Frankenstein

Chapter 3

When I had attained the age of sev­en­teen my par­ents resolved that I should become a stu­dent at the uni­ver­si­ty of Ingol­stadt. I had hith­er­to attend­ed the schools of Gene­va, but my father thought it nec­es­sary for the com­ple­tion of my edu­ca­tion that I should be made acquaint­ed with oth­er cus­toms than those of my native coun­try. My depar­ture was there­fore fixed at an ear­ly date, but before the day resolved upon could arrive, the first mis­for­tune of my life occurred—an omen, as it were, of my future misery.

Eliz­a­beth had caught the scar­let fever; her ill­ness was severe, and she was in the great­est dan­ger. Dur­ing her ill­ness many argu­ments had been urged to per­suade my moth­er to refrain from attend­ing upon her. She had at first yield­ed to our entreaties, but when she heard that the life of her favourite was men­aced, she could no longer con­trol her anx­i­ety. She attend­ed her sickbed; her watch­ful atten­tions tri­umphed over the malig­ni­ty of the dis­tem­per—Eliz­a­beth was saved, but the con­se­quences of this impru­dence were fatal to her pre­serv­er. On the third day my moth­er sick­ened; her fever was accom­pa­nied by the most alarm­ing symp­toms, and the looks of her med­ical atten­dants prog­nos­ti­cat­ed the worst event. On her deathbed the for­ti­tude and benig­ni­ty of this best of women did not desert her. She joined the hands of Eliz­a­beth and myself. “My chil­dren,” she said, “my firmest hopes of future hap­pi­ness were placed on the prospect of your union. This expec­ta­tion will now be the con­so­la­tion of your father. Eliz­a­beth, my love, you must sup­ply my place to my younger chil­dren. Alas! I regret that I am tak­en from you; and, hap­py and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are not thoughts befit­ting me; I will endeav­our to resign myself cheer­ful­ly to death and will indulge a hope of meet­ing you in anoth­er world.”

She died calm­ly, and her coun­te­nance expressed affec­tion even in death. I need not describe the feel­ings of those whose dear­est ties are rent by that most irrepara­ble evil, the void that presents itself to the soul, and the despair that is exhib­it­ed on the coun­te­nance. It is so long before the mind can per­suade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very exis­tence appeared a part of our own can have depart­ed for ever—that the bright­ness of a beloved eye can have been extin­guished and the sound of a voice so famil­iar and dear to the ear can be hushed, nev­er more to be heard. These are the reflec­tions of the first days; but when the lapse of time proves the real­i­ty of the evil, then the actu­al bit­ter­ness of grief com­mences. Yet from whom has not that rude hand rent away some dear con­nec­tion? And why should I describe a sor­row which all have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives when grief is rather an indul­gence than a neces­si­ty; and the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sac­ri­lege, is not ban­ished. My moth­er was dead, but we had still duties which we ought to per­form; we must con­tin­ue our course with the rest and learn to think our­selves for­tu­nate whilst one remains whom the spoil­er has not seized.

My depar­ture for Ingol­stadt, which had been deferred by these events, was now again deter­mined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of some weeks. It appeared to me sac­ri­lege so soon to leave the repose, akin to death, of the house of mourn­ing and to rush into the thick of life. I was new to sor­row, but it did not the less alarm me. I was unwill­ing to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above all, I desired to see my sweet Eliz­a­beth in some degree consoled.

She indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the com­forter to us all. She looked steadi­ly on life and assumed its duties with courage and zeal. She devot­ed her­self to those whom she had been taught to call her uncle and cousins. Nev­er was she so enchant­i­ng as at this time, when she recalled the sun­shine of her smiles and spent them upon us. She for­got even her own regret in her endeav­ours to make us forget.

The day of my depar­ture at length arrived. Cler­val spent the last evening with us. He had endeav­oured to per­suade his father to per­mit him to accom­pa­ny me and to become my fel­low stu­dent, but in vain. His father was a nar­row-mind­ed trad­er and saw idle­ness and ruin in the aspi­ra­tions and ambi­tion of his son. Hen­ry deeply felt the mis­for­tune of being debarred from a lib­er­al edu­ca­tion. He said lit­tle, but when he spoke I read in his kin­dling eye and in his ani­mat­ed glance a restrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the mis­er­able details of commerce.

We sat late. We could not tear our­selves away from each oth­er nor per­suade our­selves to say the word “Farewell!” It was said, and we retired under the pre­tence of seek­ing repose, each fan­cy­ing that the oth­er was deceived; but when at morning’s dawn I descend­ed to the car­riage which was to con­vey me away, they were all there—my father again to bless me, Cler­val to press my hand once more, my Eliz­a­beth to renew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last fem­i­nine atten­tions on her play­mate and friend.

I threw myself into the chaise that was to con­vey me away and indulged in the most melan­choly reflec­tions. I, who had ever been sur­round­ed by ami­able com­pan­ions, con­tin­u­al­ly engaged in endeav­our­ing to bestow mutu­al pleasure—I was now alone. In the uni­ver­si­ty whith­er I was going I must form my own friends and be my own pro­tec­tor. My life had hith­er­to been remark­ably seclud­ed and domes­tic, and this had giv­en me invin­ci­ble repug­nance to new coun­te­nances. I loved my broth­ers, Eliz­a­beth, and Cler­val; these were “old famil­iar faces,” but I believed myself total­ly unfit­ted for the com­pa­ny of strangers. Such were my reflec­tions as I com­menced my jour­ney; but as I pro­ceed­ed, my spir­its and hopes rose. I ardent­ly desired the acqui­si­tion of knowl­edge. I had often, when at home, thought it hard to remain dur­ing my youth cooped up in one place and had longed to enter the world and take my sta­tion among oth­er human beings. Now my desires were com­plied with, and it would, indeed, have been fol­ly to repent.

I had suf­fi­cient leisure for these and many oth­er reflec­tions dur­ing my jour­ney to Ingol­stadt, which was long and fatigu­ing. At length the high white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alight­ed and was con­duct­ed to my soli­tary apart­ment to spend the evening as I pleased.

The next morn­ing I deliv­ered my let­ters of intro­duc­tion and paid a vis­it to some of the prin­ci­pal pro­fes­sors. Chance—or rather the evil influ­ence, the Angel of Destruc­tion, which assert­ed omnipo­tent sway over me from the moment I turned my reluc­tant steps from my father’s door—led me first to M. Krempe, pro­fes­sor of nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy. He was an uncouth man, but deeply imbued in the secrets of his sci­ence. He asked me sev­er­al ques­tions con­cern­ing my progress in the dif­fer­ent branch­es of sci­ence apper­tain­ing to nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy. I replied care­less­ly, and part­ly in con­tempt, men­tioned the names of my alchemists as the prin­ci­pal authors I had stud­ied. The pro­fes­sor stared. “Have you,” he said, “real­ly spent your time in study­ing such non­sense?”

I replied in the affir­ma­tive. “Every minute,” con­tin­ued M. Krempe with warmth, “every instant that you have wast­ed on those books is utter­ly and entire­ly lost. You have bur­dened your mem­o­ry with explod­ed sys­tems and use­less names. Good God! In what desert land have you lived, where no one was kind enough to inform you that these fan­cies which you have so greed­i­ly imbibed are a thou­sand years old and as musty as they are ancient? I lit­tle expect­ed, in this enlight­ened and sci­en­tif­ic age, to find a dis­ci­ple of Alber­tus Mag­nus and Paracel­sus. My dear sir, you must begin your stud­ies entire­ly anew.”

So say­ing, he stepped aside and wrote down a list of sev­er­al books treat­ing of nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy which he desired me to pro­cure, and dis­missed me after men­tion­ing that in the begin­ning of the fol­low­ing week he intend­ed to com­mence a course of lec­tures upon nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy in its gen­er­al rela­tions, and that M. Wald­man, a fel­low pro­fes­sor, would lec­ture upon chem­istry the alter­nate days that he omitted.

I returned home not dis­ap­point­ed, for I have said that I had long con­sid­ered those authors use­less whom the pro­fes­sor repro­bat­ed; but I returned not at all the more inclined to recur to these stud­ies in any shape. M. Krempe was a lit­tle squat man with a gruff voice and a repul­sive coun­te­nance; the teacher, there­fore, did not pre­pos­sess me in favour of his pur­suits. In rather a too philo­soph­i­cal and con­nect­ed a strain, per­haps, I have giv­en an account of the con­clu­sions I had come to con­cern­ing them in my ear­ly years. As a child I had not been con­tent with the results promised by the mod­ern pro­fes­sors of nat­ur­al sci­ence. With a con­fu­sion of ideas only to be account­ed for by my extreme youth and my want of a guide on such mat­ters, I had retrod the steps of knowl­edge along the paths of time and exchanged the dis­cov­er­ies of recent inquir­ers for the dreams of for­got­ten alchemists. Besides, I had a con­tempt for the uses of mod­ern nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy. It was very dif­fer­ent when the mas­ters of the sci­ence sought immor­tal­i­ty and pow­er; such views, although futile, were grand; but now the scene was changed. The ambi­tion of the inquir­er seemed to lim­it itself to the anni­hi­la­tion of those visions on which my inter­est in sci­ence was chiefly found­ed. I was required to exchange chimeras of bound­less grandeur for real­i­ties of lit­tle worth.

