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: Some time elapses before the creature learns the family's history. Their surname is De Lacey, and they are the last of a noble French family. Only a few months previously, they had lived in Paris; there, they were surrounded by luxury and a glittering coterie of friends and intimates. They had, however, suffered a great misfortune, which forced them to go into exile. The cause of this unhappy upheaval was Safie's father, a wealthy Turkish merchant who had been unjustly imprisoned by the Parisian government. All of Paris knew that racism, and a hatred of the merchant's Islamic faith, were the true cause of his incarceration. Felix, appalled by this injustice, went to the merchant's cell and vowed to do everything in his power to liberate him. To encourage the young man, the merchant promised Felix the hand of his beautiful daughter in marriage. The two young people fell in love immediately upon seeing one another, and eagerly looked forward to their union. The merchant, however, loathed the idea of his cherished daughter marrying a Christian, and conceived a plan to betray Felix and take his daughter with him to Turkey. Safie, for her part, did not wish to return to her native land: her mother had been a Christian, and she longed for the greater freedom enjoyed by women in the countries of Europe. Felix freed the merchant the night before his scheduled execution. As Felix was conducting the two fugitives across the French countryside, the French government threw Agatha and the elder De Lacey into prison. Felix, hearing of this, immediately decided to return to France, and asked the merchant to lodge Safie in Italy until such time as he could meet her there. In Paris, the De Laceys were stripped of their ancestral fortune and condemned to live in exile for the rest of their lives. The treacherous merchant did nothing to help them, and in this way did the De Laceys come to live in the miserable German cottage in which the creature had found them. The merchant, afraid of being apprehended, was forced to suddenly flee Italy. In her father's absence, Safie promptly decided to travel to Germany, where she was reunited with her lover.


prompt:
Chapter: "Such was the history of my beloved cottagers. It impressed me deeply. I
learned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire
their virtues, and to deprecate the vices of mankind.

"As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil; benevolence and
generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to
become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities were
called forth and displayed. But, in giving an account of the progress of
my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred in the
beginning of the month of August of the same year.

"One night, during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood, where I
collected my own food, and brought home firing for my protectors, I
found on the ground a leathern portmanteau, containing several articles
of dress and some books. I eagerly seized the prize, and returned with
it to my hovel. Fortunately the books were written in the language the
elements of which I had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of
_Paradise Lost_, a volume of _Plutarch's Lives_, and the _Sorrows of
Werter_. The possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight; I
now continually studied and exercised my mind upon these histories,
whilst my friends were employed in their ordinary occupations.

"I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They produced
in me an infinity of new images and feelings, that sometimes raised me
to ecstacy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection. In
the _Sorrows of Werter_, besides the interest of its simple and
affecting story, so many opinions are canvassed, and so many lights
thrown upon what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects, that I found
in it a never-ending source of speculation and astonishment. The gentle
and domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and
feelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded
well with my experience among my protectors, and with the wants which
were for ever alive in my own bosom. But I thought Werter himself a more
divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character contained
no pretension, but it sunk deep. The disquisitions upon death and
suicide were calculated to fill me with wonder. I did not pretend to
enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards the opinions
of the hero, whose extinction I wept, without precisely understanding
it.

"As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and
condition. I found myself similar, yet at the same time strangely unlike
the beings concerning whom I read, and to whose conversation I was a
listener. I sympathized with, and partly understood them, but I was
unformed in mind; I was dependent on none, and related to none. 'The
path of my departure was free;' and there was none to lament my
annihilation. My person was hideous, and my stature gigantic: what did
this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my
destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to
solve them.

"The volume of _Plutarch's Lives_ which I possessed, contained the
histories of the first founders of the ancient republics. This book had
a far different effect upon me from the _Sorrows of Werter_. I learned
from Werter's imaginations despondency and gloom: but Plutarch taught me
high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my own
reflections, to admire and love the heroes of past ages. Many things I
read surpassed my understanding and experience. I had a very confused
knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers, and
boundless seas. But I was perfectly unacquainted with towns, and large
assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the only
school in which I had studied human nature; but this book developed new
and mightier scenes of action. I read of men concerned in public affairs
governing or massacring their species. I felt the greatest ardour for
virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as far as I understood
the signification of those terms, relative as they were, as I applied
them, to pleasure and pain alone. Induced by these feelings, I was of
course led to admire peaceable law-givers, Numa, Solon, and Lycurgus,
in preference to Romulus and Theseus. The patriarchal lives of my
protectors caused these impressions to take a firm hold on my mind;
perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had been made by a young
soldier, burning for glory and slaughter, I should have been imbued with
different sensations.

"But _Paradise Lost_ excited different and far deeper emotions. I read
it, as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as a
true history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe, that the picture
of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of exciting.
I often referred the several situations, as their similarity struck me,
to my own. Like Adam, I was created apparently united by no link to any
other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine in
every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a perfect
creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of his
Creator; he was allowed to converse with, and acquire knowledge from
beings of a superior nature: but I was wretched, helpless, and alone.
Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition; for
often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter
gall of envy rose within me.

"Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon
after my arrival in the hovel, I discovered some papers in the pocket of
the dress which I had taken from your laboratory. At first I had
neglected them; but now that I was able to decypher the characters in
which they were written, I began to study them with diligence. It was
your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You minutely
described in these papers every step you took in the progress of your
work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic occurrences.
You, doubtless, recollect these papers. Here they are. Every thing is
related in them which bears reference to my accursed origin; the whole
detail of that series of disgusting circumstances which produced it is
set in view; the minutest description of my odious and loathsome person
is given, in language which painted your own horrors, and rendered mine
ineffaceable. I sickened as I read. 'Hateful day when I received life!'
I exclaimed in agony. 'Cursed creator! Why did you form a monster so
hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God in pity made man
beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy
type of your's, more horrid from its very resemblance. Satan had his
companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am
solitary and detested.'

