When I had attained1 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 fixed2 at an early date, but before the day resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life occurred — an omen3, as it were, of my future misery4. Elizabeth had caught the scarlet5 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 entreaties6, but when she heard that the life of her favourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She attended her sickbed; her watchful7 attentions triumphed over the malignity8 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 deathbed the fortitude9 and benignity10 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 prospect11 of your union. This expectation will now be the consolation12 of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to my younger children. Alas13! 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 countenance14 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 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 lapse15 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 banished16. 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 remains17 whom the spoiler has not seized.
My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred18 by these events, was now again determined19 upon. I obtained from my father a respite20 of some weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose21, akin22 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 unwilling23 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 steadily24 on life and assumed its duties with courage and zeal25. She devoted26 herself to those whom she had been taught to call her uncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting27 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 aspirations28 and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the misfortune of being debarred from a liberal education. He said little, but when he spoke29 I read in his kindling30 eye and in his animated31 glance a restrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable32 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 retired33 under the pretence34 of seeking repose, each fancying that the other was deceived; but when at morning’s dawn I descended35 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 bestow36 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 melancholy37 reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by amiable38 companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual39 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 remarkably40 secluded41 and domestic, and this had given me invincible42 repugnance43 to new countenances44. 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 ardently45 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 folly46 to repent47.
I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my journey to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing48. At length the high white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted and was conducted to my solitary49 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 omnipotent50 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 uncouth51 man, but deeply imbued52 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 alchemists 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 utterly53 and entirely54 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 imbibed55 are a thousand years old and as musty as they are ancient? I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific age, to find a disciple56 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 procure57, 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, a 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 recur58 to these studies in any shape. M. Krempe was a little squat59 man with a gruff voice and a repulsive60 countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in favour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical61 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 alchemists. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very different when the masters of the science sought immortality62 and power; such views, although futile63, 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 chimeras65 of boundless66 grandeur67 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 abode68. 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 conceited69 fellow deliver sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected70 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 expressive71 of the greatest benevolence72; a few grey hairs covered his temples, but those at the back of his head were nearly black. His person was short but remarkably erect73 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 distinguished74 discoverers. He then took a cursory75 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 panegyric76 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 transmuted77 and that the elixir78 of life is a chimera64 but these philosophers, whose hands seem only made to dabble79 in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or crucible80, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate81 into the recesses82 of nature and show how she works in her hiding-places. They ascend83 into the heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited84 powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic85 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 mechanism86 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 turmoil87; 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 mien88 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 narration89 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 indefatigable90 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 presumption91 or affectation, and then added that his lecture had removed my prejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured terms, with the modesty92 and deference93 due from a youth to his instructor94, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated95 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 peculiar96 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 promising97 me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in the science not to derange98 their mechanism. He also gave me the list of books which I had requested, and I took my leave.
Thus ended a day memorable99 to me; it decided100 my future destiny.
收听单词发音 |
1
attained
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
omen
|
|
| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
entreaties
|
|
| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
malignity
|
|
| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
fortitude
|
|
| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
benignity
|
|
| n.仁慈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
lapse
|
|
| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
banished
|
|
| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
deferred
|
|
| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
respite
|
|
| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
akin
|
|
| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
enchanting
|
|
| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
kindling
|
|
| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
remarkably
|
|
| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
secluded
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
invincible
|
|
| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
repugnance
|
|
| n.嫌恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
countenances
|
|
| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
ardently
|
|
| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
repent
|
|
| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
fatiguing
|
|
| a.使人劳累的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
omnipotent
|
|
| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
uncouth
|
|
| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
imbued
|
|
| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
imbibed
|
|
| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
disciple
|
|
| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
procure
|
|
| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
recur
|
|
| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
squat
|
|
| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
repulsive
|
|
| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
philosophical
|
|
| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
immortality
|
|
| n.不死，不朽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
futile
|
|
| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
chimera
|
|
| n.神话怪物；梦幻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
chimeras
|
|
| n.（由几种动物的各部分构成的）假想的怪兽( chimera的名词复数 )；不可能实现的想法；幻想；妄想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
boundless
|
|
| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
grandeur
|
|
| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
conceited
|
|
| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
recollected
|
|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
benevolence
|
|
| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
cursory
|
|
| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
panegyric
|
|
| n.颂词，颂扬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
transmuted
|
|
| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
elixir
|
|
| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
dabble
|
|
| v.涉足，浅赏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
crucible
|
|
| n.坩锅，严酷的考验 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
penetrate
|
|
| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
recesses
|
|
| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
ascend
|
|
| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
unlimited
|
|
| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
mimic
|
|
| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
mechanism
|
|
| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
mien
|
|
| n.风采；态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
narration
|
|
| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
indefatigable
|
|
| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
presumption
|
|
| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
modesty
|
|
| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
deference
|
|
| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
instructor
|
|
| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
derange
|
|
| v.使精神错乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |