyond the usual boundsof reverie. I saw - with shut eyes, but acute mental vision - I saw the pale student ofunhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together. I saw the hideousphantasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine,show signs of life and stir with an uneasy, half-vital motion. Frightful must it be, forsupremely frightful would be the effect of any human endeavour to mock thestupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world. His success would terrify theartist; he would rush away from his odious handiwork, horror-stricken. He would hopethat, left to itself, the slight spark of life which he had communicated would fade,that this thing which had received such imperfect animation would subside into deadmatter, and he might sleep in the belief that the silence of the grave would quenchforever the transient existence of the hideous corpse which he had looked upon asthe cradle of life. He sleeps; but he is awakened; he opens his eyes; behold, the horrid thing stands at his bedside, opening his curtains and looking on him withyellow, watery, but speculative eyes.I opened mine in terror. The idea so possessed my mind that a thrill of fear ranthrough me, and I wished to exchange the ghastly image of my fancy for the realitiesaround. I see them still: the very room, the dark parquet, the closed shutters withthe moonlight struggling through, and the sense I had that the glassy lake and whitehigh Alps were beyond. I could not so easily get rid of my hideous phantom; still ithaunted me. I must try to think of something else. I recurred to my ghost story - mytiresome, unlucky ghost story! Oh! If I could only contrive one which would frightenmy reader as I myself had been frightened that night!Swiftly as light and as cheering was the idea that broke in upon me. I have found it!What terrified me will terrify others; and I need only describe the spectre which hadhaunted my midnight pillow. On the morrow I announced that I had thought of astory. I began that day with the words It was on a dreary night of November,making only a transcript of the grim terrors of my waking dream.At first I thought but of a few pages, of a short tale but Shelley urged me to developthe idea at greater length. I certainly did not owe the suggestion of one incident, norscarcely of one train of feeling, to my husband, and yet but for his incitement itwould never have taken the form in which it was presented to the world. From thisdeclaration I must except the preface. As far as I can recollect, it was entirelywritten by him.And now, once again, I bid my hideous progeny go forth and prosper. I have anaffection for it, for it was the offspring of happy days, when death and grief were butwords which found no true echo in my heart. Its several pages speak of many a walk, 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY20 many a drive, and many a conversation, when I was not alone; and my companion wasone who, in this world, I shall never see more. But this is for myself; my readers havenothing to do with these associations.I will add but one word as to the alterations I have made. They are principally thoseof style. I have changed no portion of the story nor introduced any new ideas orcircumstances. I have mended the language where it was so bald as to interfere withthe interest of the narrative; and these changes occur almost exclusively in thebeginning of the first volume. Throughout they are entirely confined to such parts asare mere adjuncts to the story, leaving the core and substance of it untouched.London, October 15,1831 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY21 Preface to the 1818 Edition(Preface was written by Percy Bysshe Shelley)THE event on which this fiction is founded has been supposed, by Dr. Darwin, andsome of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence. I shallnot be supposed as according the remotest degree of serious faith to such animagination; yet, in assuming it as the basis of a work of fancy, I have not consideredmyself as merely weaving a series of supernatural terrors. The event on which theinterest of the story depends is exempt from the disadvantages of a mere tale ofspectres or enchantment. It was recommended by the novelty of the situations whichit develops; and, however impossible as a physical fact, affords a point of view to theimagination for the delineating of human passions more comprehensive andcommanding than any which the ordinary relations of existing events can yield.I have thus endeavoured to preserve the truth of the elementary principles of human nature, while I have not scrupled to innovate upon their combinations. TheIliad, the tragic poetry of Greece- Shakespeare, in the Tempest and MidsummerNight's Dream- and most especially Milton, in Paradise Lost, conform to this rule; andthe most humble novelist, who seeks to confer or receive amusement from hislabours, may, without presumption, apply to prose fiction a licence, or rather a rule,from the adoption of which so many exquisite combinations of human feeling haveresulted in the highest specimens of poetry.The circumstance on which my story rests was suggested in casual conversation. Itwas commenced partly as a source of amusement, and partly as an expedient forexercising any untried resources of mind. Other motives were mingled with these asthe work proceeded. I am by no means indifferent to the manner in which whatevermoral tendencies exist in the sentiments or characters it contains shall affect thereader; yet my chief concern in this respect has been limited to avoiding theenervating effects of the novels of the present day and to the exhibition of theamiableness of domestic affection, and the excellence of universal virtue. Theopinions which naturally spring from the character and situation of the hero are by nomeans to be conceived as existing always in my own conviction; nor is any inferencejustly to be drawn from the following pages as prejudicing any philosophical doctrineof whatever kind.It is a subject also of additional interest to the author that this story was begun in the majestic region where the scene is principally laid, and in society which cannot cease to be regretted. I passed the summer of 1816 in the environs ofGeneva. The season was cold and rainy, and in the evenings we crowded around a 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY22 blazing wood fire, and occasionally amused ourselves with some German stories ofghosts, which happened to fall into our hands. These tales excited in us a playfuldesire of imitation. Two other friends (a tale from the pen of one of whom would befar more acceptable to the public than anything I can ever hope to produce) andmyself agreed to write each a story founded on some supernatural occurrence.The weather, however, suddenly became serene; and my two friends left me on ajourney among the Alps, and lost, in the magnificent scenes which they present, allmemory of their ghostly visions. The following tale is the only one which has beencompleted.Marlow, September, 1817. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY23 FrankensteinLetter 1To Mrs. Saville, EnglandSt. