Chapter 3
When I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had hitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my mother thought it necessary for the completion of my education that I should be made acquainted with other customs than those of my native country. My departure was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life occurred--an omen, as it were, of my future misery. Elisha had caught the scarlet fever; his illness was severe, and he was in the greatest danger. During his illness many arguments had been urged to persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon him. He had at first yielded to our entreaties, but when he heard that the life of his favourite was menaced, he could no longer control his anxiety. He attended his sickbed; his watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity of the distemper--Elisha was saved, but the consequences of this imprudence were fatal to his preserver. On the third day my mother sickened; his fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the looks of his medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On his deathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of men did not desert him. He joined the hands of Elisha and myself. 'My children,' he said, 'my firmest hopes of future happiness were placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the consolation of your mother. Elisha, my love, you must supply my place to my younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully to death and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.'
He died calmly, and his countenance expressed affection even in death. I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent by that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the soul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that he whom we saw every day and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed forever--that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard. These are the reflections of the first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the evil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has not that rude hand rent away some dear connection? And why should I describe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not banished. My mothers was dead, but we had still duties which we ought to perform; we must continue our course with the rest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remains whom the spoiler has not seized.
My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events, was now again determined upon. I obtained from my mother a respite of some weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose, akin to death, of the house of mourning and to rush into the thick of life. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me. I was unwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above all, I desired to see my sweet Elisha in some degree consoled.
He indeed veiled his grief and strove to act the comforter to us all. He looked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and zeal. He devoted himself to those whom he had been taught to call his aunt and cousins. Never was he so enchanting as at this time, when he recalled the sunshine of his smiles and spent them upon us. He forgot even his own regret in his endeavours to make us forget.
The day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the last evening with us. She had endeavoured to persuade her mother to permit her to accompany me and to become my fellow student, but in vain. Her mothers was a narrow-minded trader and saw idleness and ruin in the aspirations and ambition of her daughter. Henrietta deeply felt the misfortune of being debarred from a liberal education. She said little, but when she spoke I read in her kindling eye and in her animated glance a restrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable details of commerce.
We sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor persuade ourselves to say the word 'Farewell!' It was said, and we retired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the others was deceived; but when at morning's dawn I descended to the carriage which was to convey me away, they were all there--my mother again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elisha to renew his entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last masculine attentions on his playmate and friend.
I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in the most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by amiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual pleasure--I was now alone. In the university whither I was going I must form my own friends and be my own protector. My life had hitherto been remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me invincible repugnance to new countenances. I loved my sisters, Elisha, and Clerval; these were 'old familiar faces,' but I believed myself totally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such were my reflections as I commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits and hopes rose. I ardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when at home, thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one place and had longed to enter the world and take my station among other human beings. Now my desires were complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to repent.
I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my journey to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At length the high white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted and was conducted to my solitary apartment to spend the evening as I pleased.
The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a visit to some of the principal professors. Chance--or rather the evil influence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway over me from the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my mother's door--led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. She was an uncouth woman, but deeply imbued in the secrets of her science. She asked me several questions concerning my progress in the different branches of science appertaining to natural philosophy. I replied carelessly, and partly in contempt, mentioned the names of my alchemists as the principal authors I had studied. The professor stared. 'Have you,' she said, 'really spent your time in studying such nonsense?'
I replied in the affirmative. 'Every minute,' continued M. Krempe with warmth, 'every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly and entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with exploded systems and useless names. Good God! In what desert land have you lived, where no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies which you have so greedily imbibed are a thousand years old and as musty as they are ancient? I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific age, to find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear lady, you must begin your studies entirely anew.'
So saying, she stepped aside and wrote down a list of several books treating of natural philosophy which she desired me to procure, and dismissed me after mentioning that in the beginning of the following week she intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that she omitted.
I returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long considered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I returned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any shape. M. Krempe was a little squat woman with a gruff voice and a repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in favour of her pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected a strain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come to concerning them in my early years. As a child I had not been content with the results promised by the modern professors of natur
al science. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my extreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the steps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the discoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very different when the mistresses of the science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth.
Such were my reflections during the first two or three days of my residence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming acquainted with the localities and the principal residents in my new abode. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information which M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures. And although I could not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow deliver sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what she had said of M. Waldman, whom I had never seen, as she had hitherto been out of town.
Partly from curiosity and partly from idleness, I went into the lecturing room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very unlike her colleague. She appeared about fifty years of age, but with an aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs covered her temples, but those at the back of her head were nearly black. Her person was short but remarkably erect and her voice the sweetest I had ever heard. She began her lecture by a recapitulation of the history of chemistry and the various improvements made by different women of learning, pronouncing with fervour the names of the most distinguished discoverers. She then took a cursory view of the present state of the science and explained many of its elementary terms. After having made a few preparatory experiments, she concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget: 'The ancient teachers of this science,' said she, 'promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern mistresses promise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted and that the elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers, whose hands seem only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses of nature and show how he works in his hiding-places. They ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows.'
Such were the professor's words--rather let me say such the words of the fate--enounced to destroy me. As she went on I felt as if my soul were grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were touched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception, one purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein--more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.
I closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a state of insurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I had no power to produce it. By degrees, after the morning's dawn, sleep came. I awoke, and my yesternight's thoughts were as a dream. There only remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies and to devote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess a natural talent. On the same day I paid M. Waldman a visit. Her manners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public, for there was a certain dignity in her mien during her lecture which in her own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness. I gave her pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had given to her fellow professor. She heard with attention the little narration concerning my studies and smiled at the names of Cornelius Agrippa and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had exhibited. She said that 'These were women to whose indefatigable zeal modern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names and arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in a great degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The labours of women of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.' I listened to her statement, which was delivered without any presumption or affectation, and then added that her lecture had removed my prejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to her instructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended labours. I requested her advice concerning the books I ought to procure.
'I am happy,' said M. Waldman, 'to have gained a disciple; and if your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success. Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the greatest improvements have been and may be made; it is on that account that I have made it my peculiar study; but at the same time, I have not neglected the other branches of science. A woman would make but a very sorry chemist if she attended to that department of human knowledge alone. If your wish is to become really a woman of science and not merely a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of natural philosophy, including mathematics.' She then took me into her laboratory and explained to me the uses of her various machines, instructing me as to what I ought to procure and promising me the use of her own when I should have advanced far enough in the science not to derange their mechanism. She also gave me the list of books which I had requested, and I took my leave.
Thus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny.