FRANKENSTEIN; OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. IN THREE VOLUMES. Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay PARADISE LOST. VOL. II. London: PRINTED FOR LACKINGTON, HUGHES, HARDING, MAVOR, & JONES; FINSBURY SQUARE. --- 1818. FRANKENSTEIN; OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. CHAPTER I. NOTHING is more painful to the human mind, than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows, and deprives the soul both of hope and fear. Justine died; she rested; and I was alive. The blood flowed freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my heart, which nothing could remove. Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more, much more, (I persuaded myself) was yet behind. Yet my heart overflowed with kindness, and the love of virtue. I had begun life with benevolent intentions, and thirsted for the moment when I should put them in practice, and make myself useful to my fellowbeings. Now all was blasted: instead of that serenity of conscience, which allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures, such as no language can describe. This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had entirely recovered |