"These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude; but
when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and
benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should become
acquainted with my admiration of their virtues, they would compassionate
me, and overlook my personal deformity. Could they turn from their door
one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion and friendship?
I resolved, at least, not to despair, but in every way to fit myself for
an interview with them which would decide my fate. I postponed this
attempt for some months longer; for the importance attached to its
success inspired me with a dread lest I should fail. Besides, I found
that my understanding improved so much with every day's experience, that
I was unwilling to commence this undertaking until a few more months
should have added to my wisdom.

"Several changes, in the mean time, took place in the cottage. The
presence of Safie diffused happiness among its inhabitants; and I also
found that a greater degree of plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha
spent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in
their labours by servants. They did not appear rich, but they were
contented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while mine
became every day more tumultuous. Increase of knowledge only discovered
to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. I cherished hope, it
is true; but it vanished, when I beheld my person reflected in water, or
my shadow in the moon-shine, even as that frail image and that
inconstant shade.

"I endeavoured to crush these fears, and to fortify myself for the trial
which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my
thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and
dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathizing with my
feelings and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed
smiles of consolation. But it was all a dream: no Eve soothed my
sorrows, or shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam's
supplication to his Creator; but where was mine? he had abandoned me,
and, in the bitterness of my heart, I cursed him.

"Autumn passed thus. I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay
and fall, and nature again assume the barren and bleak appearance it had
worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did not
heed the bleakness of the weather; I was better fitted by my
conformation for the endurance of cold than heat. But my chief delights
were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay apparel of
summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention towards the
cottagers. Their happiness was not decreased by the absence of summer.
They loved, and sympathized with one another; and their joys, depending
on each other, were not interrupted by the casualties that took place
around them. The more I saw of them, the greater became my desire to
claim their protection and kindness; my heart yearned to be known and
loved by these amiable creatures: to see their sweet looks turned
towards me with affection, was the utmost limit of my ambition. I dared
not think that they would turn them from me with disdain and horror. The
poor that stopped at their door were never driven away. I asked, it is
true, for greater treasures than a little food or rest; I required
kindness and sympathy; but I did not believe myself utterly unworthy of
it.

"The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken
place since I awoke into life. My attention, at this time, was solely
directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my
protectors. I revolved many projects; but that on which I finally fixed
was, to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone. I had
sagacity enough to discover, that the unnatural hideousness of my person
was the chief object of horror with those who had formerly beheld me. My
voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it; I thought, therefore,
that if, in the absence of his children, I could gain the good-will and
mediation of the old De Lacy, I might, by his means, be tolerated by my
younger protectors.

"One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground,
and diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Safie, Agatha, and
Felix, departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own
desire, was left alone in the cottage. When his children had departed,
he took up his guitar, and played several mournful, but sweet airs, more
sweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before. At first his
countenance was illuminated with pleasure, but, as he continued,
thoughtfulness and sadness succeeded; at length, laying aside the
instrument, he sat absorbed in reflection.

"My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial, which
would decide my hopes, or realize my fears. The servants were gone to a
neighbouring fair. All was silent in and around the cottage: it was an
excellent opportunity; yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my
limbs failed me, and I sunk to the ground. Again I rose; and, exerting
all the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had
placed before my hovel to conceal my retreat. The fresh air revived me,
and, with renewed determination, I approached the door of their cottage.

"I knocked. 'Who is there?' said the old man--'Come in.'

"I entered; 'Pardon this intrusion,' said I, 'I am a traveller in want
of a little rest; you would greatly oblige me, if you would allow me to
remain a few minutes before the fire.'

"'Enter,' said De Lacy; 'and I will try in what manner I can relieve
your wants; but, unfortunately, my children are from home, and, as I am
blind, I am afraid I shall find it difficult to procure food for you.'

"'Do not trouble yourself, my kind host, I have food; it is warmth and
rest only that I need.'

"I sat down, and a silence ensued. I knew that every minute was precious
to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence the
interview; when the old man addressed me--

"'By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman;--are you
French?'

"'No; but I was educated by a French family, and understand that
language only. I am now going to claim the protection of some friends,
whom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.'

"'Are these Germans?'

"'No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an
unfortunate and deserted creature; I look around, and I have no relation
or friend upon earth. These amiable people to whom I go have never seen
me, and know little of me. I am full of fears; for if I fail there, I am
an outcast in the world for ever.'

"'Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate; but the
hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are full
of brotherly love and charity. Rely, therefore, on your hopes; and if
these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.'

"'They are kind--they are the most excellent creatures in the world;
but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me. I have good
dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless, and, in some degree,
beneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they
ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable
monster.'

"'That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot
you undeceive them?'

"'I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I
feel so many overwhelming terrors. I tenderly love these friends; I
have, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily
kindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and
it is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.'

"'Where do these friends reside?'

"'Near this spot.'

"The old man paused, and then continued, 'If you will unreservedly
confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in
undeceiving them. I am blind, and cannot judge of your countenance, but
there is something in your words which persuades me that you are
sincere. I am poor, and an exile; but it will afford me true pleasure to
be in any way serviceable to a human creature.'

"'Excellent man! I thank you, and accept your generous offer. You raise
me from the dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your aid, I
shall not be driven from the society and sympathy of your
fellow-creatures.'

"'Heaven forbid! even if you were really criminal; for that can only
drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I also am
unfortunate; I and my family have been condemned, although innocent:
judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes.'

"'How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor? from your lips first
have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me; I shall be for
ever grateful; and your present humanity assures me of success with
those friends whom I am on the point of meeting.'

"'May I know the names and residence of those friends?'

"I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to rob
me of, or bestow happiness on me for ever. I struggled vainly for
firmness sufficient to answer him, but the effort destroyed all my
remaining strength; I sank on the chair, and sobbed aloud. At that
moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had not a moment to
lose; but, seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, 'Now is the
time!--save and protect me! You and your family are the friends whom I
seek. Do not you desert me in the hour of trial!'

"'Great God!' exclaimed the old man, 'who are you?'

