Chapter III

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 father 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.

Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and she was in the greatest danger. During her illness, many arguments had been urged to persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had, at first, yielded to our entreaties; but when she heard that the life of her favourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She attended her sick bed—her watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity of the distemper—Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of this imprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third day my mother sickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the looks of her medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her death-bed the fortitude and benignity of this best of women did not desert her. She joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself:—“My children,” she said, “my firmest hopes of future happiness were placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the consolation of your father. Elizabeth, 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.”

She died calmly; and her 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 she, whom we saw every day, and whose very existence appeared a part of our own, can have departed for ever—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 mother 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 father 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 Elizabeth in some degree consoled.

She indeed veiled her grief, and strove to act the comforter to us all. She looked steadily on life, and assumed its duties with courage and zeal. She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call her uncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time when she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us. She forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget.

The day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the last evening with us. He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit him to accompany me, and to become my fellow student; but in vain. His father was a narrow-minded trader, and saw idleness and ruin in the aspirations and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the misfortune of being debarred from a liberal education. He said little; but when he spoke, I read in his kindling eye and in his 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 other was deceived: but when at morning's dawn I descended to the carriage which was to convey me away, they were all there—my father again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to renew her entreaties that I would write often, and to bestow the last feminine attentions on her 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 brothers, Elizabeth, 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 father's door—led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. He was an uncouth man, but deeply embued in the secrets of his science. He 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 alchymists as the principal authors I had studied. The professor stared: “Have you,” he said, “really spent your time in studying such nonsense?”

I replied in the affirmative. “Every minute,” continued M. Krempe 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 sir, you must begin your studies entirely anew.”

So saying, he stepped aside, and wrote down a list of several books treating of natural philosophy, which he desired me to procure; and dismissed me, after mentioning that in the beginning of the following week he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, fellow-professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he 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 man, with a gruff voice and a repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in favour of his 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 natural science. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my extreme youth, and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the steps of knowledge along the paths of time, and exchanged the discoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchymists. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very different when the masters of the science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand: but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the 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 he had said of M. Waldman, whom I had never seen, as he 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 his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but with an aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs covered his temples, but those at the back of his head were nearly black. His person was short, but remarkably erect; and his voice the sweetest I had ever heard. He began his lecture by a recapitulation of the history of chemistry, and the various improvements made by different men of learning, pronouncing with fervour the names of the most distinguished discoverers. He 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, he concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget:—

“The ancient teachers of this science,” said he, “promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters 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 she works in her 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 he 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. His manners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public; for there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture, which in his own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness. I gave him pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had given to his fellow-professor. He 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. He said, that “these were men 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 men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.” I listened to his statement, which was delivered without any presumption or affectation; and then added, that his lecture had removed my prejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his instructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended labours. I requested his 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 man would make but a very sorry chemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge alone. If your wish is to become really a man of science, and not merely a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of natural philosophy, including mathematics.”

He then took me into his laboratory, and explained to me the uses of his various machines; instructing me as to what I ought to procure and promising me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in the science not to derange their mechanism. He 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.

Footnotes

  1. This sentence, spoken by Frankenstein’s professor, Waldman, is ironic. Frankenstein is “erroneously directed,” since he pursues scientific advancement simply out of pride rather than a desire to better the world, but his accomplishments will not be helpful to the world at large. Instead, he creates a creature who despises him, and Frankenstein dies alone and unhappy, his research bringing nothing but anguish.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  2. Frankenstein describes, using the image of playing a piano, the moment that his obsession entirely overcomes him. Frankenstein is represented by the piano, which produces sound by depressing keys that then strike chords in the piano’s interior. An outside force—Waldman’s words—causes Frankenstein’s “keys” to trigger, and now he is filled with nothing but the echoing sounds of his ambition: “I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.”

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  3. Notice the vocabulary choice for describing modern chemists, who Waldman calls “philosophers.” Through research into the unknown, they have gained spectacular, godlike powers, the likes of which were unreachable to chemists’ precursors, the alchemists. Because of this speech, Frankenstein decides to re-devote himself to his studies and attempts to achieve his own godlike powers, though he finds himself ultimately limited by his creation.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  4. “Chimera” has a variety of meanings. First, it can refer to a creature made up of various body parts from different sources, which is relevant to his creature’s origin. In this passage it refers to an ambitious dream or lofty goal—something boldly ambitious and unrealizable that Frankenstein wishes to pursue, though he is held back from “boundless grandeur” by “realities of little worth.” Frankenstein’s ambitious dream is itself a chimera.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  5. Frankenstein laments not only the loss of his mother, but also the companionship of his close friends, Clerval and Elizabeth. Notice how this longing mirrors Walton’s desires for a friend in Letter II. Because, as Frankenstein puts it, he has an “invincible repugnance to new countenances”—meaning a profound disgust for attempting to make new friends—he is able to dedicate himself to his work.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  6. Again we see Frankenstein attempting to mitigate his responsibility for his future actions. Here he refers to coincidence using divine references, like “evil” and “angel,” to make its force seem more powerful than he. After Frankenstein’s meetings with his professors, he resolves to prove that he can upstage them. He wants Walton to believe that it is chance, not ambition, that leads to his creature. He wants to be seen as a victim of chance and bad luck rather than the creator of his own fate and responsibilities.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  7. Frankenstein portrays Elizabeth as an ideal partner, a beautiful being whose selflessness is unparalleled. This is most present in this simile, where Elizabeth’s smiles are likened to sunshine —warm and enjoyable. Elizabeth, unlike Frankenstein, is devoted to others’ well-being, and her presence illuminates even those caught in grief. There is also the implication that Elizabeth’s time is limited as she “spends” her brightness on others, implying that she has a finite amount left to give.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  8. The “rude hand” in this passage refers to death, which tears loved ones apart, sometimes unexpectedly. Notice how Frankenstein is making his experience universal, asking the question, “Who hasn’t felt the pain of death?” In doing so he seeks to provide sympathetic motivation for his later experiments to bring the dead back to life, and to mitigate his responsibility for the pain he has caused.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  9. Frankenstein’s mother speaks this line, but it is relevant to Frankenstein himself, who will later see his chance at a happily married life with Elizabeth ripped away from him by his vengeful creature. Notice that the prospect of happiness hinges on companionship rather than isolation, a struggle faced by both Frankenstein and the creature that both ultimately lose.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  10. This verb means “to foretell a future event.” Like many events in the novel, Frankenstein’s mother’s death is portrayed in his retelling as inevitable.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  11. Located in Germany, the University of Ingolstadt is where Frankenstein receives his education in chemistry, which gives him the knowledge and ambition to bring his creature to life. Throughout most of the 1700s, when the novel takes place, the University was well respected, but it would close in 1800 due to financial troubles.

    — Kim, Owl Eyes Staff
  12. Of course, opposition to Krempe, we have Professor Waldman who empowers Victor by saying that his studies of alchemy have not been in vain and that he will eventually be "a success."  Such begins the student and mentor relationship between the two.

    — Noelle Thompson
  13. With this response, Krempe determines the fate of the Victor/Krempe relationship, for what student feels empowered when a learned professor says that their life pursuits up until that point have been "such nonsense"?

    — Noelle Thompson
  14. It is interesting to witness the departure of Victor from Clerval.  Victor, of course, is bound for university to study the sciences.  Clerval, always being more of a fan of poetry and art, has no such luck.  He is damned to "the miserable details of commerce" in order to support an eventual family.  (It is also interesting to note that the sciences are still paid and respected over the humanities.)

    — Noelle Thompson
  15. Here one of Caroline Frankenstein's secrets is revealed:  the has always desired Victor and the adopted Elizabeth not to be "brother and sister" but instead to be "husband and wife." 

