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Mary Godwin Shelley's tale of "Frankenstein" came to Francisco's mind. That evening Frank said to his father, with a wink at Jeanne, "Want to go slumming with me tonight, father? I'm going to do my first signed story: 'The Night-Life of This Town'." "Do you think I ought to, Jeanne?" asked her husband whimsically. He glanced at his son.
She has endowed with life a philosophical idea, given it the personality of her people, created a national Frankenstein to be feared and loathed. More, she is coming perilously nigh to imposing her god upon the world! We have all worshiped at the shrine of material achievement in America with the riot of young strength.
But I had determined, if you were going southward, still to trust myself to the mercy of the seas rather than abandon my purpose for my task is unfulfilled. V. Walton's Letter, continued A week has passed away while I have listened to the strangest tale that ever imagination formed. The only joy that Frankenstein can now know will be when he composes his shattered spirit to peace and death.
Your cloister enticed me with its beauty. In place of mounting my horse and riding back from Frankenstein, I was lured hither to admire your building and enjoy the splendid prospect from your tower. Allow me to rest awhile; give me a glass of wine, and then we will mount the tower."
Several hours passed hours which the king did not seem to observe, but the heart of the poor abbot was trembling with apprehension. "And now," said the king, "I am rested, refreshed, and strengthened. Will your excellency conduct me to the tower? then I will return to Frankenstein." "There is happily a way to the tower for my use alone," said the abbot, "where we are certain to be met by no one.
I say man has mastered these energies; yes, but this was true only of a brief period in the immediate past. They now have mastered him. It is the old story of the Frankenstein monster over again. Man is not omnipotent, he is not God. There are limits beyond which he cannot go without coming in peril of death.
And the rest of our hundred millions, in this era of new discoveries and profound upheavals, on this battlefield of Armageddon between Hell and Heaven, in this crumbling of the old deities and the looming of the Unknown, are we to lie down content and docile and suffer this hybrid monster of Frankenstein, under guise of governing, to squat on our necks, bind our Titan limbs, bandage our awakening eyes, gag our free voices, sterilize our civic manhood, and debase us from sons of divine liberty into the underpinning of an oligarchy?
He had also a superabundance of the discordant, ear-splitting, metallic laugh common to his breed a machine-made laugh, a Frankenstein laugh, with the soul left out of it. He applied it to every sentimental remark, and to every pathetic song.
It is easy for those who reap pleasure and reward from their labors to sing of the joy of work; business man, professional man, artist, handicraftsman, farmer, these may find in the thing they do the satisfaction of the creative desires and the reward of seeing their product; but the factory is a Frankenstein delivering huge masses of products but eating up the producers.
"The colour of the face is easily altered," said Kennedy. "A little picric acid will do that. The ingenious rogue Sarcey in Paris eluded the police very successfully until Dr. Charcot exposed him and showed how he changed the arch of his eyebrows and the wrinkles of his face. Much is possible to-day that would make Frankenstein and Dr. Moreau look clumsy and antiquated."
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