"At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix, Safie, and
Agatha entered. Who can describe their horror and consternation on
beholding me? Agatha fainted; and Safie, unable to attend to her friend,
rushed out of the cottage. Felix darted forward, and with supernatural
force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung: in a transport of
fury, he dashed me to the ground, and struck me violently with a stick.
I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope.
But my heart sunk within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained. I
saw him on the point of repeating his blow, when, overcome by pain and
anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general tumult escaped
unperceived to my hovel."

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

completion: From the history of the cottagers, the creature learns to admire virtue and despise vice. His education is greatly furthered by his discovery of an abandoned leather satchel, in which he finds three books: Milton's Paradise Lost, Plutarch's Lives, and Goethe's Sorrows of Werter. He regards these books as his treasures, and they are of infinite importance to him: they alternately transport him to the highest ecstasy and cause him the most crushing despair. The creature is enthralled with Werter's meditations upon death and suicide; with Plutarch's elevated regard for the heroes of past generations; and with the grand themes presented in Paradise Lost. He reads all of the books as though they were true histories, and regards Milton's story of the struggle between God and his creations as completely factual. In his mind, the biblical story defines his own. He does not see himself as Adam, however, but as Satan: unlike Adam, he is alone, without a Creator to protect him or an Eve to sustain him. He is full of envy, wretched, and utterly an outcast. Soon after the discovery of the satchel, the creature finds Frankenstein's laboratory journal; from it, he learns the circumstances of his creation. He curses his creator and the day he received life; he grieves over his own hideousness and despairs of ever finding human companionship. The creature bitterly reflects that even Satan is more fortunate than he: at least Satan has fellow devils to console him. He, by contrast, has no one; his increasing knowledge only serves to make him more aware of his wretchedness. He is, however, still able to retain his hope that the cottagers will recognize his virtues and overlook his deformity -- if only he can bring himself to speak to them. With the arrival of winter, the creature finally determines to speak to the cottagers: he reasons that he is not unworthy of love and kindness, and that the De Laceys are compassionate enough to offer it to him. He decides to speak to the senior De Lacey at a time when the other cottagers are away. The old man, who is blind, will be better able to appreciate the mellifluousness of his speech and the genuine goodwill in his heart; the young people, by contrast, would be horrified at the very sight of him. He hopes to gain their trust by first gaining the trust of their respected elder. Though the creature's dread of rejection nearly paralyzes him, he at last summons all of his courage and knocks upon the De Laceys' door. After a fraught silence, the creature bares his soul to the old man: he tells him that he is a wretched outcast, and that the De Laceys are his only friends in the entire world. De Lacey is astonished, but Safie, Felix, and Agatha burst into the cottage before he can reply to the creature's entreaty. The women scream in terror, and Felix, in a "transport of fury," violently beats the creature with his walking stick. The creature, his heart still full of love for the De Laceys, cannot bring himself to retaliate. Instead, he flees the cottage and takes refuge in his hovel.


prompt:
Chapter: "Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not
extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I
know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were
those of rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed the
cottage and its inhabitants, and have glutted myself with their shrieks
and misery.

"When night came, I quitted my retreat, and wandered in the wood; and
now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my
anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the
toils; destroying the objects that obstructed me, and ranging through
the wood with a stag-like swiftness. Oh! what a miserable night I
passed! the cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their
branches above me: now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth
amidst the universal stillness. All, save I, were at rest or in
enjoyment: I, like the arch fiend, bore a hell within me; and, finding
myself unsympathized with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and
destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin.

"But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became
fatigued with excess of bodily exertion, and sank on the damp grass in
the sick impotence of despair. There was none among the myriads of men
that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness
towards my enemies? No: from that moment I declared everlasting war
against the species, and, more than all, against him who had formed me,
and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.

"The sun rose; I heard the voices of men, and knew that it was
impossible to return to my retreat during that day. Accordingly I hid
myself in some thick underwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours
to reflection on my situation.

"The pleasant sunshine, and the pure air of day, restored me to some
degree of tranquillity; and when I considered what had passed at the
cottage, I could not help believing that I had been too hasty in my
conclusions. I had certainly acted imprudently. It was apparent that my
conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and I was a fool in
having exposed my person to the horror of his children. I ought to have
familiarized the old De Lacy to me, and by degrees have discovered
myself to the rest of his family, when they should have been prepared
for my approach. But I did not believe my errors to be irretrievable;
and, after much consideration, I resolved to return to the cottage, seek
the old man, and by my representations win him to my party.

"These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I sank into a profound
sleep; but the fever of my blood did not allow me to be visited by
peaceful dreams. The horrible scene of the preceding day was for ever
acting before my eyes; the females were flying, and the enraged Felix
tearing me from his father's feet. I awoke exhausted; and, finding that
it was already night, I crept forth from my hiding-place, and went in
search of food.

"When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps towards the well-known
path that conducted to the cottage. All there was at peace. I crept into
my hovel, and remained in silent expectation of the accustomed hour when
the family arose. That hour past, the sun mounted high in the heavens,
but the cottagers did not appear. I trembled violently, apprehending
some dreadful misfortune. The inside of the cottage was dark, and I
heard no motion; I cannot describe the agony of this suspence.

"Presently two countrymen passed by; but, pausing near the cottage, they
entered into conversation, using violent gesticulations; but I did not
understand what they said, as they spoke the language of the country,
which differed from that of my protectors. Soon after, however, Felix
approached with another man: I was surprised, as I knew that he had not
quitted the cottage that morning, and waited anxiously to discover, from
his discourse, the meaning of these unusual appearances.

"'Do you consider,' said his companion to him, 'that you will be obliged
to pay three months' rent, and to lose the produce of your garden? I do
not wish to take any unfair advantage, and I beg therefore that you will
take some days to consider of your determination.'

"'It is utterly useless,' replied Felix, 'we can never again inhabit
your cottage. The life of my father is in the greatest danger, owing to
the dreadful circumstance that I have related. My wife and my sister
will never recover their horror. I entreat you not to reason with me any
more. Take possession of your tenement, and let me fly from this place.'

"Felix trembled violently as he said this. He and his companion entered
the cottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then
departed. I never saw any of the family of De Lacy more.

"I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel in a state of
utter and stupid despair. My protectors had departed, and had broken the
only link that held me to the world. For the first time the feelings of
revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to controul
them; but, allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I bent my
mind towards injury and death. When I thought of my friends, of the mild
voice of De Lacy, the gentle eyes of Agatha, and the exquisite beauty of
the Arabian, these thoughts vanished, and a gush of tears somewhat
soothed me. But again, when I reflected that they had spurned and
deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger; and, unable to injure any
thing human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects. As night
advanced, I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage; and,
after having destroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden, I
waited with forced impatience until the moon had sunk to commence my
operations.

"As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the woods, and quickly
dispersed the clouds that had loitered in the heavens: the blast tore
along like a mighty avalanche, and produced a kind of insanity in my
spirits, that burst all bounds of reason and reflection. I lighted the
dry branch of a tree, and danced with fury around the devoted cottage,
my eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge of which the moon
nearly touched. A part of its orb was at length hid, and I waved my
brand; it sunk, and, with a loud scream, I fired the straw, and heath,
and bushes, which I had collected. The wind fanned the fire, and the
cottage was quickly enveloped by the flames, which clung to it, and
licked it with their forked and destroying tongues.

"As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could save any part of
the habitation, I quitted the scene, and sought for refuge in the woods.

"And now, with the world before me, whither should I bend my steps? I
resolved to fly far from the scene of my misfortunes; but to me, hated
and despised, every country must be equally horrible. At length the
thought of you crossed my mind. I learned from your papers that you were
my father, my creator; and to whom could I apply with more fitness than
to him who had given me life? Among the lessons that Felix had bestowed
upon Safie geography had not been omitted: I had learned from these the
relative situations of the different countries of the earth. You had
mentioned Geneva as the name of your native town; and towards this place
I resolved to proceed.

"But how was I to direct myself? I knew that I must travel in a
south-westerly direction to reach my destination; but the sun was my
only guide. I did not know the names of the towns that I was to pass
through, nor could I ask information from a single human being; but I
did not despair. From you only could I hope for succour, although
towards you I felt no sentiment but that of hatred. Unfeeling, heartless
creator! you had endowed me with perceptions and passions, and then cast
me abroad an object for the scorn and horror of mankind. But on you only
had I any claim for pity and redress, and from you I determined to seek
that justice which I vainly attempted to gain from any other being that
wore the human form.

"My travels were long, and the sufferings I endured intense. It was late
in autumn when I quitted the district where I had so long resided. I
travelled only at night, fearful of encountering the visage of a human
being. Nature decayed around me, and the sun became heatless; rain and
snow poured around me; mighty rivers were frozen; the surface of the
earth was hard, and chill, and bare, and I found no shelter. Oh, earth!
how often did I imprecate curses on the cause of my being! The mildness
of my nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall and
bitterness. The nearer I approached to your habitation, the more deeply
did I feel the spirit of revenge enkindled in my heart. Snow fell, and
the waters were hardened, but I rested not. A few incidents now and then
directed me, and I possessed a map of the country; but I often wandered
wide from my path. The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite: no
incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its
food; but a circumstance that happened when I arrived on the confines of
Switzerland, when the sun had recovered its warmth, and the earth again
began to look green, confirmed in an especial manner the bitterness and
horror of my feelings.

"I generally rested during the day, and travelled only when I was
secured by night from the view of man. One morning, however, finding
that my path lay through a deep wood, I ventured to continue my journey
after the sun had risen; the day, which was one of the first of spring,
cheered even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the balminess of
the air. I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long
appeared dead, revive within me. Half surprised by the novelty of these
sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them; and, forgetting
my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy. Soft tears again bedewed
my cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes with thankfulness towards the
blessed sun which bestowed such joy upon me.

"I continued to wind among the paths of the wood, until I came to its
boundary, which was skirted by a deep and rapid river, into which many
of the trees bent their branches, now budding with the fresh spring.
Here I paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I heard the
sound of voices, that induced me to conceal myself under the shade of a
cypress. I was scarcely hid, when a young girl came running towards the
spot where I was concealed, laughing as if she ran from some one in
sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sides of the
river, when suddenly her foot slipt, and she fell into the rapid stream.
I rushed from my hiding place, and, with extreme labour from the force
of the current, saved her, and dragged her to shore. She was senseless;
and I endeavoured, by every means in my power, to restore animation,
when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic, who was
probably the person from whom she had playfully fled. On seeing me, he
darted towards me, and, tearing the girl from my arms, hastened towards
the deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily, I hardly knew why;
but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun, which he carried, at
my body, and fired. I sunk to the ground, and my injurer, with increased
swiftness, escaped into the wood.

"This was then the reward of my benevolence! I had saved a human being
from destruction, and, as a recompence, I now writhed under the
miserable pain of a wound, which shattered the flesh and bone. The
feelings of kindness and gentleness, which I had entertained but a few
moments before, gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth.
Inflamed by pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind.
But the agony of my wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted.

"For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to
cure the wound which I had received. The ball had entered my shoulder,
and I knew not whether it had remained there or passed through; at any
rate I had no means of extracting it. My sufferings were augmented also
by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude of their
infliction. My daily vows rose for revenge--a deep and deadly revenge,
such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had
endured.

"After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey. The
labours I endured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or
gentle breezes of spring; all joy was but a mockery, which insulted my
desolate state, and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for
the enjoyment of pleasure.

"But my toils now drew near a close and, two months from this time, I
reached the environs of Geneva.

"It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a hiding-place among
the fields that surround it, to meditate in what manner I should apply
to you. I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger, and far too unhappy to
enjoy the gentle breezes of evening, or the prospect of the sun setting
behind the stupendous mountains of Jura.

"At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection,
which was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful child, who came
running into the recess I had chosen with all the sportiveness of
infancy. Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me, that this
little creature was unprejudiced, and had lived too short a time to have
imbibed a horror of deformity. If, therefore, I could seize him, and
educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in
this peopled earth.

"Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed, and drew him
towards me. As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before his
eyes, and uttered a shrill scream: I drew his hand forcibly from his
face, and said, 'Child, what is the meaning of this? I do not intend to
hurt you; listen to me.'

"He struggled violently; 'Let me go,' he cried; 'monster! ugly wretch!
you wish to eat me, and tear me to pieces--You are an ogre--Let me go,
or I will tell my papa.'

"'Boy, you will never see your father again; you must come with me.'

"'Hideous monster! let me go; My papa is a Syndic--he is M.
Frankenstein--he would punish you. You dare not keep me.'

"'Frankenstein! you belong then to my enemy--to him towards whom I have
sworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.'

"The child still struggled, and loaded me with epithets which carried
despair to my heart: I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a
moment he lay dead at my feet.

"I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish
triumph: clapping my hands, I exclaimed, 'I, too, can create desolation;
my enemy is not impregnable; this death will carry despair to him, and a
thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him.'

"As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his
breast. I took it; it was a portrait of a most lovely woman. In spite of
my malignity, it softened and attracted me. For a few moments I gazed
with delight on her dark eyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her lovely
lips; but presently my rage returned: I remembered that I was for ever
deprived of the delights that such beautiful creatures could bestow; and
that she whose resemblance I contemplated would, in regarding me, have
changed that air of divine benignity to one expressive of disgust and
affright.

"Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage? I only
wonder that at that moment, instead of venting my sensations in
exclamations and agony, I did not rush among mankind, and perish in the
attempt to destroy them.

"While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had
committed the murder, and was seeking a more secluded hiding-place, when
I perceived a woman passing near me. She was young, not indeed so
beautiful as her whose portrait I held, but of an agreeable aspect, and
blooming in the loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought, is one
of those whose smiles are bestowed on all but me; she shall not escape:
thanks to the lessons of Felix, and the sanguinary laws of man, I have
learned how to work mischief. I approached her unperceived, and placed
the portrait securely in one of the folds of her dress.

"For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place;
sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world and
its miseries for ever. At length I wandered towards these mountains, and
have ranged through their immense recesses, consumed by a burning
passion which you alone can gratify. We may not part until you have
promised to comply with my requisition. I am alone, and miserable; man
will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself
would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species,
and have the same defects. This being you must create."

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

completion: The creature curses his creator for giving him life. Only his great rage, and his consuming desire for revenge, keeps him from taking his own life: he longs to "spread havoc and destruction around , and then to and enjoy the ruin. He falls upon the ground in utter despair and, at that moment, declares war upon all mankind for its callousness and cruelty. He vows to exact revenge upon his creator the man who "sent forth into this insupportable misery. With the arrival of morning, the creature allows himself to hope that all is not lost: perhaps he can still endear himself to the elder De Lacey, and thereby make peace with his children. When he returns to the cottage, however, he finds it empty. He waits, tortured by anxiety, until Felix finally appears in the company of a strange man. From their conversation, he learns that the De Laceys have determined to leave the cottage out of fear that he will return. The creature cannot believe that his protectors, his only connection to humanity, have abandoned him. He spends the remains of the day in his hovel, by turns weeping and feverishly contemplating the revenge he will take upon mankind. By morning, he is overcome with fury, and burns down the cottage in order to give vent to his anger. The creature decides to travel to Geneva in order to revenge himself upon his creator. The journey is long and arduous, and the weather has grown bitterly cold. Though he primarily travels by night, in order to avoid discovery, he permits himself to travel during daylight on one of the first days of spring. The new warmth soothes him, and the sunlight revives some of his former gentleness. For a few precious moments, the creature "dares to be happy. At length, a young girl comes running through the forest, and he hides himself beneath a cypress tree. As he watches, she suddenly stumbles and falls into the rapidly moving water; the creature, without thinking, leaps in and rescues her from certain death. As he is attempting to revive her, a peasant snatches the girl away from him, and shoots the creature when he attempts to follow. The creature bitterly contemplates this "reward for benevolence," and is seized with a new, even greater hatred of humanity. Shortly thereafter, he arrives in Geneva. Once again, a child runs past his hiding-place in the deep woods. The creature is much taken with the beautiful child, and speculates that he is still too young to feel hatred for his deformity. He seizes the boy's arm as he runs past; the child screams in terror and struggles to get away. He calls the creature a "hideous monster," and says that his father, M. Frankenstein, will punish him. Upon hearing the name of Frankenstein, the creature, enraged, strangles him. He feels a "hellish triumph" at the boy's death, and reflects that his despised creator is not, after all, invulnerable. The creature takes the necklace, as he finds the picture of Caroline exquisitely beautiful. At the same time, the image fills him with redoubled fury, for no one will ever look upon him with the divine kindness he sees in Caroline's eyes. Seeking a hiding place, he enters a nearby barn and finds Justine sleeping within. Her beauty, too, both transports him to ecstasy and fills him with bitter despair, since he will never know the pleasures of love. Suddenly terrified that she will awake and denounce him as a murderer, he places the portrait of Caroline in Justine's dress: she, not he, will suffer punishment for the murder. In his madness, the creature thinks that it is the inaccessible beauty of people like Justine that caused him to kill William; it is thus only fair that she should atone for the crime. At the end of his tale, the creature commands Frankenstein to make him a companion "of the same species and of the same defects," so that he will no longer be so miserably alone.


prompt:
Chapter: Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and
I could not collect the courage to recommence my work. I feared the
vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my
repugnance to the task which was enjoined me. I found that I could not
compose a female without again devoting several months to profound study
and laborious disquisition. I had heard of some discoveries having been
made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was material to
my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my father's consent to
visit England for this purpose; but I clung to every pretence of delay,
and could not resolve to interrupt my returning tranquillity. My health,
which had hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when
unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably. My
father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts towards
the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy, which
every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring blackness
overcast the approaching sunshine. At these moments I took refuge in the
most perfect solitude. I passed whole days on the lake alone in a little
boat, watching the clouds, and listening to the rippling of the waves,
silent and listless. But the fresh air and bright sun seldom failed to
restore me to some degree of composure; and, on my return, I met the
salutations of my friends with a readier smile and a more cheerful
heart.