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17 You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of anenterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.I arrived hereyesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare and increasingconfidence in the success of my undertaking.I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of Petersburgh, I feel acold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which braces my nerves and fills me withdelight.Do you understand this feeling?This breeze, which has travelled from theregions towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes.Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent and vivid.Itry in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of frost and desolation; it everpresents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight.There,Margaret, the sun is forever visible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon anddiffusing a perpetual splendour.Therefor with your leave, my sister, I will putsome trust in preceding navigatorsthere snow and frost are banished; and, sailingover a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in beautyevery region hitherto discovered on the habitable globe.Its productions and featuresmay be without example, as the phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly arein those undiscovered solitudes.What may not be expected in a country of eternallight?I may there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle and mayregulate a thousand celestial observations that require only this voyage to rendertheir seeming eccentricities consistent forever.I shall satiate my ardent curiositywith the sight of a part of the world never before visited, and may tread a land neverbefore imprinted by the foot of man. These are my enticements, and they aresufficient to conquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence thislaborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little boat, with hisholiday mates, on an expedition of discovery up his native river. But supposing allthese conjectures to be false, you cannot contest the inestimable benefit which Ishall confer on all mankind, to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY24 pole to those countries, to reach which at present so many months are requisite; orby ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at all possible, can only beeffected by an undertaking such as mine. These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my letter, and I feelmy heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven, for nothingcontributes so much to tranquillize the mind as a steady purposea point on whichthe soul may fix its intellectual eye.This expedition has been the favourite dream ofmy early years. I have read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages whichhave been made in the prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean through theseas which surround the pole.You may remember that a history of all the voyagesmade for purposes of discovery composed the whole of our good Uncle Thomas'library.My education was neglected, yet I was passionately fond of reading.Thesevolumes were my study day and night, and my familiarity with them increased thatregret which I had felt, as a child, on learning that my father's dying injunction hadforbidden my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life.These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets whose effusionsentranced my soul and lifted it to heaven.I also became a poet and for one yearlived in a paradise of my own creation; I imagined that I also might obtain a niche inthe temple where the names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated.You arewell acquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment.But justat that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my thoughts were turned intothe channel of their earlier bent.Six years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking.Ican, even now,remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this great enterprise.Icommenced by inuring my body to hardship.I accompanied the whale-fishers onseveral expeditions to the North Sea; I voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, andwant of sleep; I often worked harder than the common sailors during the day anddevoted my nights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and thosebranches of physical science from which a naval adventurer might derive the greatestpractical advantage.Twice I actually hired myself as an under-mate in a Greenlandwhaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I must own I felt a little proud when mycaptain offered me the second dignity in the vessel and entreated me to remain withthe greatest earnestness, so valuable did he consider my services.And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose?My lifemight have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to every enticementthat wealth placed in my path.Oh, that some encouraging voice would answer in theaffirmative!My courage and my resolution is firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY25 spirits are often depressed.I am about to proceed on a long and difficult voyage, theemergencies of which will demand all my fortitude:I am required not only to raisethe spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing.This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia.They fly quickly over thesnow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in my opinion, far more agreeablethan that of an English stagecoach.The cold is not excessive, if you are wrapped infursa dress which I have already adopted, for there is a great difference betweenwalking the deck and remaining seated motionless for hours, when no exerciseprevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins.I have no ambition to losemy life on the post-road between St. Petersburgh and Archangel. I shall depart forthe latter town in a fortnight or three weeks; and my intention is to hire a ship there,which can easily be done by paying the insurance for the owner, and to engage asmany sailors as I think necessary among those who are accustomed to thewhale-fishing.I do not intend to sail until the month of June; and when shall Ireturn?Ah, dear sister, how can I answer this question?If I succeed, many, manymonths, perhaps years, will pass before you and I may meet.If I fail, you will see meagain soon, or never.Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower downblessings on you, and save me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude for allyour love and kindness.Your affectionate brother,R.Walton Letter 2To Mrs. Saville, EnglandArchangel, 28th March, 17How slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow!Yet asecond step is taken towards my enterprise.I have hired a vessel and am occupied incollecting my sailors; those whom I havealready engaged appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainlypossessed of dauntless courage.But I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy, and the absence ofthe object of which I now feel as a most severe evil. I have no friend, Margaret: 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY26 when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there will be none to participatemy joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me indejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but that is a poormedium for the communication of feeling.I desire the company of a man who couldsympathize with me, whose eyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic,my dear sister, but I bitterly feel the want of a friend.I have no one near me, gentleyet courageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whosetastes are like myown, to approve or amend my plans.How would such a friendrepair thefaults of your poor brother!I am too ardent in execution and too impatient of difficulties.But it is a still greater evil to me that Iam self-educated: for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wildon a common and read nothing butour Uncle Thomas' books of voyages. Atthat age I became acquainted with thecelebrated poets of our owncountry; but it was only when it had ceased to be in mypower to deriveits most important benefits from such a conviction that I perceivedthenecessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of mynativecountry.Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality moreilliterate than manyschoolboys of fifteen.It is true that I havethought more and that my daydreams aremore extended and magnificent,but they want (as the painters call it) keeping; andI greatly need afriend who would have sense enough not to despise me as romantic,andaffection enough for me to endeavour to regulate my mind.Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on the wideocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen.Yet somefeelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage and enterprise; he ismadly desirous of glory, or rather, to word my phrase more characteristically, ofadvancement in his profession.He is an Englishman, and in the midst of nationaland professional prejudices, unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblestendowments of humanity.I first became acquainted with him on board a whalevessel; finding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assist inmy enterprise.The master is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable in the ship for hisgentleness and the mildness of his discipline.This circumstance, added to hiswell-known integrity and dauntless courage, made me very desirous to engage him.Ayouth passed in solitude, my best years spent under your gentle and femininefosterage, has so refined the groundwork of my character that I cannot overcome anintense distaste to the usual brutality exercised on board ship:I have never believedit to be necessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his kindliness ofheart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew, I felt myself peculiarlyfortunate in being able to secure his services.I heard of him first in rather a 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY27 romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the happiness of her life.This,briefly, is his story.Some years ago he loved a young Russian lady of moderatefortune, and having amassed a considerable sum in prize-money, the father of the girlconsented to the match.He saw his mistress once before the destined ceremony; butshe was bathed in tears, and throwing herself at his feet, entreated him to spare her,confessing at the same time that she loved another, but that he was poor, and thather father would never consent to the union.My generous friend reassured thesuppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover, instantly abandoned hispursuit.He had already bought a farm with his money, on which he had designed topass the remainder of his life; but he bestowed the whole on his rival, together withthe remains of his prize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited theyoung woman's father to consent to her marriage with her lover.But the old mandecidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my friend, who, when hefound the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor returned until he heard that hisformer mistress was married according to her inclinations.What a noble fellow!you will exclaim.He is so; but then he is wholly uneducated:he is as silent as aTurk, and a kind of ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders hisconduct the more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy whichotherwise he would command.Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can conceive aconsolation for my toils which I may never know, that I amwavering in myresolutions.Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyageis only now delayed until theweather shall permit my embarkation.Thewinter has been dreadfully severe, butthe spring promises well, and itis considered as a remarkably early season, so thatperhaps I may sailsooner than I expected.I shall do nothing rashly:you know me sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the safety ofothers is committed to my care.I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my undertaking.It isimpossible to communicate to you a conception of the trembling sensation, halfpleasurable and half fearful, with which I am preparing to depart.I am going tounexplored regions, to the land of mist and snow, but I shall kill no albatross;therefore do not be alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as wornand woeful as the Ancient Mariner.You will smile at my allusion, but I willdisclose a secret.I have often attributed my attachment to, my passionateenthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that production of the mostimaginative of modern poets.There is something at work in my soul which I do notunderstand.I am practically industriouspainstaking, a workman to execute withperseverance and labourbut besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a beliefin the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out of the 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY28 common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about toexplore. But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after having traversed immense seas, and returned by themost southern cape of Africa or America?I dare not expect such success, yet I cannotbear to look on the reverse of the picture.Continue for the present to write to meby every opportunity:I may receive your letters on some occasions when I needthem most to support my spirits.I love you very tenderly.Remember me withaffection, should you never hear from me again.Your affectionate brother,Robert Walton Letter 3To Mrs. Saville, EnglandJuly 7th, 17 My dear Sister,I write a few lines in haste to say that I am safeand well advanced on my voyage. This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on its homeward voyage fromArchangel; more fortunate than I, who may not see my native land, perhaps, formany years.I am, however, in good spirits:my men are bold and apparently firm ofpurpose, nor do the floating sheets of ice that continually pass us, indicating thedangers of the region towards which we are advancing, appear to dismay them. Wehave already reached a very high latitude; but it is the height of summer, andalthough not so warm as in England, the southern gales, which blow us speedilytowards those shores which I so ardently desire to attain, breathe a degree ofrenovating warmth which I had not expected.No incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in a letter.One ortwo stiff gales and the springing of a leak are accidents which experienced navigatorsscarcely remember to record, and I shall be well content if nothing worse happen tous during our voyage.Adieu, my dear Margaret.Be assured that for my own sake, as well as yours, I willnot rashly encounter danger.I will be cool, persevering, and prudent. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY29 But success shall crown my endeavours.Wherefore not?Thus far I have gone,tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars themselves being witnessesand testimonies of my triumph.Why not still proceed over the untamed yet obedientelement?What can stop the determined heart and resolved will of man?My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus.But I must finish.Heaven blessmy beloved sister! R.W.Letter 4To Mrs. Saville, EnglandAugust 5th, 17So strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear recording it,although it is very probable that you will see me before these papers can come intoyour possession.Last Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed in the ship onall sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room in which she floated.Our situation wassomewhat dangerous, especially as we were compassed round by a very thick fog.Weaccordingly lay to, hoping that some change would take place in the atmosphere andweather.About two o'clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out in everydirection, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to have no end.Some of mycomrades groaned, and my own mind began to grow watchful with anxious thoughts,when a strange sight suddenly attracted our attention and diverted our solicitudefrom our own situation.We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn bydogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile; a being which had theshape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature, sat in the sledge and guided thedogs.We watched the rapid progress of the traveller with our telescopes until hewas lost among the distant inequalities of the ice.This appearance excited ourunqualified wonder.We were, as we believed, many hundred miles from any land;but this apparition seemed to denote that it was not, in reality, so distant as we hadsupposed.Shut in, however, by ice, it was impossible to follow his track, which wehad observed with the greatest attention. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY30 About two hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea, and before night theice broke and freed our ship.We, however, lay to until the morning, fearing toencounter in the dark those large loose masses which float about after the breakingup of the ice.I profited of this time to rest for a few hours.In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck and found all thesailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently talking to someone in the sea.Itwas, in fact, a sledge, like that we had seen before, which had drifted towards us inthe night on a large fragment of ice.Only one dog remained alive; but there was ahuman being within it whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel. He wasnot, as the other traveller seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of some undiscoveredisland, but a European.When I appeared on deck the master said, Here is ourcaptain, and he will not allow you to perish on the open sea.On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a foreignaccent.Before I come on board your vessel, said he, will you have the kindness toinform me whither you are bound?You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed to me froma man on the brink of destruction and to whom I should have supposed that my vesselwould have been a resource which he would not have exchanged for the mostprecious wealth the earth can afford.I replied, however, that we were on a voyageof discovery towards the northern pole.Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on board. Good God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for his safety, your surprisewould have been boundless.His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body dreadfullyemaciated by fatigue and suffering.I never saw a man in so wretched a condition. We attempted to carry him into the cabin, but as soon as he had quitted the freshair he fainted.We accordingly brought him back to the deck and restored him toanimation by rubbing him with brandy and forcing him to swallow a small quantity. As soon as he showed signs of life we wrapped him up in blankets and placed him nearthe chimney of the kitchen stove.By slow degrees he recovered and ate a littlesoup, which restored him wonderfully.Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak, and I often feared thathis sufferings had deprived him of understanding.When he had in some measurerecovered, I removed him to my own cabin and attended on him as much as my dutywould permit.I never saw a more interesting creature:his eyes have generally anexpression of wildness, and even madness, but there are moments when, if anyoneperforms an act of kindness towards him or does him the most trifling service, his 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY31 whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with a beam of benevolence andsweetness that I never saw equalled.But he is generally melancholy and despairing,and sometimes he gnashes his teeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes thatoppresses him. When my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep off the men, whowished to ask him a thousand questions; but I would not allow him to be tormentedby their idle curiosity, in a state of body and mind whose restoration evidentlydepended upon entire repose.Once, however, the lieutenant asked why he hadcome so far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle.His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom, and he replied,To seek one who fled from me. And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?Yes.Then I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up we saw somedogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.This aroused the stranger's attention, and he asked a multitude of questionsconcerning the route which the demon, as he called him, had pursued.Soon after,when he was alone with me, he said, I have, doubtless, excited your curiosity, aswell as that of these good people; but you are too considerate to make inquiries.Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to trouble youwith any inquisitiveness of mine.And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you havebenevolently restored me to life.Soon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of the ice had destroyedthe other sledge.I replied that I could not answer with any degree of certainty, forthe ice had not broken until near midnight, and the traveller might have arrived at aplace of safety before that time; but of this I could not judge.From this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of the stranger.Hemanifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck to watch for the sledge which hadbefore appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in the cabin, for he is far tooweak to sustain the rawness of the atmosphere.I have promised that someone should 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY32 watch for him and give him instant notice if any new object should appear in sight.Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the present day. The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very silent and appears uneasywhen anyone except myself enters his cabin.Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle that the sailors are all interested inhim, although they have had very little communication with him.For my own part, Ibegin to love him as a brother, and his constant and deep grief fills me with sympathyand compassion.He must have been a noble creature in his better days, being evennow in wreck so attractive and amiable.I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no friend on the wideocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit had been broken by misery, Ishould have been happy to have possessed as the brother of my heart.I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals, should I have anyfresh incidents to record. August 13th, 17My affection for my guest increases every day.He excites at once my admiration andmy pity to an astonishing degree.How can I see so noble a creature destroyed bymisery without feeling the most poignant grief?He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mindis so cultivated, and when he speaks, although his words are culled with the choicestart, yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.He is now much recovered from his illness and is continually on the deck, apparentlywatching for the sledge that preceded his own.Yet, although unhappy, he is not soutterly occupied by his own misery but that he interests himself deeply in theprojects of others.He has frequently conversed with me on mine, which I havecommunicated to him without disguise.He entered attentively into all my argumentsin favour of my eventual success and into every minute detail of the measures I hadtaken to secure it.I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced to use thelanguage of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my soul and to say,with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I would sacrifice my fortune, myexistence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my enterprise.One man's life ordeath were but a small price to pay for the acquirement of the knowledge which Isought, for the dominion I should acquire and transmit over the elemental foes ofour race.As I spoke, a dark gloom spread over my listener's countenance.At first Iperceived that he tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before his eyes, 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY33 and my voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears trickle fast from between hisfingers; a groan burst from his heaving breast.I paused; at length he spoke, inbroken accents:Unhappy man!Do you share my madness?Have you drunk also ofthe intoxicating draught?Hear me; let me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cupfrom your lips! Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the paroxysm ofgrief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened powers, and many hours ofrepose and tranquil conversation were necessary to restore his composure.Havingconquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise himself for being theslave of passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of despair, he led me again toconverse concerning myself personally.He asked me the history of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it awakened various trains of reflection.I spoke of mydesire of finding a friend, of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellowmind than had ever fallen to my lot, and expressed my conviction that a man couldboast of little happiness who did not enjoy this blessing.I agree with you,replied the stranger; we are unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser,better, dearer than ourselvessuch a friend ought to bedo not lend his aid toperfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the most noble ofhuman creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting friendship.Youhave hope, and the world before you, and have no cause for despair.But II havelost everything and cannot begin life anew.As he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm, settled grief thattouched me to the heart.But he was silent and presently retired to his cabin. Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beautiesof nature.The starry sky, the sea, and every sight afforded by these wonderfulregions seem still to have the power of elevating his soul from earth.Such a man hasa double existence:he may suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments,yet when he has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has ahalo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine wanderer?Youwould not if you saw him.You have been tutored and refined by books andretirement from the world, and you are therefore somewhat fastidious; but this onlyrenders you the more fit to appreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderfulman.Sometimes I have endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he possessesthat elevates him so immeasurably above any other person I ever knew.I believe itto be an intuitive discernment, a quick but never-failing power of judgment, apenetration into the causes of things, unequalled for clearness and precision; add to 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY34 this a facility of expression and a voice whose varied intonations are soul-subduingmusic. August 19, 17Yesterday the stranger said to me, You may easily perceive, Captain Walton, that Ihave suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes.I had determined at one time thatthe memory of these evils should die with me, but you have won me to alter mydetermination.You seek for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardentlyhope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as minehas been.I do not know that the relation of my disasters will be useful to you; yet,when I reflect that you are pursuing the same course, exposing yourself to the samedangers which have rendered me what I am, I imagine that you may deduce an aptmoral from my tale, one that may direct you if you succeed in your undertaking andconsole you in case of failure.Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usuallydeemed marvellous.Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might fear toencounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things will appear possiblein these wild and mysterious regions which would provoke the laughter of thoseunacquainted with the ever- varied powers of nature; nor can I doubt but that mytale conveys in its series internal evidence of the truth of the events of which it iscomposed. You may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered communication, yet Icould not endure that he should renew his grief by a recital of his misfortunes.I feltthe greatest eagerness to hear the promised narrative, partly from curiosity andpartly from a strong desire to ameliorate his fate if it were in my power.I expressedthese feelings in my answer.I thank you, he replied, for your sympathy, but it is useless; my fate is nearlyfulfilled.I wait but for one event, and then I shall repose in peace.I understandyour feeling, continued he, perceiving that I wished to interrupt him; but you aremistaken, my friend, if thus you will allow me to name you; nothing can alter mydestiny; listen to my history, and you will perceive how irrevocably it is determined.He then told me that he would commence his narrative the next day when I should beat leisure.This promise drew from me the warmest thanks. I have resolved everynight, when I am not imperatively occupied by my duties, to record, as nearly aspossible in his own words, what he has related during the day.If I should beengaged, I will at least make notes.This manuscript will doubtless afford you thegreatest pleasure; but to me, who know him, and who hear it from his own 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY35 lipswith what interest and sympathy shall I read it in some future day!Even now, asI commence my task, his full-toned voice swells in my ears; his lustrous eyes dwell onme with all their melancholy sweetness; I see his thin hand raised in animation, whilethe lineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul within. Strange and harrowingmust be his story, frightful the storm which embraced the gallant vessel on its courseand wrecked it thus! 