prompt:
Chapter: We passed a few sad hours, until eleven o'clock, when the trial was to
commence. My father and the rest of the family being obliged to attend
as witnesses, I accompanied them to the court. During the whole of this
wretched mockery of justice, I suffered living torture. It was to be
decided, whether the result of my curiosity and lawless devices would
cause the death of two of my fellow-beings: one a smiling babe, full of
innocence and joy; the other far more dreadfully murdered, with every
aggravation of infamy that could make the murder memorable in horror.
Justine also was a girl of merit, and possessed qualities which promised
to render her life happy: now all was to be obliterated in an
ignominious grave; and I the cause! A thousand times rather would I have
confessed myself guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine; but I was
absent when it was committed, and such a declaration would have been
considered as the ravings of a madman, and would not have exculpated her
who suffered through me.

The appearance of Justine was calm. She was dressed in mourning; and her
countenance, always engaging, was rendered, by the solemnity of her
feelings, exquisitely beautiful. Yet she appeared confident in
innocence, and did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by
thousands; for all the kindness which her beauty might otherwise have
excited, was obliterated in the minds of the spectators by the
imagination of the enormity she was supposed to have committed. She was
tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently constrained; and as her
confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, she worked up
her mind to an appearance of courage. When she entered the court, she
threw her eyes round it, and quickly discovered where we were seated. A
tear seemed to dim her eye when she saw us; but she quickly recovered
herself, and a look of sorrowful affection seemed to attest her utter
guiltlessness.

The trial began; and after the advocate against her had stated the
charge, several witnesses were called. Several strange facts combined
against her, which might have staggered any one who had not such proof
of her innocence as I had. She had been out the whole of the night on
which the murder had been committed, and towards morning had been
perceived by a market-woman not far from the spot where the body of the
murdered child had been afterwards found. The woman asked her what she
did there; but she looked very strangely, and only returned a confused
and unintelligible answer. She returned to the house about eight
o'clock; and when one inquired where she had passed the night, she
replied, that she had been looking for the child, and demanded
earnestly, if any thing had been heard concerning him. When shewn the
body, she fell into violent hysterics, and kept her bed for several
days. The picture was then produced, which the servant had found in her
pocket; and when Elizabeth, in a faltering voice, proved that it was the
same which, an hour before the child had been missed, she had placed
round his neck, a murmur of horror and indignation filled the court.

Justine was called on for her defence. As the trial had proceeded, her
countenance had altered. Surprise, horror, and misery, were strongly
expressed. Sometimes she struggled with her tears; but when she was
desired to plead, she collected her powers, and spoke in an audible
although variable voice:--

"God knows," she said, "how entirely I am innocent. But I do not pretend
that my protestations should acquit me: I rest my innocence on a plain
and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced against me;
and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my judges to a
favourable interpretation, where any circumstance appears doubtful or
suspicious."

She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed
the evening of the night on which the murder had been committed, at the
house of an aunt at Chene, a village situated at about a league from
Geneva. On her return, at about nine o'clock, she met a man, who asked
her if she had seen any thing of the child who was lost. She was alarmed
by this account, and passed several hours in looking for him, when the
gates of Geneva were shut, and she was forced to remain several hours of
the night in a barn belonging to a cottage, being unwilling to call up
the inhabitants, to whom she was well known. Unable to rest or sleep,
she quitted her asylum early, that she might again endeavour to find my
brother. If she had gone near the spot where his body lay, it was
without her knowledge. That she had been bewildered when questioned by
the market-woman, was not surprising, since she had passed a sleepless
night, and the fate of poor William was yet uncertain. Concerning the
picture she could give no account.

"I know," continued the unhappy victim, "how heavily and fatally this
one circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of explaining
it; and when I have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left to
conjecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have been
placed in my pocket. But here also I am checked. I believe that I have
no enemy on earth, and none surely would have been so wicked as to
destroy me wantonly. Did the murderer place it there? I know of no
opportunity afforded him for so doing; or if I had, why should he have
stolen the jewel, to part with it again so soon?

"I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for
hope. I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my
character; and if their testimony shall not overweigh my supposed guilt,
I must be condemned, although I would pledge my salvation on my
innocence."

Several witnesses were called, who had known her for many years, and
they spoke well of her; but fear, and hatred of the crime of which they
supposed her guilty, rendered them timorous, and unwilling to come
forward. Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent
dispositions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the accused,
when, although violently agitated, she desired permission to address the
court.

"I am," said she, "the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or
rather his sister, for I was educated by and have lived with his parents
ever since and even long before his birth. It may therefore be judged
indecent in me to come forward on this occasion; but when I see a
fellow-creature about to perish through the cowardice of her pretended
friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that I may say what I know of
her character. I am well acquainted with the accused. I have lived in
the same house with her, at one time for five, and at another for nearly
two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable
and benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame Frankenstein, my
aunt, in her last illness with the greatest affection and care; and
afterwards attended her own mother during a tedious illness, in a manner
that excited the admiration of all who knew her. After which she again
lived in my uncle's house, where she was beloved by all the family. She
was warmly attached to the child who is now dead, and acted towards him
like a most affectionate mother. For my own part, I do not hesitate to
say, that, notwithstanding all the evidence produced against her, I
believe and rely on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for
such an action: as to the bauble on which the chief proof rests, if she
had earnestly desired it, I should have willingly given it to her; so
much do I esteem and value her."

Excellent Elizabeth! A murmur of approbation was heard; but it was
excited by her generous interference, and not in favour of poor Justine,
on whom the public indignation was turned with renewed violence,
charging her with the blackest ingratitude. She herself wept as
Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer. My own agitation and anguish
was extreme during the whole trial. I believed in her innocence; I knew
it. Could the daemon, who had (I did not for a minute doubt) murdered my
brother, also in his hellish sport have betrayed the innocent to death
and ignominy. I could not sustain the horror of my situation; and when I
perceived that the popular voice, and the countenances of the judges,
had already condemned my unhappy victim, I rushed out of the court in
agony. The tortures of the accused did not equal mine; she was sustained
by innocence, but the fangs of remorse tore my bosom, and would not
forego their hold.

I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness. In the morning I went to the
court; my lips and throat were parched. I dared not ask the fatal
question; but I was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my
visit. The ballots had been thrown; they were all black, and Justine was
condemned.

I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt. I had before experienced
sensations of horror; and I have endeavoured to bestow upon them
adequate expressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the
heart-sickening despair that I then endured. The person to whom I
addressed myself added, that Justine had already confessed her guilt.
"That evidence," he observed, "was hardly required in so glaring a case,
but I am glad of it; and, indeed, none of our judges like to condemn a
criminal upon circumstantial evidence, be it ever so decisive."

When I returned home, Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result.

"My cousin," replied I, "it is decided as you may have expected; all
judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer, than that one guilty
should escape. But she has confessed."

This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness
upon Justine's innocence. "Alas!" said she, "how shall I ever again
believe in human benevolence? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my
sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray;
her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or ill-humour, and yet
she has committed a murder."

Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a wish to see my
cousin. My father wished her not to go; but said, that he left it to her
own judgment and feelings to decide. "Yes," said Elizabeth, "I will go,
although she is guilty; and you, Victor, shall accompany me: I cannot go
alone." The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet I could not
refuse.

We entered the gloomy prison-chamber, and beheld Justine sitting on some
straw at the further end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested
on her knees. She rose on seeing us enter; and when we were left alone
with her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly.
My cousin wept also.

"Oh, Justine!" said she, "why did you rob me of my last consolation. I
relied on your innocence; and although I was then very wretched, I was
not so miserable as I am now."

"And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked? Do you also
join with my enemies to crush me?" Her voice was suffocated with sobs.

"Rise, my poor girl," said Elizabeth, "why do you kneel, if you are
innocent? I am not one of your enemies; I believed you guiltless,
notwithstanding every evidence, until I heard that you had yourself
declared your guilt. That report, you say, is false; and be assured,
dear Justine, that nothing can shake my confidence in you for a moment,
but your own confession."

"I did confess; but I confessed a lie. I confessed, that I might obtain
absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than all my
other sins. The God of heaven forgive me! Ever since I was condemned, my
confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced, until I almost
began to think that I was the monster that he said I was. He threatened
excommunication and hell fire in my last moments, if I continued
obdurate. Dear lady, I had none to support me; all looked on me as a
wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition. What could I do? In an evil
hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only am I truly miserable."

She paused, weeping, and then continued--"I thought with horror, my
sweet lady, that you should believe your Justine, whom your blessed aunt
had so highly honoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable of a
crime which none but the devil himself could have perpetrated. Dear
William! dearest blessed child! I soon shall see you again in heaven,
where we shall all be happy; and that consoles me, going as I am to
suffer ignominy and death."

"Oh, Justine! forgive me for having for one moment distrusted you. Why
did you confess? But do not mourn, my dear girl; I will every where
proclaim your innocence, and force belief. Yet you must die; you, my
playfellow, my companion, my more than sister. I never can survive so
horrible a misfortune."

"Dear, sweet Elizabeth, do not weep. You ought to raise me with thoughts
of a better life, and elevate me from the petty cares of this world of
injustice and strife. Do not you, excellent friend, drive me to
despair."

"I will try to comfort you; but this, I fear, is an evil too deep and
poignant to admit of consolation, for there is no hope. Yet heaven
bless thee, my dearest Justine, with resignation, and a confidence
elevated beyond this world. Oh! how I hate its shews and mockeries! when
one creature is murdered, another is immediately deprived of life in a
slow torturing manner; then the executioners, their hands yet reeking
with the blood of innocence, believe that they have done a great deed.
They call this _retribution_. Hateful name! When that word is
pronounced, I know greater and more horrid punishments are going to be
inflicted than the gloomiest tyrant has ever invented to satiate his
utmost revenge. Yet this is not consolation for you, my Justine, unless
indeed that you may glory in escaping from so miserable a den. Alas! I
would I were in peace with my aunt and my lovely William, escaped from a
world which is hateful to me, and the visages of men which I abhor."

Justine smiled languidly. "This, dear lady, is despair, and not
resignation. I must not learn the lesson that you would teach me. Talk
of something else, something that will bring peace, and not increase of
misery."

During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison-room,
where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who
dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the
dreary boundary between life and death, felt not as I did, such deep and
bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth, and ground them together, uttering a
groan that came from my inmost soul. Justine started. When she saw who
it was, she approached me, and said, "Dear Sir, you are very kind to
visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty."

I could not answer. "No, Justine," said Elizabeth; "he is more convinced
of your innocence than I was; for even when he heard that you had
confessed, he did not credit it."

"I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitude
towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection
of others to such a wretch as I am! It removes more than half my
misfortune; and I feel as if I could die in peace, now that my innocence
is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin."

Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed
gained the resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the
never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or
consolation. Elizabeth also wept, and was unhappy; but her's also was
the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair
moon, for a while hides, but cannot tarnish its brightness. Anguish and
despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within
me, which nothing could extinguish. We staid several hours with Justine;
and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear herself away.
"I wish," cried she, "that I were to die with you; I cannot live in this
world of misery."

Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty
repressed her bitter tears. She embraced Elizabeth, and said, in a voice
of half-suppressed emotion, "Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth, my
beloved and only friend; may heaven in its bounty bless and preserve
you; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever suffer. Live,
and be happy, and make others so."

As we returned, Elizabeth said, "You know not, my dear Victor, how much
I am relieved, now that I trust in the innocence of this unfortunate
girl. I never could again have known peace, if I had been deceived in my
reliance on her. For the moment that I did believe her guilty, I felt an
anguish that I could not have long sustained. Now my heart is lightened.
The innocent suffers; but she whom I thought amiable and good has not
betrayed the trust I reposed in her, and I am consoled."

Amiable cousin! such were your thoughts, mild and gentle as your own
dear eyes and voice. But I--I was a wretch, and none ever conceived of
the misery that I then endured.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Justine confesses to the crime, believing that she will thereby gain salvation, but tells Elizabeth and Victor that she is innocent--and miserable. They remain convinced of her innocence, but Justine is soon executed. Victor becomes consumed with guilt, knowing that the monster he created and the cloak of secrecy within which the creation took place have now caused the deaths of two members of his family


prompt:
Chapter: 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
fellow-beings. 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
from the first shock it had sustained. I shunned the face of man; all
sound of joy or complacency was torture to me; solitude was my only
consolation--deep, dark, death-like solitude.

My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my
disposition and habits, and endeavoured to reason with me on the folly
of giving way to immoderate grief. "Do you think, Victor," said he,
"that I do not suffer also? No one could love a child more than I loved
your brother;" (tears came into his eyes as he spoke); "but is it not a
duty to the survivors, that we should refrain from augmenting their
unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty owed
to yourself; for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment, or
even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no man is fit for
society."

This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I
should have been the first to hide my grief, and console my friends, if
remorse had not mingled its bitterness with my other sensations. Now I
could only answer my father with a look of despair, and endeavour to
hide myself from his view.

About this time we retired to our house at Belrive. This change was
particularly agreeable to me. The shutting of the gates regularly at ten
o'clock, and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that
hour, had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome
to me. I was now free. Often, after the rest of the family had retired
for the night, I took the boat, and passed many hours upon the water.
Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and sometimes,
after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to pursue its
own course, and gave way to my own miserable reflections. I was often
tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only unquiet thing
that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and heavenly, if I except
some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and interrupted croaking was heard
only when I approached the shore--often, I say, I was tempted to plunge
into the silent lake, that the waters might close over me and my
calamities for ever. But I was restrained, when I thought of the heroic
and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly loved, and whose existence was
bound up in mine. I thought also of my father, and surviving brother:
should I by my base desertion leave them exposed and unprotected to the
malice of the fiend whom I had let loose among them?

At these moments I wept bitterly, and wished that peace would revisit my
mind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that
could not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of
unalterable evils; and I lived in daily fear, lest the monster whom I
had created should perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure
feeling that all was not over, and that he would still commit some
signal crime, which by its enormity should almost efface the
recollection of the past. There was always scope for fear, so long as
any thing I loved remained behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot be
conceived. When I thought of him, I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became
inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so
thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my
hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a
pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I, when there, have
precipitated him to their base. I wished to see him again, that I might
wreak the utmost extent of anger on his head, and avenge the deaths of
William and Justine.

Our house was the house of mourning. My father's health was deeply
shaken by the horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and
desponding; she no longer took delight in her ordinary occupations; all
pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead; eternal woe and tears
she then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocence so
blasted and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature, who in
earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake, and talked with
ecstacy of our future prospects. She had become grave, and often
conversed of the inconstancy of fortune, and the instability of human
life.

"When I reflect, my dear cousin," said she, "on the miserable death of
Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before
appeared to me. Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and
injustice, that I read in books or heard from others, as tales of
ancient days, or imaginary evils; at least they were remote, and more
familiar to reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come
home, and men appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other's blood.
Yet I am certainly unjust. Every body believed that poor girl to be
guilty; and if she could have committed the crime for which she
suffered, assuredly she would have been the most depraved of human
creatures. For the sake of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her
benefactor and friend, a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and
appeared to love as if it had been her own! I could not consent to the
death of any human being; but certainly I should have thought such a
creature unfit to remain in the society of men. Yet she was innocent. I
know, I feel she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that
confirms me. Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth,
who can assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were
walking on the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are
crowding, and endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and
Justine were assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the
world free, and perhaps respected. But even if I were condemned to
suffer on the scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places
with such a wretch."

I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I, not in deed,
but in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my
countenance, and kindly taking my hand said, "My dearest cousin, you
must calm yourself. These events have affected me, God knows how deeply;
but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of despair,
and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance, that makes me tremble. Be
calm, my dear Victor; I would sacrifice my life to your peace. We surely
shall be happy: quiet in our native country, and not mingling in the
world, what can disturb our tranquillity?"

She shed tears as she said this, distrusting the very solace that she
gave; but at the same time she smiled, that she might chase away the
fiend that lurked in my heart. My father, who saw in the unhappiness
that was painted in my face only an exaggeration of that sorrow which I
might naturally feel, thought that an amusement suited to my taste would
be the best means of restoring to me my wonted serenity. It was from
this cause that he had removed to the country; and, induced by the same
motive, he now proposed that we should all make an excursion to the
valley of Chamounix. I had been there before, but Elizabeth and Ernest
never had; and both had often expressed an earnest desire to see the
scenery of this place, which had been described to them as so wonderful
and sublime. Accordingly we departed from Geneva on this tour about the
middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of
Justine.

The weather was uncommonly fine; and if mine had been a sorrow to be
chased away by any fleeting circumstance, this excursion would certainly
have had the effect intended by my father. As it was, I was somewhat
interested in the scene; it sometimes lulled, although it could not
extinguish my grief. During the first day we travelled in a carriage. In
the morning we had seen the mountains at a distance, towards which we
gradually advanced. We perceived that the valley through which we wound,
and which was formed by the river Arve, whose course we followed, closed
in upon us by degrees; and when the sun had set, we beheld immense
mountains and precipices overhanging us on every side, and heard the
sound of the river raging among rocks, and the dashing of water-falls
around.

The next day we pursued our journey upon mules; and as we ascended still
higher, the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character.
Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains; the
impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from
among the trees, formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was augmented
and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and shining
pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another earth, the
habitations of another race of beings.

We passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine, which the river
forms, opened before us, and we began to ascend the mountain that
overhangs it. Soon after we entered the valley of Chamounix. This valley
is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and picturesque as
that of Servox, through which we had just passed. The high and snowy
mountains were its immediate boundaries; but we saw no more ruined
castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers approached the road; we
heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche, and marked the
smoke of its passage. Mont Blanc, the supreme and magnificent Mont
Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding _aiguilles_, and its
tremendous _dome_ overlooked the valley.

During this journey, I sometimes joined Elizabeth, and exerted myself to
point out to her the various beauties of the scene. I often suffered my
mule to lag behind, and indulged in the misery of reflection. At other
times I spurred on the animal before my companions, that I might forget
them, the world, and, more than all, myself. When at a distance, I
alighted, and threw myself on the grass, weighed down by horror and
despair. At eight in the evening I arrived at Chamounix. My father and
Elizabeth were very much fatigued; Ernest, who accompanied us, was
delighted, and in high spirits: the only circumstance that detracted
from his pleasure was the south wind, and the rain it seemed to promise
for the next day.

We retired early to our apartments, but not to sleep; at least I did
not. I remained many hours at the window, watching the pallid lightning
that played above Mont Blanc, and listening to the rushing of the Arve,
which ran below my window.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: After Justine's execution, Victor becomes increasingly melancholy. He considers suicide but restrains himself by thinking of Elizabeth and his father. Alphonse, hoping to cheer up his son, takes his children on an excursion to the family home at Belrive. From there, Victor wanders alone toward the valley of Chamounix. The beautiful scenery cheers him somewhat, but his respite from grief is short-lived


prompt:
Chapter: The next day, contrary to the prognostications of our guides, was fine,
although clouded. We visited the source of the Arveiron, and rode about
the valley until evening. These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded
me the greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving. They
elevated me from all littleness of feeling; and although they did not
remove my grief, they subdued and tranquillized it. In some degree,
also, they diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded
for the last month. I returned in the evening, fatigued, but less
unhappy, and conversed with my family with more cheerfulness than had
been my custom for some time. My father was pleased, and Elizabeth
overjoyed. "My dear cousin," said she, "you see what happiness you
diffuse when you are happy; do not relapse again!"

The following morning the rain poured down in torrents, and thick mists
hid the summits of the mountains. I rose early, but felt unusually
melancholy. The rain depressed me; my old feelings recurred, and I was
miserable. I knew how disappointed my father would be at this sudden
change, and I wished to avoid him until I had recovered myself so far as
to be enabled to conceal those feelings that overpowered me. I knew
that they would remain that day at the inn; and as I had ever inured
myself to rain, moisture, and cold, I resolved to go alone to the summit
of Montanvert. I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous
and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it.
It had then filled me with a sublime ecstacy that gave wings to the
soul, and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy.
The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the
effect of solemnizing my mind, and causing me to forget the passing
cares of life. I determined to go alone, for I was well acquainted with
the path, and the presence of another would destroy the solitary
grandeur of the scene.

The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short
windings, which enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the
mountain. It is a scene terrifically desolate. In a thousand spots the
traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie broken
and strewed on the ground; some entirely destroyed, others bent, leaning
upon the jutting rocks of the mountain, or transversely upon other
trees. The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines of
snow, down which stones continually roll from above; one of them is
particularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even speaking in
a loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to draw
destruction upon the head of the speaker. The pines are not tall or
luxuriant, but they are sombre, and add an air of severity to the scene.
I looked on the valley beneath; vast mists were rising from the rivers
which ran through it, and curling in thick wreaths around the opposite
mountains, whose summits were hid in the uniform clouds, while rain
poured from the dark sky, and added to the melancholy impression I
received from the objects around me. Alas! why does man boast of
sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders
them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger,
thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by
every wind that blows, and a chance word or scene that that word may
convey to us.

    We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.
      We rise; one wand'ring thought pollutes the day.
    We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh, or weep,
      Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;
    It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,
      The path of its departure still is free.
    Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
      Nought may endure but mutability!

It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent. For some
time I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice. A mist covered
both that and the surrounding mountains. Presently a breeze dissipated
the cloud, and I descended upon the glacier. The surface is very uneven,
rising like the waves of a troubled sea, descending low, and
interspersed by rifts that sink deep. The field of ice is almost a
league in width, but I spent nearly two hours in crossing it. The
opposite mountain is a bare perpendicular rock. From the side where I
now stood Montanvert was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league;
and above it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty. I remained in a recess
of the rock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene. The sea, or
rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains, whose
aerial summits hung over its recesses. Their icy and glittering peaks
shone in the sunlight over the clouds. My heart, which was before
sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy; I exclaimed--"Wandering
spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your narrow beds, allow
me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion, away from the
joys of life."

As I said this, I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance,
advancing towards me with superhuman speed. He bounded over the crevices
in the ice, among which I had walked with caution; his stature also, as
he approached, seemed to exceed that of man. I was troubled: a mist came
over my eyes, and I felt a faintness seize me; but I was quickly
restored by the cold gale of the mountains. I perceived, as the shape
came nearer, (sight tremendous and abhorred!) that it was the wretch
whom I had created. I trembled with rage and horror, resolving to wait
his approach, and then close with him in mortal combat. He approached;
his countenance bespoke bitter anguish, combined with disdain and
malignity, while its unearthly ugliness rendered it almost too horrible
for human eyes. But I scarcely observed this; anger and hatred had at
first deprived me of utterance, and I recovered only to overwhelm him
with words expressive of furious detestation and contempt.

"Devil!" I exclaimed, "do you dare approach me? and do not you fear the
fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? Begone, vile
insect! or rather stay, that I may trample you to dust! and, oh, that I
could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore those
victims whom you have so diabolically murdered!"

"I expected this reception," said the daemon. "All men hate the wretched;
how then must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet
you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art
bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You
purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty
towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. If
you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace;
but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satiated
with the blood of your remaining friends."

"Abhorred monster! fiend that thou art! the tortures of hell are too
mild a vengeance for thy crimes. Wretched devil! you reproach me with
your creation; come on then, that I may extinguish the spark which I so
negligently bestowed."

My rage was without bounds; I sprang on him, impelled by all the
feelings which can arm one being against the existence of another.

He easily eluded me, and said,

"Be calm! I entreat you to hear me, before you give vent to your hatred
on my devoted head. Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to
increase my misery? Life, although it may only be an accumulation of
anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it. Remember, thou hast made
me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine; my joints
more supple. But I will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to
thee. I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and docile to my
natural lord and king, if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which
thou owest me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other, and
trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and
affection, is most due. Remember, that I am thy creature: I ought to be
thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy
for no misdeed. Every where I see bliss, from which I alone am
irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.
Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous."

"Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no community between you and
me; we are enemies. Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, in
which one must fall."

"How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favourable
eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion? Believe
me, Frankenstein: I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and
humanity: but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor
me; what hope can I gather from your fellow-creatures, who owe me
nothing? they spurn and hate me. The desert mountains and dreary
glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here many days; the caves of
ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the only one
which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they are kinder
to me than your fellow-beings. If the multitude of mankind knew of my
existence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for my
destruction. Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no
terms with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my
wretchedness. Yet it is in your power to recompense me, and deliver them
from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great, that not
only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be swallowed
up in the whirlwinds of its rage. Let your compassion be moved, and do
not disdain me. Listen to my tale: when you have heard that, abandon or
commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me. The
guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they may be, to speak in
their own defence before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein.
You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience,
destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I
ask you not to spare me: listen to me; and then, if you can, and if you
will, destroy the work of your hands."

"Why do you call to my remembrance circumstances of which I shudder to
reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author? Cursed be the
day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw light! Cursed (although I
curse myself) be the hands that formed you! You have made me wretched
beyond expression. You have left me no power to consider whether I am
just to you, or not. Begone! relieve me from the sight of your detested
form."

"Thus I relieve thee, my creator," he said, and placed his hated hands
before my eyes, which I flung from me with violence; "thus I take from
thee a sight which you abhor. Still thou canst listen to me, and grant
me thy compassion. By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this
from you. Hear my tale; it is long and strange, and the temperature of
this place is not fitting to your fine sensations; come to the hut upon
the mountain. The sun is yet high in the heavens; before it descends to
hide itself behind yon snowy precipices, and illuminate another world,
you will have heard my story, and can decide. On you it rests, whether I
quit for ever the neighbourhood of man, and lead a harmless life, or
become the scourge of your fellow-creatures, and the author of your own
speedy ruin."

As he said this, he led the way across the ice: I followed. My heart was
full, and I did not answer him; but, as I proceeded, I weighed the
various arguments that he had used, and determined at least to listen to
his tale. I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my
resolution. I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my
brother, and I eagerly sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion.
For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards
his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I
complained of his wickedness. These motives urged me to comply with his
demand. We crossed the ice, therefore, and ascended the opposite rock.
The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend: we entered the
hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy heart, and
depressed spirits. But I consented to listen; and, seating myself by the
fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus began his tale.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: One rainy day, Victor wakes to find his old feelings of despair resurfacing. He decides to travel to the summit of Montanvert, hoping that the view of a pure, eternal, beautiful natural scene will revive his spirits. When he reaches the glacier at the top, he is momentarily consoled by the sublime spectacle. As he crosses to the opposite side of the glacier, however, he spots a creature loping toward him at incredible speed. At closer range, he recognizes clearly the grotesque shape of the monster. He issues futile threats of attack to the monster, whose enormous strength and speed allow him to elude Victor easily. Victor curses him and tells him to go away, but the monster, speaking eloquently, persuades him to accompany him to a fire in a cave of ice. Inside the cave, the monster begins to narrate the events of his life


prompt:
Chapter: "It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original aera of
my being: all the events of that period appear confused and indistinct.
A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard,
and smelt, at the same time; and it was, indeed, a long time before I
learned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses. By
degrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so that I
was obliged to shut my eyes. Darkness then came over me, and troubled
me; but hardly had I felt this, when, by opening my eyes, as I now
suppose, the light poured in upon me again. I walked, and, I believe,
descended; but I presently found a great alteration in my sensations.
Before, dark and opaque bodies had surrounded me, impervious to my touch
or sight; but I now found that I could wander on at liberty, with no
obstacles which I could not either surmount or avoid. The light became
more and more oppressive to me; and, the heat wearying me as I walked, I
sought a place where I could receive shade. This was the forest near
Ingolstadt; and here I lay by the side of a brook resting from my
fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger and thirst. This roused me
from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some berries which I found
hanging on the trees, or lying on the ground. I slaked my thirst at the
brook; and then lying down, was overcome by sleep.

"It was dark when I awoke; I felt cold also, and half-frightened as it
were instinctively, finding myself so desolate. Before I had quitted
your apartment, on a sensation of cold, I had covered myself with some
clothes; but these were insufficient to secure me from the dews of
night. I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch; I knew, and could
distinguish, nothing; but, feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat
down and wept.

"Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens, and gave me a sensation of
pleasure. I started up, and beheld a radiant form rise from among the
trees. I gazed with a kind of wonder. It moved slowly, but it
enlightened my path; and I again went out in search of berries. I was
still cold, when under one of the trees I found a huge cloak, with which
I covered myself, and sat down upon the ground. No distinct ideas
occupied my mind; all was confused. I felt light, and hunger, and
thirst, and darkness; innumerable sounds rung in my ears, and on all
sides various scents saluted me: the only object that I could
distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with
pleasure.

"Several changes of day and night passed, and the orb of night had
greatly lessened when I began to distinguish my sensations from each
other. I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with
drink, and the trees that shaded me with their foliage. I was delighted
when I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my
ears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had
often intercepted the light from my eyes. I began also to observe, with
greater accuracy, the forms that surrounded me, and to perceive the
boundaries of the radiant roof of light which canopied me. Sometimes I
tried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds, but was unable.
Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the
uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into
silence again.

"The moon had disappeared from the night, and again, with a lessened
form, shewed itself, while I still remained in the forest. My sensations
had, by this time, become distinct, and my mind received every day
additional ideas. My eyes became accustomed to the light, and to
perceive objects in their right forms; I distinguished the insect from
the herb, and, by degrees, one herb from another. I found that the
sparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst those of the blackbird and
thrush were sweet and enticing.

"One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been
left by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the
warmth I experienced from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live
embers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain. How strange, I
thought, that the same cause should produce such opposite effects! I
examined the materials of the fire, and to my joy found it to be
composed of wood. I quickly collected some branches; but they were wet,
and would not burn. I was pained at this, and sat still watching the
operation of the fire. The wet wood which I had placed near the heat
dried, and itself became inflamed. I reflected on this; and, by touching
the various branches, I discovered the cause, and busied myself in
collecting a great quantity of wood, that I might dry it, and have a
plentiful supply of fire. When night came on, and brought sleep with it,
I was in the greatest fear lest my fire should be extinguished. I
covered it carefully with dry wood and leaves, and placed wet branches
upon it; and then, spreading my cloak, I lay on the ground, and sunk
into sleep.

"It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was to visit the fire. I
uncovered it, and a gentle breeze quickly fanned it into a flame. I
observed this also, and contrived a fan of branches, which roused the
embers when they were nearly extinguished. When night came again, I
found, with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as heat; and that
the discovery of this element was useful to me in my food; for I found
some of the offals that the travellers had left had been roasted, and
tasted much more savoury than the berries I gathered from the trees. I
tried, therefore, to dress my food in the same manner, placing it on the
live embers. I found that the berries were spoiled by this operation,
and the nuts and roots much improved.

"Food, however, became scarce; and I often spent the whole day searching
in vain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of hunger. When I found
this, I resolved to quit the place that I had hitherto inhabited, to
seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be more easily
satisfied. In this emigration, I exceedingly lamented the loss of the
fire which I had obtained through accident, and knew not how to
re-produce it. I gave several hours to the serious consideration of
this difficulty; but I was obliged to relinquish all attempt to supply
it; and, wrapping myself up in my cloak, I struck across the wood
towards the setting sun. I passed three days in these rambles, and at
length discovered the open country. A great fall of snow had taken place
the night before, and the fields were of one uniform white; the
appearance was disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold
damp substance that covered the ground.

"It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and
shelter; at length I perceived a small hut, on a rising ground, which
had doubtless been built for the convenience of some shepherd. This was
a new sight to me; and I examined the structure with great curiosity.
Finding the door open, I entered. An old man sat in it, near a fire,
over which he was preparing his breakfast. He turned on hearing a noise;
and, perceiving me, shrieked loudly, and, quitting the hut, ran across
the fields with a speed of which his debilitated form hardly appeared
capable. His appearance, different from any I had ever before seen, and
his flight, somewhat surprised me. But I was enchanted by the appearance
of the hut: here the snow and rain could not penetrate; the ground was
dry; and it presented to me then as exquisite and divine a retreat as
Pandaemonium appeared to the daemons of hell after their sufferings in the
lake of fire. I greedily devoured the remnants of the shepherd's
breakfast, which consisted of bread, cheese, milk, and wine; the
latter, however, I did not like. Then overcome by fatigue, I lay down
among some straw, and fell asleep.

"It was noon when I awoke; and, allured by the warmth of the sun, which
shone brightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my
travels; and, depositing the remains of the peasant's breakfast in a
wallet I found, I proceeded across the fields for several hours, until
at sunset I arrived at a village. How miraculous did this appear! the
huts, the neater cottages, and stately houses, engaged my admiration by
turns. The vegetables in the gardens, the milk and cheese that I saw
placed at the windows of some of the cottages, allured my appetite. One
of the best of these I entered; but I had hardly placed my foot within
the door, before the children shrieked, and one of the women fainted.
The whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me, until,
grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of missile weapons, I
escaped to the open country, and fearfully took refuge in a low hovel,
quite bare, and making a wretched appearance after the palaces I had
beheld in the village. This hovel, however, joined a cottage of a neat
and pleasant appearance; but, after my late dearly-bought experience, I
dared not enter it. My place of refuge was constructed of wood, but so
low, that I could with difficulty sit upright in it. No wood, however,
was placed on the earth, which formed the floor, but it was dry; and
although the wind entered it by innumerable chinks, I found it an
agreeable asylum from the snow and rain.

"Here then I retreated, and lay down, happy to have found a shelter,
however miserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more
from the barbarity of man.

"As soon as morning dawned, I crept from my kennel, that I might view
the adjacent cottage, and discover if I could remain in the habitation I
had found. It was situated against, the back of the cottage, and
surrounded on the sides which were exposed by a pig-stye and a clear
pool of water. One part was open, and by that I had crept in; but now I
covered every crevice by which I might be perceived with stones and
wood, yet in such a manner that I might move them on occasion to pass
out: all the light I enjoyed came through the stye, and that was
sufficient for me.

"Having thus arranged my dwelling, and carpeted it with clean straw, I
retired; for I saw the figure of a man at a distance, and I remembered
too well my treatment the night before, to trust myself in his power. I
had first, however, provided for my sustenance for that day, by a loaf
of coarse bread, which I purloined, and a cup with which I could drink,
more conveniently than from my hand, of the pure water which flowed by
my retreat. The floor was a little raised, so that it was kept perfectly
dry, and by its vicinity to the chimney of the cottage it was tolerably
warm.

"Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel, until
something should occur which might alter my determination. It was indeed
a paradise, compared to the bleak forest, my former residence, the
rain-dropping branches, and dank earth. I ate my breakfast with
pleasure, and was about to remove a plank to procure myself a little
water, when I heard a step, and, looking through a small chink, I beheld
a young creature, with a pail on her head, passing before my hovel. The
girl was young and of gentle demeanour, unlike what I have since found
cottagers and farm-house servants to be. Yet she was meanly dressed, a
coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being her only garb; her fair
hair was plaited, but not adorned; she looked patient, yet sad. I lost
sight of her; and in about a quarter of an hour she returned, bearing
the pail, which was now partly filled with milk. As she walked along,
seemingly incommoded by the burden, a young man met her, whose
countenance expressed a deeper despondence. Uttering a few sounds with
an air of melancholy, he took the pail from her head, and bore it to the
cottage himself. She followed, and they disappeared. Presently I saw the
young man again, with some tools in his hand, cross the field behind the
cottage; and the girl was also busied, sometimes in the house, and
sometimes in the yard.

"On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the windows of the
cottage had formerly occupied a part of it, but the panes had been
filled up with wood. In one of these was a small and almost
imperceptible chink, through which the eye could just penetrate. Through
this crevice, a small room was visible, white-washed and clean, but very
bare of furniture. In one corner, near a small fire, sat an old man,
leaning his head on his hands in a disconsolate attitude. The young girl
was occupied in arranging the cottage; but presently she took something
out of a drawer, which employed her hands, and she sat down beside the
old man, who, taking up an instrument, began to play, and to produce
sounds, sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the nightingale. It was
a lovely sight, even to me, poor wretch! who had never beheld aught
beautiful before. The silver hair and benevolent countenance of the aged
cottager, won my reverence; while the gentle manners of the girl enticed
my love. He played a sweet mournful air, which I perceived drew tears
from the eyes of his amiable companion, of which the old man took no
notice, until she sobbed audibly; he then pronounced a few sounds, and
the fair creature, leaving her work, knelt at his feet. He raised her,
and smiled with such kindness and affection, that I felt sensations of a
peculiar and over-powering nature: they were a mixture of pain and
pleasure, such as I had never before experienced, either from hunger or
cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the window, unable to bear
these emotions.

"Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on his shoulders a load
of wood. The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of his
burden, and, taking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on the
fire; then she and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage, and
he shewed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese. She seemed pleased;
and went into the garden for some roots and plants, which she placed in
water, and then upon the fire. She afterwards continued her work, whilst
the young man went into the garden, and appeared busily employed in
digging and pulling up roots. After he had been employed thus about an
hour, the young woman joined him, and they entered the cottage together.

"The old man had, in the mean time, been pensive; but, on the appearance
of his companions, he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down to
eat. The meal was quickly dispatched. The young woman was again occupied
in arranging the cottage; the old man walked before the cottage in the
sun for a few minutes, leaning on the arm of the youth. Nothing could
exceed in beauty the contrast between these two excellent creatures. One
was old, with silver hairs and a countenance beaming with benevolence
and love: the younger was slight and graceful in his figure, and his
features were moulded with the finest symmetry; yet his eyes and
attitude expressed the utmost sadness and despondency. The old man
returned to the cottage; and the youth, with tools different from those
he had used in the morning, directed his steps across the fields.

"Night quickly shut in; but, to my extreme wonder, I found that the
cottagers had a means of prolonging light, by the use of tapers, and was
delighted to find, that the setting of the sun did not put an end to the
pleasure I experienced in watching my human neighbours. In the evening,
the young girl and her companion were employed in various occupations
which I did not understand; and the old man again took up the
instrument, which produced the divine sounds that had enchanted me in
the morning. So soon as he had finished, the youth began, not to play,
but to utter sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling the
harmony of the old man's instrument or the songs of the birds; I since
found that he read aloud, but at that time I knew nothing of the science
of words or letters.

"The family, after having been thus occupied for a short time,
extinguished their lights, and retired, as I conjectured, to rest."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Sitting by the fire in his hut, the monster tells Victor of the confusion that he experienced upon being created. He describes his flight from Victor's apartment into the wilderness and his gradual acclimation to the world through his discovery of the sensations of light, dark, hunger, thirst, and cold. According to his story, one day he finds a fire and is pleased at the warmth it creates, but he becomes dismayed when he burns himself on the hot embers. He realizes that he can keep the fire alive by adding wood, and that the fire is good not only for heat and warmth but also for making food more palatable. In search of food, the monster finds a hut and enters it. His presence causes an old man inside to shriek and run away in fear. The monster proceeds to a village, where more people flee at the sight of him. As a result of these incidents, he resolves to stay away from humans. One night he takes refuge in a small hovel adjacent to a cottage. In the morning, he discovers that he can see into the cottage through a crack in the wall and observes that the occupants are a young man, a young woman, and an old man


prompt:
Chapter: "I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences
of the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these
people; and I longed to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well
the treatment I had suffered the night before from the barbarous
villagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I might hereafter
think it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain quietly in
my hovel, watching, and endeavouring to discover the motives which
influenced their actions.

"The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman
arranged the cottage, and prepared the food; and the youth departed
after the first meal.

"This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. The
young man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various
laborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be
blind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument, or in
contemplation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the
younger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion. They
performed towards him every little office of affection and duty with
gentleness; and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.

"They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often
went apart, and appeared to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness;
but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were
miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,
should be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy? They
possessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes), and every
luxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill, and delicious viands
when hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,
they enjoyed one another's company and speech, interchanging each day
looks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they
really express pain? I was at first unable to solve these questions; but
perpetual attention, and time, explained to me many appearances which
were at first enigmatic.

"A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of
the uneasiness of this amiable family; it was poverty: and they suffered
that evil in a very distressing degree. Their nourishment consisted
entirely of the vegetables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, who
gave very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely
procure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of
hunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottagers; for
several times they placed food before the old man, when they reserved
none for themselves.

"This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed,
during the night, to steal a part of their store for my own consumption;
but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottagers, I
abstained, and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and roots, which I
gathered from a neighbouring wood.

"I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist
their labours. I found that the youth spent a great part of each day in
collecting wood for the family fire; and, during the night, I often took
his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home
firing sufficient for the consumption of several days.

"I remember, the first time that I did this, the young woman, when she
opened the door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a
great pile of wood on the outside. She uttered some words in a loud
voice, and the youth joined her, who also expressed surprise. I
observed, with pleasure, that he did not go to the forest that day, but
spent it in repairing the cottage, and cultivating the garden.

"By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that
these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and
feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words
they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in
the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike
science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it. But I was
baffled in every attempt I made for this purpose. Their pronunciation
was quick; and the words they uttered, not having any apparent connexion
with visible objects, I was unable to discover any clue by which I could
unravel the mystery of their reference. By great application, however,
and after having remained during the space of several revolutions of the
moon in my hovel, I discovered the names that were given to some of the
most familiar objects of discourse: I learned and applied the words
_fire_, _milk_, _bread_, and _wood_. I learned also the names of the
cottagers themselves. The youth and his companion had each of them
several names, but the old man had only one, which was _father_. The
girl was called _sister_, or _Agatha_; and the youth _Felix_, _brother_,
or _son_. I cannot describe the delight I felt when I learned the ideas
appropriated to each of these sounds, and was able to pronounce them. I
distinguished several other words, without being able as yet to
understand or apply them; such as _good_, _dearest_, _unhappy_.

"I spent the winter in this manner. The gentle manners and beauty of the
cottagers greatly endeared them to me: when they were unhappy, I felt
depressed; when they rejoiced, I sympathized in their joys. I saw few
human beings beside them; and if any other happened to enter the
cottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the
superior accomplishments of my friends. The old man, I could perceive,
often endeavoured to encourage his children, as sometimes I found that
he called them, to cast off their melancholy. He would talk in a
cheerful accent, with an expression of goodness that bestowed pleasure
even upon me. Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes filled
with tears, which she endeavoured to wipe away unperceived; but I
generally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful after
having listened to the exhortations of her father. It was not thus with
Felix. He was always the saddest of the groupe; and, even to my
unpractised senses, he appeared to have suffered more deeply than his
friends. But if his countenance was more sorrowful, his voice was more
cheerful than that of his sister, especially when he addressed the old
man.

"I could mention innumerable instances, which, although slight, marked
the dispositions of these amiable cottagers. In the midst of poverty and
want, Felix carried with pleasure to his sister the first little white
flower that peeped out from beneath the snowy ground. Early in the
morning before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that obstructed
her path to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and brought the
wood from the out-house, where, to his perpetual astonishment, he found
his store always replenished by an invisible hand. In the day, I
believe, he worked sometimes for a neighbouring farmer, because he often
went forth, and did not return until dinner, yet brought no wood with
him. At other times he worked in the garden; but, as there was little to
do in the frosty season, he read to the old man and Agatha.

"This reading had puzzled me extremely at first; but, by degrees, I
discovered that he uttered many of the same sounds when he read as when
he talked. I conjectured, therefore, that he found on the paper signs
for speech which he understood, and I ardently longed to comprehend
these also; but how was that possible, when I did not even understand
the sounds for which they stood as signs? I improved, however, sensibly
in this science, but not sufficiently to follow up any kind of
conversation, although I applied my whole mind to the endeavour: for I
easily perceived that, although I eagerly longed to discover myself to
the cottagers, I ought not to make the attempt until I had first become
master of their language; which knowledge might enable me to make them
overlook the deformity of my figure; for with this also the contrast
perpetually presented to my eyes had made me acquainted.

"I had admired the perfect forms of my cottagers--their grace, beauty,
and delicate complexions: but how was I terrified, when I viewed myself
in a transparent pool! At first I started back, unable to believe that
it was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became fully
convinced that I was in reality the monster that I am, I was filled with
the bitterest sensations of despondence and mortification. Alas! I did
not yet entirely know the fatal effects of this miserable deformity.

"As the sun became warmer, and the light of day longer, the snow
vanished, and I beheld the bare trees and the black earth. From this
time Felix was more employed; and the heart-moving indications of
impending famine disappeared. Their food, as I afterwards found, was
coarse, but it was wholesome; and they procured a sufficiency of it.
Several new kinds of plants sprung up in the garden, which they dressed;
and these signs of comfort increased daily as the season advanced.

"The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at noon, when it did
not rain, as I found it was called when the heavens poured forth its
waters. This frequently took place; but a high wind quickly dried the
earth, and the season became far more pleasant than it had been.

"My mode of life in my hovel was uniform. During the morning I attended
the motions of the cottagers; and when they were dispersed in various
occupations, I slept: the remainder of the day was spent in observing my
friends. When they had retired to rest, if there was any moon, or the
night was star-light, I went into the woods, and collected my own food
and fuel for the cottage. When I returned, as often as it was necessary,
I cleared their path from the snow, and performed those offices that I
had seen done by Felix. I afterwards found that these labours, performed
by an invisible hand, greatly astonished them; and once or twice I heard
them, on these occasions, utter the words _good spirit_, _wonderful_;
but I did not then understand the signification of these terms.

"My thoughts now became more active, and I longed to discover the
motives and feelings of these lovely creatures; I was inquisitive to
know why Felix appeared so miserable, and Agatha so sad. I thought
(foolish wretch!) that it might be in my power to restore happiness to
these deserving people. When I slept, or was absent, the forms of the
venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the excellent Felix,
flitted before me. I looked upon them as superior beings, who would be
the arbiters of my future destiny. I formed in my imagination a thousand
pictures of presenting myself to them, and their reception of me. I
imagined that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentle demeanour and
conciliating words, I should first win their favour, and afterwards
their love.

"These thoughts exhilarated me, and led me to apply with fresh ardour to
the acquiring the art of language. My organs were indeed harsh, but
supple; and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their
tones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease.
It was as the ass and the lap-dog; yet surely the gentle ass, whose
intentions were affectionate, although his manners were rude, deserved
better treatment than blows and execration.

"The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring greatly altered the
aspect of the earth. Men, who before this change seemed to have been hid
in caves, dispersed themselves, and were employed in various arts of
cultivation. The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and the leaves
began to bud forth on the trees. Happy, happy earth! fit habitation for
gods, which, so short a time before, was bleak, damp, and unwholesome.
My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of nature; the
past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil, and the
future gilded by bright rays of hope, and anticipations of joy."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Observing his neighbors for an extended period of time, the monster notices that they often seem unhappy, though he is unsure why. He eventually realizes, however, that their despair results from their poverty, to which he has been contributing by surreptitiously stealing their food. Torn by his guilty conscience, he stops stealing their food and does what he can to reduce their hardship, gathering wood at night to leave at the door for their use. The monster becomes aware that his neighbors are able to communicate with each other using strange sounds. Vowing to learn their language, he tries to match the sounds they make with the actions they perform. He acquires a basic knowledge of the language, including the names of the young man and woman, Felix and Agatha. He admires their graceful forms and is shocked by his ugliness when he catches sight of his reflection in a pool of water. He spends the whole winter in the hovel, unobserved and well protected from the elements, and grows increasingly affectionate toward his unwitting hosts


prompt:
Chapter: "I now hasten to the more moving part of my story. I shall relate events
that impressed me with feelings which, from what I was, have made me
what I am.

"Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine, and the skies
cloudless. It surprised me, that what before was desert and gloomy
should now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure. My senses
were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight, and a
thousand sights of beauty.

"It was on one of these days, when my cottagers periodically rested from
labour--the old man played on his guitar, and the children listened to
him--I observed that the countenance of Felix was melancholy beyond
expression: he sighed frequently; and once his father paused in his
music, and I conjectured by his manner that he inquired the cause of his
son's sorrow. Felix replied in a cheerful accent, and the old man was
recommencing his music, when some one tapped at the door.

"It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a countryman as a guide. The
lady was dressed in a dark suit, and covered with a thick black veil.
Agatha asked a question; to which the stranger only replied by
pronouncing, in a sweet accent, the name of Felix. Her voice was
musical, but unlike that of either of my friends. On hearing this word,
Felix came up hastily to the lady; who, when she saw him, threw up her
veil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty and expression. Her
hair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided; her eyes were
dark, but gentle, although animated; her features of a regular
proportion, and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek tinged with a
lovely pink.

"Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her, every trait of
sorrow vanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of
ecstatic joy, of which I could hardly have believed it capable; his eyes
sparkled, as his cheek flushed with pleasure; and at that moment I
thought him as beautiful as the stranger. She appeared affected by
different feelings; wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes, she held
out her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously, and called her, as
well as I could distinguish, his sweet Arabian. She did not appear to
understand him, but smiled. He assisted her to dismount, and, dismissing
her guide, conducted her into the cottage. Some conversation took place
between him and his father; and the young stranger knelt at the old
man's feet, and would have kissed his hand, but he raised her, and
embraced her affectionately.

"I soon perceived, that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds,
and appeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood
by, or herself understood, the cottagers. They made many signs which I
did not comprehend; but I saw that her presence diffused gladness
through the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the
morning mists. Felix seemed peculiarly happy, and with smiles of delight
welcomed his Arabian. Agatha, the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed the hands
of the lovely stranger; and, pointing to her brother, made signs which
appeared to me to mean that he had been sorrowful until she came. Some
hours passed thus, while they, by their countenances, expressed joy, the
cause of which I did not comprehend. Presently I found, by the frequent
recurrence of one sound which the stranger repeated after them, that she
was endeavouring to learn their language; and the idea instantly
occurred to me, that I should make use of the same instructions to the
same end. The stranger learned about twenty words at the first lesson,
most of them indeed were those which I had before understood, but I
profited by the others.

"As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian retired early. When they
separated, Felix kissed the hand of the stranger, and said, 'Good night,
sweet Safie.' He sat up much longer, conversing with his father; and, by
the frequent repetition of her name, I conjectured that their lovely
guest was the subject of their conversation. I ardently desired to
understand them, and bent every faculty towards that purpose, but found
it utterly impossible.

"The next morning Felix went out to his work; and, after the usual
occupations of Agatha were finished, the Arabian sat at the feet of the
old man, and, taking his guitar, played some airs so entrancingly
beautiful, that they at once drew tears of sorrow and delight from my
eyes. She sang, and her voice flowed in a rich cadence, swelling or
dying away, like a nightingale of the woods.

"When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha, who at first
declined it. She played a simple air, and her voice accompanied it in
sweet accents, but unlike the wondrous strain of the stranger. The old
man appeared enraptured, and said some words, which Agatha endeavoured
to explain to Safie, and by which he appeared to wish to express that
she bestowed on him the greatest delight by her music.

"The days now passed as peaceably as before, with the sole alteration,
that joy had taken place of sadness in the countenances of my friends.
Safie was always gay and happy; she and I improved rapidly in the
knowledge of language, so that in two months I began to comprehend most
of the words uttered by my protectors.

"In the meanwhile also the black ground was covered with herbage, and
the green banks interspersed with innumerable flowers, sweet to the
scent and the eyes, stars of pale radiance among the moonlight woods;
the sun became warmer, the nights clear and balmy; and my nocturnal
rambles were an extreme pleasure to me, although they were considerably
shortened by the late setting and early rising of the sun; for I never
ventured abroad during daylight, fearful of meeting with the same
treatment as I had formerly endured in the first village which I
entered.

"My days were spent in close attention, that I might more speedily
master the language; and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than
the Arabian, who understood very little, and conversed in broken
accents, whilst I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that
was spoken.

"While I improved in speech, I also learned the science of letters, as it
was taught to the stranger; and this opened before me a wide field for
wonder and delight.

"The book from which Felix instructed Safie was Volney's _Ruins of
Empires_. I should not have understood the purport of this book, had not
Felix, in reading it, given very minute explanations. He had chosen this
work, he said, because the declamatory style was framed in imitation of
the eastern authors. Through this work I obtained a cursory knowledge of
history, and a view of the several empires at present existing in the
world; it gave me an insight into the manners, governments, and
religions of the different nations of the earth. I heard of the slothful
Asiatics; of the stupendous genius and mental activity of the Grecians;
of the wars and wonderful virtue of the early Romans--of their
subsequent degeneration--of the decline of that mighty empire; of
chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I heard of the discovery of the
American hemisphere, and wept with Safie over the hapless fate of its
original inhabitants.

"These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange feelings. Was man,
indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous, and magnificent, yet so
vicious and base? He appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil
principle, and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and
godlike. To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour that
can befall a sensitive being; to be base and vicious, as many on record
have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more abject than
that of the blind mole or harmless worm. For a long time I could not
conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or even why
there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of vice and
bloodshed, my wonder ceased, and I turned away with disgust and
loathing.

"Every conversation of the cottagers now opened new wonders to me. While
I listened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the Arabian,
the strange system of human society was explained to me. I heard of the
division of property, of immense wealth and squalid poverty; of rank,
descent, and noble blood.

"The words induced me to turn towards myself. I learned that the
possessions most esteemed by your fellow-creatures were, high and
unsullied descent united with riches. A man might be respected with only
one of these acquisitions; but without either he was considered, except
in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to waste his
powers for the profit of the chosen few. And what was I? Of my creation
and creator I was absolutely ignorant; but I knew that I possessed no
money, no friends, no kind of property. I was, besides, endowed with a
figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even of the same
nature as man. I was more agile than they, and could subsist upon
coarser diet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with less injury to
my frame; my stature far exceeded their's. When I looked around, I saw
and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster, a blot upon the earth,
from which all men fled, and whom all men disowned?

"I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted
upon me; I tried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with
knowledge. Oh, that I had for ever remained in my native wood, nor known
or felt beyond the sensations of hunger, thirst, and heat!

"Of what a strange nature is knowledge! It clings to the mind, when it
has once seized on it, like a lichen on the rock. I wished sometimes to
shake off all thought and feeling; but I learned that there was but one
means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death--a state
which I feared yet did not understand. I admired virtue and good
feelings, and loved the gentle manners and amiable qualities of my
cottagers; but I was shut out from intercourse with them, except through
means which I obtained by stealth, when I was unseen and unknown, and
which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of becoming one
among my fellows. The gentle words of Agatha, and the animated smiles of
the charming Arabian, were not for me. The mild exhortations of the old
man, and the lively conversation of the loved Felix, were not for me.
Miserable, unhappy wretch!

"Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply. I heard of the
difference of sexes; of the birth and growth of children; how the father
doated on the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the older
child; how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapt up in the
precious charge; how the mind of youth expanded and gained knowledge; of
brother, sister, and all the various relationships which bind one human
being to another in mutual bonds.