It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father, calling
me aside, thus addressed me:--

"I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former
pleasures, and seem to be returning to yourself. And yet you are still
unhappy, and still avoid our society. For some time I was lost in
conjecture as to the cause of this; but yesterday an idea struck me, and
if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it. Reserve on such a point
would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all."

I trembled violently at this exordium, and my father continued--

"I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage
with your cousin as the tie of our domestic comfort, and the stay of my
declining years. You were attached to each other from your earliest
infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions and tastes,
entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the experience of man,
that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have
entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your sister, without
any wish that she might become your wife. Nay, you may have met with
another whom you may love; and, considering yourself as bound in honour
to your cousin, this struggle may occasion the poignant misery which you
appear to feel."

"My dear father, re-assure yourself. I love my cousin tenderly and
sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my
warmest admiration and affection. My future hopes and prospects are
entirely bound up in the expectation of our union."

"The expression of your sentiments on this subject, my dear Victor,
gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you
feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast
a gloom over us. But it is this gloom, which appears to have taken so
strong a hold of your mind, that I wish to dissipate. Tell me,
therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnization of the
marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us from
that every-day tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You are
younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent
fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future
plans of honour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose,
however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you, or that a delay on
your part would cause me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my words
with candour, and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and
sincerity."

I listened to my father in silence, and remained for some time incapable
of offering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of
thoughts, and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion. Alas! to me the
idea of an immediate union with my cousin was one of horror and dismay.
I was bound by a solemn promise, which I had not yet fulfilled, and
dared not break; or, if I did, what manifold miseries might not impend
over me and my devoted family! Could I enter into a festival with this
deadly weight yet hanging round my neck, and bowing me to the ground. I
must perform my engagement, and let the monster depart with his mate,
before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of an union from which I
expected peace.

I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to
England, or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers
of that country, whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable
use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining the
desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory: besides, any
variation was agreeable to me, and I was delighted with the idea of
spending a year or two in change of scene and variety of occupation, in
absence from my family; during which period some event might happen
which would restore me to them in peace and happiness: my promise might
be fulfilled, and the monster have departed; or some accident might
occur to destroy him, and put an end to my slavery for ever.

These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to
visit England; but, concealing the true reasons of this request, I
clothed my desires under the guise of wishing to travel and see the
world before I sat down for life within the walls of my native town.

I urged my entreaty with earnestness, and my father was easily induced
to comply; for a more indulgent and less dictatorial parent did not
exist upon earth. Our plan was soon arranged. I should travel to
Strasburgh, where Clerval would join me. Some short time would be spent
in the towns of Holland, and our principal stay would be in England. We
should return by France; and it was agreed that the tour should occupy
the space of two years.

My father pleased himself with the reflection, that my union with
Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return to Geneva. "These
two years," said he, "will pass swiftly, and it will be the last delay
that will oppose itself to your happiness. And, indeed, I earnestly
desire that period to arrive, when we shall all be united, and neither
hopes or fears arise to disturb our domestic calm."

"I am content," I replied, "with your arrangement. By that time we shall
both have become wiser, and I hope happier, than we at present are." I
sighed; but my father kindly forbore to question me further concerning
the cause of my dejection. He hoped that new scenes, and the amusement
of travelling, would restore my tranquillity.

I now made arrangements for my journey; but one feeling haunted me,
which filled me with fear and agitation. During my absence I should
leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy, and
unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my
departure. But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go; and
would he not accompany me to England? This imagination was dreadful in
itself, but soothing, inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends.
I was agonized with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of this
might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the slave
of my creature, I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of the
moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend
would follow me, and exempt my family from the danger of his
machinations.

It was in the latter end of August that I departed, to pass two years of
exile. Elizabeth approved of the reasons of my departure, and only
regretted that she had not the same opportunities of enlarging her
experience, and cultivating her understanding. She wept, however, as she
bade me farewell, and entreated me to return happy and tranquil. "We
all," said she, "depend upon you; and if you are miserable, what must be
our feelings?"

I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly
knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around. I
remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on
it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with
me: for I resolved to fulfil my promise while abroad, and return, if
possible, a free man. Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through
many beautiful and majestic scenes; but my eyes were fixed and
unobserving. I could only think of the bourne of my travels, and the
work which was to occupy me whilst they endured.

After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed
many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for
Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He was
alive to every new scene; joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting
sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise, and recommence a new day. He
pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape, and the
appearances of the sky. "This is what it is to live;" he cried, "now I
enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you
desponding and sorrowful?" In truth, I was occupied by gloomy thoughts,
and neither saw the descent of the evening star, nor the golden sun-rise
reflected in the Rhine.--And you, my friend, would be far more amused
with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of
feeling and delight, than to listen to my reflections. I, a miserable
wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment.

We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to
Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London. During this voyage,
we passed by many willowy islands, and saw several beautiful towns. We
staid a day at Manheim, and, on the fifth from our departure from
Strasburgh, arrived at Mayence. The course of the Rhine below Mayence
becomes much more picturesque. The river descends rapidly, and winds
between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw many
ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by black
woods, high and inaccessible. This part of the Rhine, indeed, presents a
singularly variegated landscape. In one spot you view rugged hills,
ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with the dark Rhine
rushing beneath; and, on the sudden turn of a promontory, flourishing
vineyards, with green sloping banks, and a meandering river, and
populous towns, occupy the scene.