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY36 Chapter 1I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished of thatrepublic.My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics, and myfather had filled several public situations with honour and reputation.He wasrespected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to publicbusiness.He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of hiscountry; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it untilthe decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot refrain fromrelating them.One of his most intimate friends was a merchant who, from aflourishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into poverty.This man, whosename was Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition and could not bear tolive in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly beendistinguished for his rank and magnificence.Having paid his debts, therefore, in themost honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to the town of Lucerne,where he lived unknown and in wretchedness.My father loved Beaufort with thetruest friendship and was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunatecircumstances.He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conductso little worthy of the affection that united them.He lost no time in endeavouring toseek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the world again through hiscredit and assistance. Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten monthsbefore my father discovered his abode.Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastenedto the house, which was situated in a mean street near the Reuss.But when heentered, misery and despair alone welcomed him.Beaufort had saved but a verysmall sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but it was sufficient to providehim with sustenance for some months, and in the meantime he hoped to procuresome respectable employment in a merchant's house.The interval was,consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling whenhe had leisure for reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at theend of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw with despairthat their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that there was no other prospect of 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY37 support.But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and hercourage rose to support her in her adversity.She procured plain work; she plaitedstraw and by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient tosupport life. Several months passed in this manner.Her father grew worse; her time was moreentirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence decreased; and in thetenth month her father died in her arms, leaving her an orphan and a beggar.Thislast blow overcame her, and she knelt by Beaufort's coffin weeping bitterly, when myfather entered the chamber.He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, whocommitted herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he conducted herto Geneva and placed her under the protection of a relation.Two years after thisevent Caroline became his wife. There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but thiscircumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted affection.Therewas a sense of justice in my father's upright mind which rendered it necessary that heshould approve highly to love strongly.Perhaps during former years he had sufferedfrom the late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to seta greater value on tried worth.There was a show of gratitude and worship in hisattachment to my mother, differing wholly from the doting fondness of age, for itwas inspired by reverence for her virtues and a desire to be the means of, in somedegree, recompensing her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gaveinexpressible grace to his behaviour to her.Everything was made to yield to herwishes and her convenience.He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is sheltered bythe gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her with all that could tendto excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and benevolent mind.Her health, and eventhe tranquillity of her hitherto constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gonethrough.During the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my fatherhad gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after their unionthey sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change of scene and interestattendant on a tour through that land of wonders, as a restorative for her weakenedframe. From Italy they visited Germany and France.I, their eldest child, was born at Naples,and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles.I remained for several yearstheir only child.Much as they were attached to each other, they seemed to drawinexhaustible stores of affection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother's tender caresses and my father's smile of benevolent pleasure whileregarding me are my first recollections.I was their plaything and their idol, andsomething bettertheir child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on them 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY38 by heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in their hands todirect to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled their duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed towards the being to which theyhad given life, added to the active spirit of tenderness that animated both, it may beimagined that while during every hour of my infant life I received a lesson ofpatience, of charity, and of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that allseemed but one train of enjoyment to me.For a long time I was their only care.My mother had much desired to have adaughter, but I continued their single offspring.When I was about five years old,while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they passed a week on theshores of the Lake of Como.Their benevolent disposition often made them enter thecottages of the poor.This, to my mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, apassionremembering what she had suffered, and how she had been relievedfor herto act in her turn the guardian angel to the afflicted.During one of their walks apoor cot in the foldings of a vale attracted their notice as being singularlydisconsolate, while the number of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke ofpenury