"But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my
infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if
they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I
distinguished nothing. From my earliest remembrance I had been as I then
was in height and proportion. I had never yet seen a being resembling
me, or who claimed any intercourse with me. What was I? The question
again recurred, to be answered only with groans.

"I will soon explain to what these feelings tended; but allow me now to
return to the cottagers, whose story excited in me such various feelings
of indignation, delight, and wonder, but which all terminated in
additional love and reverence for my protectors (for so I loved, in an
innocent, half painful self-deceit, to call them)."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: As winter thaws into spring, the monster notices that the cottagers, particularly Felix, seem unhappy. A beautiful woman in a dark dress and veil arrives at the cottage on horseback and asks to see Felix. Felix becomes ecstatic the moment he sees her. The woman, who does not speak the language of the cottagers, is named Safie. She moves into the cottage, and the mood of the household immediately brightens. As Safie learns the language of the cottagers, so does the monster. He also learns to read, and, since Felix uses Constantin-Francois de Volney's Ruins of Empires to instruct Safie, he learns a bit of world history in the process. Now able to speak and understand the language perfectly, the monster learns about human society by listening to the cottagers' conversations. Reflecting on his own situation, he realizes that he is deformed and alone. Was I then a monster," he asks, "a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled, and whom all men disowned. He also learns about the pleasures and obligations of the family and of human relations in general, which deepens the agony of his own isolation


prompt:
Chapter: "Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was
one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding
as it did a number of circumstances each interesting and wonderful to
one so utterly inexperienced as I was.

"The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was descended from a good
family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence,
respected by his superiors, and beloved by his equals. His son was bred
in the service of his country; and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the
highest distinction. A few months before my arrival, they had lived in a
large and luxurious city, called Paris, surrounded by friends, and
possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or
taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford.

"The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin. He was a Turkish
merchant, and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some reason
which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. He was
seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from
Constantinople to join him. He was tried, and condemned to death. The
injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant;
and it was judged that his religion and wealth, rather than the crime
alleged against him, had been the cause of his condemnation.

"Felix had been present at the trial; his horror and indignation were
uncontrollable, when he heard the decision of the court. He made, at
that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him, and then looked around for the
means. After many fruitless attempts to gain admittance to the prison,
he found a strongly grated window in an unguarded part of the building,
which lighted the dungeon of the unfortunate Mahometan; who, loaded with
chains, waited in despair the execution of the barbarous sentence. Felix
visited the grate at night, and made known to the prisoner his
intentions in his favour. The Turk, amazed and delighted, endeavoured to
kindle the zeal of his deliverer by promises of reward and wealth. Felix
rejected his offers with contempt; yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who
was allowed to visit her father, and who, by her gestures, expressed her
lively gratitude, the youth could not help owning to his own mind, that
the captive possessed a treasure which would fully reward his toil and
hazard.

"The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made on
the heart of Felix, and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in his
interests by the promise of her hand in marriage, so soon as he should
be conveyed to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to accept this
offer; yet he looked forward to the probability of that event as to the
consummation of his happiness.

"During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for
the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several
letters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to
express her thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old
man, a servant of her father's, who understood French. She thanked him
in the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her father;
and at the same time she gently deplored her own fate.

"I have copies of these letters; for I found means, during my residence
in the hovel, to procure the implements of writing; and the letters were
often in the hands of Felix or Agatha. Before I depart, I will give them
to you, they will prove the truth of my tale; but at present, as the
sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat the
substance of them to you.

"Safie related, that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a
slave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of
the father of Safie, who married her. The young girl spoke in high and
enthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom spurned the
bondage to which she was now reduced. She instructed her daughter in the
tenets of her religion, and taught her to aspire to higher powers of
intellect, and an independence of spirit, forbidden to the female
followers of Mahomet. This lady died; but her lessons were indelibly
impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of again
returning to Asia, and the being immured within the walls of a haram,
allowed only to occupy herself with puerile amusements, ill suited to
the temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble
emulation for virtue. The prospect of marrying a Christian, and
remaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in
society, was enchanting to her.

"The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed; but, on the night
previous to it, he had quitted prison, and before morning was distant
many leagues from Paris. Felix had procured passports in the name of his
father, sister, and himself. He had previously communicated his plan to
the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under the
pretence of a journey, and concealed himself, with his daughter, in an
obscure part of Paris.

"Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons, and across Mont
Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable
opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions.

"Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his
departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she
should be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in
expectation of that event; and in the mean time he enjoyed the society
of the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest
affection. They conversed with one another through the means of an
interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie
sang to him the divine airs of her native country.

"The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place, and encouraged the hopes
of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other
plans. He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a
Christian; but he feared the resentment of Felix if he should appear
lukewarm; for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer,
if he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they
inhabited. He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled to
prolong the deceit until it might be no longer necessary, and secretly
to take his daughter with him when he departed. His plans were greatly
facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris.

"The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their
victim, and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer. The plot
of Felix was quickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were thrown
into prison. The news reached Felix, and roused him from his dream of
pleasure. His blind and aged father, and his gentle sister, lay in a
noisome dungeon, while he enjoyed the free air, and the society of her
whom he loved. This idea was torture to him. He quickly arranged with
the Turk, that if the latter should find a favourable opportunity for
escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a
boarder at a convent at Leghorn; and then, quitting the lovely Arabian,
he hastened to Paris, and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the
law, hoping to free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.

"He did not succeed. They remained confined for five months before the
trial took place; the result of which deprived them of their fortune,
and condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country.

"They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany, where I
discovered them. Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for whom
he and his family endured such unheard-of oppression, on discovering
that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and impotence, became a
traitor to good feeling and honour, and had quitted Italy with his
daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money to aid him, as
he said, in some plan of future maintenance.

"Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix, and rendered
him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could
have endured poverty, and when this distress had been the meed of his
virtue, he would have gloried in it: but the ingratitude of the Turk,
and the loss of his beloved Safie, were misfortunes more bitter and
irreparable. The arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his
soul.

"When the news reached Leghorn, that Felix was deprived of his wealth
and rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her
lover, but to prepare to return with him to her native country. The
generous nature of Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to
expostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his
tyrannical mandate.

"A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter's apartment, and told
her hastily, that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn
had been divulged, and that he should speedily be delivered up to the
French government; he had, consequently, hired a vessel to convey him
to Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours. He
intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential servant,
to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his property, which
had not yet arrived at Leghorn.

"When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it
would become her to pursue in this emergency. A residence in Turkey was
abhorrent to her; her religion and feelings were alike adverse to it. By
some papers of her father's, which fell into her hands, she heard of the
exile of her lover, and learnt the name of the spot where he then
resided. She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her
determination. Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her, and a
small sum of money, she quitted Italy, with an attendant, a native of
Leghorn, but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed
for Germany.

"She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage
of De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Safie nursed her
with the most devoted affection; but the poor girl died, and the Arabian
was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country, and
utterly ignorant of the customs of the world. She fell, however, into
good hands. The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for which
they were bound; and, after her death, the woman of the house in which
they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at the
cottage of her lover."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: After some time, the monster's constant eavesdropping allows him to reconstruct the history of the cottagers. The old man, De Lacey, was once an affluent and successful citizen in Paris; his children, Agatha and Felix, were well-respected members of the community. Safie's father, a Turk, was falsely accused of a crime and sentenced to death. Felix visited the Turk in prison and met his daughter, with whom he immediately fell in love. Safie sent Felix letters thanking him for his intention to help her father and recounting the circumstances of her plight. The letters relate that Safie's mother was a Christian Arab who had been enslaved by the Turks before marrying her father. She inculcated in Safie an independence and intelligence that Islam prevented Turkish women from cultivating. Safie was eager to marry a European man and thereby escape the near-slavery that awaited her in Turkey. Felix successfully coordinated her father's escape from prison, but when the plot was discovered, Felix, Agatha, and De Lacey were exiled from France and stripped of their wealth. They then moved into the cottage in Germany upon which the monster has stumbled. Meanwhile, the Turk tried to force Safie to return to Constantinople with him, but she managed to escape with some money and the knowledge of Felix's whereabouts