We travelled at the time of the vintage, and heard the song of the
labourers, as we glided down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and
my spirits continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased.
I lay at the bottom of the boat, and, as I gazed on the cloudless blue
sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a
stranger. And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of
Henry? He felt as if he had been transported to Fairy-land, and enjoyed
a happiness seldom tasted by man. "I have seen," he said, "the most
beautiful scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne
and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the
water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy
and mournful appearance, were it not for the most verdant islands that
relieve the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake agitated
by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water, and gave you an
idea of what the water-spout must be on the great ocean, and the waves
dash with fury the base of the mountain, where the priest and his
mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche, and where their dying voices
are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind; I have
seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud: but this country,
Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The mountains of
Switzerland are more majestic and strange; but there is a charm in the
banks of this divine river, that I never before saw equalled. Look at
that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the island,
almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and now that
group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village
half-hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely, the spirit that
inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man, than
those who pile the glacier, or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the
mountains of our own country."

Clerval! beloved friend! even now it delights me to record your words,
and to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He
was a being formed in the "very poetry of nature." His wild and
enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart.
His soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friendship was of
that devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to
look for only in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not
sufficient to satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature,
which others regard only with admiration, he loved with ardour:

    ---- ----"The sounding cataract
    Haunted _him_ like a passion: the tall rock,
    The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
    Their colours and their forms, were then to him
    An appetite; a feeling, and a love,
    That had no need of a remoter charm,
    By thought supplied, or any interest
    Unborrowed from the eye."

And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost for
ever? Has this mind so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful and
magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the life
of its creator; has this mind perished? Does it now only exist in my
memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and beaming
with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and consoles your
unhappy friend.

Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight
tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart,
overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates. I will
proceed with my tale.

Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved to
post the remainder of our way; for the wind was contrary, and the stream
of the river was too gentle to aid us.

Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery; but
we arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to
England. It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that
I first saw the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames
presented a new scene; they were flat, but fertile, and almost every
town was marked by the remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort,
and remembered the Spanish armada; Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich,
places which I had heard of even in my country.

At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul's towering
above all, and the Tower famed in English history.

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

completion: Weeks pass, and Victor cannot bring himself to begin his work. Though he fears the creature's wrath, his abhorrence for the task proves insurmountable. He realizes that several months of study are required before he can begin composing the second creature; he determines to study in England, as the discoveries of an English philosopher will prove essential to his research. He endlessly delays asking his father for permission to do so, instead electing to remain in Geneva. His home is greatly beneficial to his health and spirits, and he has once again grown strong and cheerful. When his melancholy overtakes him , he takes refuge in solitude, and his good humor is soon restored. The elder Frankenstein, who has observed these changes with pleasure, takes Victor aside and asks him about his recent desire for solitude. He wonders if Victor has perhaps decided that he does not wish to marry Elizabeth, but has not told his father out of fear of disappointing him. Victor reassures him that nothing could be further from the truth: he longs to marry Elizabeth, but must first satisfy a desire to visit England. The idea of marrying his beloved with his hateful task still uncompleted is unbearable to him. Victor disguises his true reasons for going abroad to his father, and the elder Frankenstein immediately consents to his request. It is decided that he and Elizabeth are to be married immediately upon his return to Geneva. Henry Clerval is enlisted to accompany Victor on his journey; Victor is initially displeased at this, as he had wanted to undertake his task in perfect solitude. He is thrilled upon seeing Clerval, however, and reflects that Henry's presence will keep the creature from observing the progress of his work. Though Victor is haunted by the fear that the creature will wreak havoc upon his family in his absence, he recalls that the creature has vowed to follow him wherever he might go. He abhors the idea of traveling in the monster's company, but realizes that it will ensure the safety of his loved ones. At this moment, he feels himself to be "the slave of creature. Victor and Clerval meet at Strasbourg, and travel by boat through Germany and Holland, and thenceforth to England; they arrive at London in December. As he recalls their journey, Frankenstein is struck by the great difference between Clerval and himself. Clerval was entirely alive to the natural landscape, which he loved with unparalleled ardor; Victor, by contrast, was wracked with melancholy, and felt himself a "miserable wretch. Victor mourns over the memory of Clerval, whom he still considers a man of peerless worth and beauty of soul.


prompt:
Chapter: London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several
months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the
intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this time;
but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally occupied with
the means of obtaining the information necessary for the completion of
my promise, and quickly availed myself of the letters of introduction
that I had brought with me, addressed to the most distinguished natural
philosophers.

If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness,
it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had come
over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of the
information they might give me on the subject in which my interest was
so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me; when alone, I could
fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of Henry
soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory peace. But
busy uninteresting joyous faces brought back despair to my heart. I saw
an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my fellow-men; this
barrier was sealed with the blood of William and Justine; and to reflect
on the events connected with those names filled my soul with anguish.

But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive,
and anxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference of
manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of
instruction and amusement. He was for ever busy; and the only check to
his enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mien. I tried to conceal
this as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures
natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by
any care or bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him,
alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone. I now also began
to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this was to
me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling on the
head. Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme anguish, and
every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips to quiver, and
my heart to palpitate.

After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person
in Scotland, who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned
the beauties of his native country, and asked us if those were not
sufficient allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north
as Perth, where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this
invitation; and I, although I abhorred society, wished to view again
mountains and streams, and all the wondrous works with which Nature
adorns her chosen dwelling-places.

We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now
February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the
north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not
intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor,
Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the
completion of this tour about the end of July. I packed my chemical
instruments, and the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my
labours in some obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.

We quitted London on the 27th of March, and remained a few days at
Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us
mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of
stately deer, were all novelties to us.

From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds
were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted
there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles I.
had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to him, after
the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of
parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king, and his
companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Gower, his queen, and
son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city, which they
might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a
dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these
feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of the
city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration. The
colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost
magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows
of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters,
which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and domes,
embosomed among aged trees.

I enjoyed this scene; and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the
memory of the past, and the anticipation of the future. I was formed for
peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never visited my
mind; and if I was ever overcome by _ennui_, the sight of what is
beautiful in nature, or the study of what is excellent and sublime in
the productions of man, could always interest my heart, and communicate
elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered
my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit, what I shall
soon cease to be--a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to
others, and abhorrent to myself.

