It
was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment
of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected
the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being
into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the
morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was
nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light,
I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a
convulsive
motion agitated its limbs.
How can I describe my emotions
at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite
pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion,
and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His
yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath;
his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness;
but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery
eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in
which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.
The different accidents
of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked
hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an
inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had
desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I
had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and
disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had
created, I rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing
my bedchamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep.
From
Frankenstein, 85-86. Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia Library
http://www.georgetown.edu/irvinemj/english016/franken/franken.html
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