Clerval then put the following letter into
my hands. It was from my own Elizabeth:--
"MY DEAREST
COUSIN,--YOU have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters
of dear kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your
account. You are forbidden to write--to hold a pen; yet one word
from you, dear Victor, is necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a
long time I have thought that each post would bring this line, and
my persuasions have restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey
to Ingolstadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveniences
and perhaps dangers of so long a journey; yet how often have I
regretted not being able to perform it myself! I figure to myself
that the task of attending on your sick bed has devolved on some
mercenary old nurse, who could never guess your wishes, nor minister
to them with the care and affection of your poor cousin. Yet that is
over now: Clerval writes that indeed you are getting better. I
eagerly hope that you will confirm this intelligence soon in your
own handwriting.
"Get well--and return to us. You will find
a happy, cheerful home, and friends who love you dearly. Your
father's health is vigorous, and he asks but to see you--but to be
assured that you are well; and not a care will ever cloud his
benevolent countenance. How pleased you would be to remark the
improvement of our Ernest! He is now sixteen, and full of activity
and spirit. He is desirous to be a true Swiss, and to enter into
foreign service; but we cannot part with him, at least until his
elder brother return to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of
a military career in a distant country; but Ernest never had your
powers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter;--his
time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the
lake. I fear that he will become an idler, unless we yield the
point, and permit him to enter on the profession which he has
selected.
"Little alteration, except the growth of our dear
children, has taken place since you left us. The blue lake, and
snow-clad mountains, they never change;--and I think our placid home
and our contented hearts are related by the same immutable laws. My
trifling occupations take up my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded
for any exertions by seeing none but happy, kind faces around me.
Since you left us, but one change has taken place in our little
household. Do you remember on what occasion Justine Moritz entered
our family? Probably you do not; I will relate her history,
therefore, in a few words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow
with four children, of whom Justine was the third. This girl had
always been the favourite of her father; but, through a strange
perversity, her mother could not endure her, and after the death of
M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed this; and, when
Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother to allow
her to live at our house. The republican institutions of our country
have produced simpler and happier manners than those which prevail
in the great monarchies that surround it. Hence there is less
distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the
lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners
are more reined and moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the
same thing as a servant in France and England. Justine, thus
received in our family, learned the duties of a servant; a condition
which, in our fortunate country, does not include the idea of
ignorance, and a sacrifice of the dignity of a human being.
"Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours;
and I recollect you once remarked, that if you were in an
ill-humour, one glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same
reason that Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica--she
looked so frank-hearted and happy. My aunt conceived a great
attachment for her, by which she was induced to give her an
education superior to that which she had at first intended. This
benefit was fully repaid; Justine was the most grateful little
creature in the world: I do not mean that she made any professions;
I never heard one pass her lips; but you could see by her eyes that
she almost adored her protectress. Although her disposition was gay,
and in many respects inconsiderate, yet she paid the greatest
attention to every gesture of my aunt. She thought her the model of
all excellence, and endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and
manners, so that even now she often reminds me of her.
"When
my dearest aunt died, every one was too much occupied in their own
grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her
illness with the most anxious affection. Poor Justine was very ill;
but other trials were reserved for her.
"One by one, her
brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the exception of her
neglected daughter, was left childless. The conscience of the woman
was troubled; she began to think that the deaths of her favourites
was a judgment from heaven to chastise her partiality. She was a
Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor confirmed the idea which
she had conceived. Accordingly, a few months after your departure
for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her repentant mother.
Poor girl! she wept when she quitted our house; she was much altered
since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness and a winning
mildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable for
vivacity. Nor was her residence at her mother's house of a nature to
restore her gaiety. The poor woman was very vacillating in her
repentance. She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness,
but much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of her
brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting at length threw Madame
Moritz into a decline, which at first increased her irritability,
but she is now at peace for ever. She died on the first approach of
cold weather, at the beginning of this last winter. Justine has
returned to us; and I assure you I love her tenderly. She is very
clever and gentle, and extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her
mien and her expressions continually remind me of my dear aunt.
"I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of
little darling William. I wish you could see him; he is very tall of
his age, with sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling
hair. When he smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which
are rosy with health. He has already had one or two little "wives,"
but Louisa Biron is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five
years of age.
"Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be
indulged in a little gossip concerning the good people of Geneva.
The pretty Miss Mansfield has already received the congratulatory
visits on her approaching marriage with a young Englishman, John
Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the
rich banker, last autumn. Your favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir,
has suffered several misfortunes since the departure of Clerval from
Geneva. But he has already recovered his spirits, and is reported to
be on the point of marrying a very lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame
Tavernier. She is a widow, and much older than Manoir; but she is
very much admired, and a favourite with everybody.