We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs,
and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most
animating epoch of English history. Our little voyages of discovery were
often prolonged by the successive objects that presented themselves. We
visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden, and the field on which that
patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated from its debasing and
miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas of liberty and
self-sacrifice, of which these sights were the monuments and the
remembrancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains, and look
around me with a free and lofty spirit; but the iron had eaten into my
flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my miserable self.

We left Oxford with regret, and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next
place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village
resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but every
thing is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of distant
white Alps, which always attend on the piny mountains of my native
country. We visited the wondrous cave, and the little cabinets of
natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same manner
as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name made me
tremble, when pronounced by Henry; and I hastened to quit Matlock, with
which that terrible scene was thus associated.

From Derby still journeying northward, we passed two months in
Cumberland and Westmoreland. I could now almost fancy myself among the
Swiss mountains. The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the
northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the rocky
streams, were all familiar and dear sights to me. Here also we made some
acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into happiness. The
delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than mine; his mind
expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found in his own nature
greater capacities and resources than he could have imagined himself to
have possessed while he associated with his inferiors. "I could pass my
life here," said he to me; "and among these mountains I should scarcely
regret Switzerland and the Rhine."

But he found that a traveller's life is one that includes much pain
amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are for ever on the stretch; and
when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit
that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again
engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.

We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and
Westmoreland, and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants,
when the period of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached,
and we left them to travel on. For my own part I was not sorry. I had
now neglected my promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the
daemon's disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland, and wreak his
vengeance on my relatives. This idea pursued me, and tormented me at
every moment from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and
peace. I waited for my letters with feverish impatience: if they were
delayed, I was miserable, and overcome by a thousand fears; and when
they arrived, and I saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I
hardly dared to read and ascertain my fate. Sometimes I thought that the
fiend followed me, and might expedite my remissness by murdering my
companion. When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for
a moment, but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the
fancied rage of his destroyer. I felt as if I had committed some great
crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had
indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of
crime.

I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might
have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so
well as Oxford; for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing
to him. But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its
romantic castle, and its environs, the most delightful in the world,
Arthur's Seat, St. Bernard's Well, and the Pentland Hills, compensated
him for the change, and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But
I was impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.

We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrews, and
along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us. But
I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers, or enter into their
feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and
accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland
alone. "Do you," said I, "enjoy yourself, and let this be our
rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with my
motions, I entreat you: leave me to peace and solitude for a short time;
and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more
congenial to your own temper."

Henry wished to dissuade me; but, seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to
remonstrate. He entreated me to write often. "I had rather be with you,"
he said, "in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch people, whom
I do not know: hasten then, my dear friend, to return, that I may again
feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in your absence."

Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of
Scotland, and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the
monster followed me, and would discover himself to me when I should have
finished, that he might receive his companion.

With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands, and fixed on
one of the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene labours. It was a place
fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock, whose high sides
were continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely
affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its
inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy
limbs gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when
they indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured
from the main land, which was about five miles distant.

On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of
these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired. It contained but two
rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable
penury. The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the
door was off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some
furniture, and took possession; an incident which would, doubtless, have
occasioned some surprise, had not all the senses of the cottagers been
benumbed by want and squalid poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at and
unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes which I
gave; so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations of men.

In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening,
when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea, to
listen to the waves as they roared, and dashed at my feet. It was a
monotonous, yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was
far different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its hills are
covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the
plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky; and, when troubled
by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively infant, when
compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.

In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived; but,
as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and
irksome to me. Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my
laboratory for several days; and at other times I toiled day and night
in order to complete my work. It was indeed a filthy process in which I
was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind of enthusiastic frenzy
had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my mind was intently
fixed on the sequel of my labour, and my eyes were shut to the horror of
my proceedings. But now I went to it in cold blood, and my heart often
sickened at the work of my hands.

Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in a
solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from the
actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I grew
restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my persecutor.
Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing to raise them
lest they should encounter the object which I so much dreaded to behold.
I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow-creatures, lest when
alone he should come to claim his companion.

In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably
advanced. I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager
hope, which I dared not trust myself to question, but which was
intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil, that made my heart sicken
in my bosom.

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

completion: In London, Clerval occupies himself with visits to learned and illustrious men; Victor cannot join him, however, as he is too absorbed in the completion of his odious task. He reflects that the trip would have given him indescribable pleasure while he was still a student; now, however, he wants only to be alone, as "an insurmountable barrier has been placed between and fellow men. To Victor, Clerval is the image of his younger self: he is full of excitement and curiosity, and is at present making plans to travel to India. The two men receive a letter from a mutual friend inviting them to visit him in Scotland; though Victor detests all human society, he agrees to go, so as not to disappoint Clerval. He also looks forward to seeing the mountains once more. The pair sets out for Scotland at the end of March. Victor reflects that he was "formed for peaceful happiness," having spent his youth in the enjoyment of nature and the contemplation of human accomplishment. Now, he feels himself to be a "blasted tree," an example of wrecked and forsaken humanity. Clerval and Frankenstein spend time at Oxford, where they wonder over English history; for a brief moment, Victor "dares to shake off his chains" and is nearly happy. Almost immediately, however, he recalls his task, and is cast back into his former despair. The pair finally arrives in Scotland. Victor is overcome by fear that he has neglected his work too long, and that the creature will visit his wrath upon his family or his friend. He awaits his letters from Geneva with tormenting anxiety, and follows Henry about as though he were his shadow. After visiting Edinburgh and a number of other cities, Victor leaves Henry, having resolved to finish his work in a remote part of the Scotch countryside. His friend urges him to hurry back, as he will grow lonely without Victor's company. Frankenstein devotes most of his mornings to labor, and walks the bleak and stony beach at night. His horror at his task increases daily, in stark contrast to the enthusiasm with which he undertook his first experiment. He grows progressively more anxious and terrified that he will meet his monster. He looks upon the new creation with a mixture of hope and "obscure forebodings of evil.