    — Noelle Thompson
  16. Not only is Ingolstadt a simple town in Bavaria, but it is important to note that it is a true university started by the Jesuit Order of the Roman Catholic Church.  It has an incredibly interesting history, as having begun in the fifteenth century and existed before the Protestant Reformation.  It continued through both the Reformation and the centuries following eventually becoming more and more secular and breaking its ties with the Jesuits and gaining more of a tie to the Illuminati.

    — Noelle Thompson
  17. Now for Some Words of Interpretation. It is incredibly interesting that the adopted Elizabeth, as she recovers from Scarlet Fever, ceases to be a “sister” and begins to be a “cousin” in everyone’s references to her. I suspect this is because the mother, Caroline, always has had a secret intention to marry off Elizabeth to her “brother” Victor. Shelley continues to give her story verisimilitude by having Victor attend a real university: the University of Ingolstadt in Germany (which actually has a very interesting history from both before and after the Protestant Reformation, Counter Reformation, and connection with Illuminati and the Jesuit Order). Victor’s conversations with the two pertinent professors are also interesting. Victor, of course, is not a fan of Krempe’s natural philosophy and much prefers Waldman’s study of Chemistry (even though Waldman also informs Victor that his beloved alchemy was not a true science). In studies of Romanticism, it is interesting to analyze the two names of these characters in regards to Victor’s feelings. There is no doubt that the names are German. The name “Krempe” most closely translates into “a hat’s rim.” The name “Waldman” most specifically translates into “man of the forest” or “woodsman.” Now, knowing the precepts of Romanticism (as fleeing always into nature), which professor would you suppose Victor would prefer? Ironically, Victor has a friendly kind of competition with the professors in that Victor wants to prove that alchemy is a true science. (As readers, we should already know that turning other elements into gold isn’t something that continues in today’s modern scientific world.) For a further explanation and description of plot, please see my first note that begins with the following phrase: “First, let us expound upon the plot of this particular chapter.”

    — Noelle Thompson
  18. First, let us expound upon the plot of this particular chapter. Victor is older during this chapter. In fact, he has turned seventeen years of age and finds that his parents desire quite strongly for Victor to go to university as soon as possible. Victor is quite torn to leave the people who he loves so much, but he admits his desires and obsessions and agrees to go to university in order to study the sciences. Sickness delays the beginning of his university education, however. In fact, two people closest to him have been infected with scarlet fever: Caroline (his mom) and Elizabeth (his adopted sister, but is now interestingly called his “cousin”). Caroline’s condition worsens and begins to speak to her only son about her dreams of Victor and Elizabeth marrying. In fact she says that her very “happiness” depends upon “the prospect of your union.” Caroline eventually passes away, and Elizabeth recovers from scarlet fever. Without Caroline to care for the family, Elizabeth now takes on that job. It is at this point that Victor finally decides to leave for university (specifically the University of Ingolstadt in Germany). Victor laments leaving Elizabeth, but due to his continued obsession with the sciences, he must leave for further study. Upon arriving at the University of Ingolstadt, Victor comes upon two professors who greatly affect him: Professor Waldman (the one that Victor greatly prefers) and Professor Krempe (the one that Victor doesn’t like at all). Victor is very fond of Professor Waldman, his professor of Chemistry, not only because he looks and sounds more affable, but because he proclaims that the chemists of the past “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.” There is no doubt as to why Victor prefers this particular professor over the other.  The words here echo Victor's own desires and eventual success in creating "the creature." In fact, Waldman admits that he is glad to have “gained a disciple” and lifts Victor’s spirits by telling him that Waldman is sure of Victor’s success as a scientist. Victor doesn’t like the latter professor mostly because he discounts Victor’s love of scientific books: “Every minute, … 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.” Even though Victor agrees that the professor is, in fact, correct, his demeanor and philosophical concentration on the sciences turn Victor off to his studies. For further explanation, please see my note at the end of this book beginning with the following phrase: "Now for some words of interpretation." 

    — Noelle Thompson
  19. There should be no doubt as to why Victor prefers this particular professor over the other.  The words here echo Victor's own desires and eventual success in creating "the creature."

    — Noelle Thompson