"I have
written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety
returns upon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor--one line--one
word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his
kindness, his affection, and his many letters: we are sincerely
grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat
you, write!
ELIZABETH LAVENZA
. "GENEVA, March 18th,
17--."
"Dear, dear Elizabeth!" I exclaimed, when I had read her
letter, "I will write instantly, and relieve them from the anxiety
they must feel." I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but
my convalescence had commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another
fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.
One of my first
duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the several
professors of the university. In doing this, I underwent a kind of
rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind had sustained.
Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the beginning
of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even to the
name of natural philosophy. When I was otherwise quite restored to
health, the sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony
of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and had removed all my
apparatus from my view. He had also changed my apartment; for he
perceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had
previously been my laboratory. But these cares of Clerval were made
of no avail when I visited the professors. M. Waldman inflicted
torture when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the astonishing
progress I had made in the sciences. He soon perceived that I
disliked the subject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed
my feelings to modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement,
to the science itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing
me out. What could I do? He meant to please, and he tormented me. I
felt as if he had placed carefully, one by one, in my view those
instruments which were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow
and cruel death. I writhed under his words, yet dared not exhibit
the pain I felt. Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick
in discerning the sensations of others, declined the subject,
alleging, in excuse, his total ignorance; and the conversation took
a more general turn. I thanked my friend from my heart, but I did
not speak. I saw plainly that he was surprised, but he never
attempted to draw my secret from me; and although I loved him with a
mixture of affection and reverence that knew no bounds, yet I could
never persuade myself to confide to him that event which was so
often present to my recollection, but which I feared the detail to
another would only impress more deeply.
M. Krempe was not
equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of almost
insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even
more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. "D--n the
fellow!" cried he; "why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has outstript
us all. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A
youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as
firmly as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the
university; and if he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out
of countenance.--Ay, ay," continued he, observing my face expressive
of suffering, "M. Frankenstein is modest; an excellent quality in a
young man. Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M.
Clerval: I was myself when young; but that wears out in a very short
time."
M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself,
which happily turned the conversation from a subject that was so
annoying to me.
Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes
for natural science; and his literary pursuits differed wholly from
those which had occupied me. He came to the university with the
design of making himself complete master of the oriental languages,
as thus he should open a field for the plan of life he had marked
out for himself. Resolved to pursue no inglorious career, he turned
his eyes toward the East, as affording scope for his spirit of
enterprise. The Persian, Arabic, and Sanscrit languages engaged his
attention, and I was easily induced to enter on the same studies.
Idleness had ever been irksome to me, and now that I wished to fly
from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt great relief in
being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not only
instruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists. I did
not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for I
did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary
amusement. I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well
repaid my labours. Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy
elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the authors
of any other country. When you read their writings, life appears to
consist in a warm sun and a garden of roses--in the smiles and
frowns of a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart.
How different from the manly and heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!
Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to
Geneva was fixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by
several accidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed
impassable, and my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring. I
felt this delay very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town
and my beloved friends. My return had only been delayed so long from
an unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had
become acquainted with any of its inhabitants. The winter, however,
was spent cheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late,
when it came its beauty compensated for its dilatoriness.
The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the
letter daily which was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry
proposed a pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt, that I
might bid a personal farewell to the country I had so long
inhabited. I acceded with pleasure to this proposition: I was fond
of exercise, and Clerval had always been my favourite companion in
the rambles of this nature that I had taken among the scenes of my
native country.
We passed a fortnight in these
perambulations: my health and spirits had long been restored, and
they gained additional strength from the salubrious air I breathed,
the natural incidents of our progress, and the conversation of my
friend. Study had before secluded me from the intercourse of my
fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but Clerval called forth
the better feelings of my heart; he again taught me to love the
aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children. Excellent
friend! how sincerely did you love me, and endeavour to elevate my
mind until it was on a level with your own! A selfish pursuit had
cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection warmed
and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature who, a few
years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care. When
happy, inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most
delightful sensations. A serene sky and verdant fields filled me
with ecstasy. The present season was indeed divine; the flowers of
spring bloomed in the hedges, while those of summer were already in
bud. I was undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year
had pressed upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them
off, with an invincible burden.
Henry rejoiced in my gaiety,
and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he exerted himself to
amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled his soul.
The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly astonishing:
his conversation was full of imagination; and very often, in
imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of
wonderful fancy and passion. At other times he repeated my favourite
poems, or drew me out into arguments, which he supported with great
ingenuity. We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon: the
peasants were dancing, and every one we met appeared gay and happy.
My own spirits were high, and I bounded along with feelings of
unbridled joy and hilarity. |