in its worst shape.One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan,my mother, accompanied by me, visited this abode.She found a peasant and hiswife, hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to fivehungry babes.Among these there was one which attracted my mother far above allthe rest.She appeared of a different stock.The four others were dark-eyed, hardylittle vagrants; this child was thin and very fair.Her hair was the brightest livinggold, and despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction onher head.Her brow was clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips andthe moulding of her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none couldbehold her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent, andbearing a celestial stamp in all her features.The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and admirationon this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history.She was not her child, but thedaughter of a Milanese nobleman.Her mother was a German and had died on givingher birth.The infant had been placed with these good people to nurse:they werebetter off then. They had not been long married, and their eldest child was but justborn.The father of their charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory ofthe antique glory of Italyone among the schiavi ognor frementi, who exertedhimself to obtain the liberty of his country.He became the victim of its weakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria was not known.Hisproperty was confiscated; his child became an orphan and a beggar.She continuedwith her foster parents and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a garden roseamong dark-leaved brambles.When my father returned from Milan, he found playing 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY39 with me in the hall of our villa a child fairer than pictured cheruba creature whoseemed to shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighterthan the chamois of the hills.The apparition was soon explained.With hispermission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan.Her presence had seemed a blessing to them,but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want when Providenceafforded her such powerful protection.They consulted their village priest, and theresult was that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of my parents' housemy morethan sisterthe beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and mypleasures. Everyone loved Elizabeth.The passionate and almost reverential attachment withwhich all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight.On theevening previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had said playfully, Ihave a pretty present for my Victortomorrow he shall have it.And when, on themorrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childishseriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as minemineto protect, love, and cherish.All praises bestowed on her I received as made to apossession of my own.We called each other familiarly by the name of cousin.Noword, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood tomemy more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only. 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY40 Chapter 2We were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in our ages.Ineed not say that we were strangers to any species of disunion or dispute.Harmonywas the soul of our companionship, and the diversity and contrast that subsisted inour characters drew us nearer together.Elizabeth was of a calmer and moreconcentrated disposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intenseapplication and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge. She busiedherself with following the aerial creations of the poets; and in the majestic andwondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss home the sublime shapes of themountains, the changes of the seasons, tempest and calm, the silence of winter, andthe life and turbulence of our Alpine summersshe found ample scope for admirationand delight. While my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit themagnificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their causes.Theworld was to me a secret which I desired to divine. Curiosity, earnest research tolearn the hidden laws of nature, gladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded tome, are among the earliest sensations I can remember.On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave up entirelytheir wandering life and fixed themselves in their native country.We possessed ahouse in Geneva, and a campagne on Belrive, the eastern shore of the lake, at thedistance of rather more than a league from the city.We resided principally in thelatter, and the lives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion.It was mytemper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently to a few.I was indifferent,therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united myself in the bonds of theclosest friendship to one among them.Henry Clerval was the son of a merchant ofGeneva.He was a boy of singular talent and fancy.He loved enterprise, hardship,and even danger for its own sake.He was deeply read in books of chivalry andromance.He composed heroic songs and began to write many a tale of enchantmentand knightly adventure.He tried to make us act plays and to enter intomasquerades, in which the characters were drawn from the heroes of Roncesvalles,of the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous train who shed their blood toredeem the holy sepulchre from the hands of the infidels.No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself.My parents werepossessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence. We felt that they were notthe tyrants to rule our lot according to their caprice, but the agents and creators of 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY41 all the many delights which we enjoyed.When I mingled with other families Idistinctly discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assistedthe development of filial love. My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some law in mytemperature they were turned not towards childish pursuits but to an eager desire tolearn, and not to learn all things indiscriminately.I confess that neither thestructure of languages, nor the code of governments, nor the politics of various statespossessed attractions for me.It was the secrets of heaven and earth that I desired tolearn; and whether it was the outward substance of things or the inner spirit ofnature and the mysterious soul of man that occupied me, still my inquiries weredirected to the metaphysical, or in it highest sense, the physical secrets of the world.Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral relations of things. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes, and the actions of men were his theme;and his hope and his dream was to become one among those whose names arerecorded in story as the gallant and adventurous benefactors of our species.Thesaintly soul of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home.Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of her celestialeyes, were ever there to bless and animate us.She was the living spirit of love tosoften and attract; I might have become sullen in my study, through the ardour of mynature, but that she was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness. And Clervalcould aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval?Yet he might nothave been so perfectly humane, so thoughtful in his generosity, so full of kindnessand tenderness amidst his passion for adventurous exploit, had she not unfolded tohim the real loveliness of beneficence and made the doing good the end and aim ofhis soaring ambition.I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood, beforemisfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright visions of extensive usefulnessinto gloomy and narrow reflections upon self.Besides, in drawing the picture of myearly days, I also record those events which led, by insensible steps, to my after taleof misery, for when I would account to myself for the birth of that passion whichafterwards ruled my destiny I find it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble andalmost forgotten sources; but, swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent which,in its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys.Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire, therefore, inthis narration, to state those facts which led to my predilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age we all went on a party of pleasure to the baths nearThonon; the inclemency of the weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY42 inn.In this house I chanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa.Iopened it with apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate and thewonderful facts which he relates soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm.A newlight seemed to dawn upon my mind, and bounding with joy, I communicated mydiscovery to my father.My father looked carelessly at the title page of my book andsaid, Ah!Cornelius Agrippa!My dear Victor, do not waste your time upon this; it issad trash.If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me that theprinciples of Agrippa had been entirely exploded and that a modern system of sciencehad been introduced which possessed much greater powers than the ancient, becausethe powers of the latter were chimerical, while those of the former were real andpractical, under such circumstances I should certainty have thrown Agrippa aside andhave contented my imagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardourto my former studies.It is even possible that the train of my ideas would never havereceived the fatal impulse that led to my ruin.But the cursory glance my father hadtaken of my volume by no means assured me that he was acquainted with itscontents, and I continued to read with the greatest avidity.When I returned home my first care was to procure the whole works of this author,and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus.I read and studied the wildfancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me treasures known to fewbesides myself.I have described myself as always having been imbued with a ferventlonging to penetrate the secrets of nature.In spite of the intense labour andwonderful discoveries of modern philosophers, I always came from my studiesdiscontented and unsatisfied.Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he feltlike a child picking up shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth.Thoseof his successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquaintedappeared even to my boy's apprehensions as tyros engaged in the same pursuit.The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him and was acquainted with theirpractical uses.The most learned philosopher knew little more.He had partiallyunveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal lineaments were still a wonder and amystery.He might dissect, anatomize, and give names; but, not to speak of a finalcause, causes in their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him.Ihad gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep humanbeings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and ignorantly I had repined.But here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knewmore.I took their word for all that they averred, and I became their disciple.It mayappear strange that such should arise in the eighteenth century; but while I followed 2002 BY ZORBA PRESSFRANKENSTEINBYMARY SHELLEY43 the routine of education in the schools of Geneva, I was, to a great degree,self-taught with regard to my favourite studies.My father was not scientific, and Iwas left to struggle with a child's blindness, added to a student's thirst for knowledge. Under the guidance of my new preceptors I entered with the greatest diligence intothe search of the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life; but the latter soonobtained my undivided attention.Wealth was an inferior object, but what glorywould attend the discovery if I could banish disease from the human frame andrender man invulnerable to any but a violent death!Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a promise liberally accorded by my favouriteauthors, the fulfillment of which I most eagerly sought; and if my incantations werealways unsuccessful, I attributed the failure rather to my own inexperience andmistake than to a want of skill or fidelity in my instructors.And thus for a time I wasoccupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand contradictorytheories and floundering desperately in a very slough of multifarious knowledge,guided by an ardent imagination and childish reasoning, till an accident againchanged the current of my ideas. When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house near Belrive, when wewitnessed a most violent and terrible thunderstorm.It advanced from behind themountains of Jura, and the thunder burst at once with frightful loudness from variousquarters of the heavens.I remained, while the storm lasted, watching its progresswith curiosity and delight.As I stood at the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream offire issue from an old and beautiful oak which stood about twenty yards fromour house; and so soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, andnothing remained but a blasted stump.When we visited it the next morning, wefound the tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered by the shock, butentirely reduced to thin ribbons of wood.I never beheld anything so utterlydestroyed. Before this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of electricity.On thisoccasion a man of great research in natural philosophy was with us, and excited bythis catastrophe, he entered on the explanation of a theory which he had formed onthe subject of electricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing tome.All that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa, Albertus Magnus,and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by some fatality the overthrow ofthese men disinclined me to pursue my accustomed studies.It seemed to me as ifnothing would or could ever be known.All that had so long engaged my attentionsuddenly grew despicable.By one of those caprices of the mind which we areperhaps most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former occupations, setdown natural history and all its progeny as a deformed and abortive creation, andentertained the greatest disdain for a would-be science which could never even st