Such were my reflec­tions dur­ing the first two or three days of my res­i­dence at Ingol­stadt, which were chiefly spent in becom­ing acquaint­ed with the local­i­ties and the prin­ci­pal res­i­dents in my new abode. But as the ensu­ing week com­menced, I thought of the infor­ma­tion which M. Krempe had giv­en me con­cern­ing the lec­tures. And although I could not con­sent to go and hear that lit­tle con­ceit­ed fel­low deliv­er sen­tences out of a pul­pit, I rec­ol­lect­ed what he had said of M. Wald­man, whom I had nev­er seen, as he had hith­er­to been out of town.

Part­ly from curios­i­ty and part­ly from idle­ness, I went into the lec­tur­ing room, which M. Wald­man entered short­ly after. This pro­fes­sor was very unlike his col­league. He appeared about fifty years of age, but with an aspect expres­sive of the great­est benev­o­lence; a few grey hairs cov­ered his tem­ples, but those at the back of his head were near­ly black. His per­son was short but remark­ably erect and his voice the sweet­est I had ever heard. He began his lec­ture by a reca­pit­u­la­tion of the his­to­ry of chem­istry and the var­i­ous improve­ments made by dif­fer­ent men of learn­ing, pro­nounc­ing with fer­vour the names of the most dis­tin­guished dis­cov­er­ers. He then took a cur­so­ry view of the present state of the sci­ence and explained many of its ele­men­tary terms. After hav­ing made a few prepara­to­ry exper­i­ments, he con­clud­ed with a pan­e­gyric upon mod­ern chem­istry, the terms of which I shall nev­er forget:

“The ancient teach­ers of this sci­ence,” said he, “promised impos­si­bil­i­ties and per­formed noth­ing. The mod­ern mas­ters promise very lit­tle; they know that met­als can­not be trans­mut­ed and that the elixir of life is a chimera but these philoso­phers, whose hands seem only made to dab­ble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the micro­scope or cru­cible, have indeed per­formed mir­a­cles. They pen­e­trate into the recess­es of nature and show how she works in her hid­ing-places. They ascend into the heav­ens; they have dis­cov­ered how the blood cir­cu­lates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlim­it­ed pow­ers; they can com­mand the thun­ders of heav­en, mim­ic the earth­quake, and even mock the invis­i­ble world with its own shadows.”

Such were the professor’s words—rather let me say such the words of the fate—enounced to destroy me. As he went on I felt as if my soul were grap­pling with a pal­pa­ble ene­my; one by one the var­i­ous keys were touched which formed the mech­a­nism of my being; chord after chord was sound­ed, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one con­cep­tion, one pur­pose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein—more, far more, will I achieve; tread­ing in the steps already marked, I will pio­neer a new way, explore unknown pow­ers, and unfold to the world the deep­est mys­ter­ies of creation.

I closed not my eyes that night. My inter­nal being was in a state of insur­rec­tion and tur­moil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I had no pow­er to pro­duce it. By degrees, after the morning’s dawn, sleep came. I awoke, and my yesternight’s thoughts were as a dream. There only remained a res­o­lu­tion to return to my ancient stud­ies and to devote myself to a sci­ence for which I believed myself to pos­sess a nat­ur­al tal­ent. On the same day I paid M. Wald­man a vis­it. His man­ners in pri­vate were even more mild and attrac­tive than in pub­lic, for there was a cer­tain dig­ni­ty in his mien dur­ing his lec­ture which in his own house was replaced by the great­est affa­bil­i­ty and kind­ness. I gave him pret­ty near­ly the same account of my for­mer pur­suits as I had giv­en to his fel­low pro­fes­sor. He heard with atten­tion the lit­tle nar­ra­tion con­cern­ing my stud­ies and smiled at the names of Cor­nelius Agrip­pa and Paracel­sus, but with­out the con­tempt that M. Krempe had exhib­it­ed. He said that “These were men to whose inde­fati­ga­ble zeal mod­ern philoso­phers were indebt­ed for most of the foun­da­tions of their knowl­edge. They had left to us, as an eas­i­er task, to give new names and arrange in con­nect­ed clas­si­fi­ca­tions the facts which they in a great degree had been the instru­ments of bring­ing to light. The labours of men of genius, how­ev­er erro­neous­ly direct­ed, scarce­ly ever fail in ulti­mate­ly turn­ing to the sol­id advan­tage of mankind.” I lis­tened to his state­ment, which was deliv­ered with­out any pre­sump­tion or affec­ta­tion, and then added that his lec­ture had removed my prej­u­dices against mod­ern chemists; I expressed myself in mea­sured terms, with the mod­esty and def­er­ence due from a youth to his instruc­tor, with­out let­ting escape (inex­pe­ri­ence in life would have made me ashamed) any of the enthu­si­asm which stim­u­lat­ed my intend­ed labours. I request­ed his advice con­cern­ing the books I ought to pro­cure.

“I am hap­py,” said M. Wald­man, “to have gained a dis­ci­ple; and if your appli­ca­tion equals your abil­i­ty, I have no doubt of your suc­cess. Chem­istry is that branch of nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy in which the great­est improve­ments have been and may be made; it is on that account that I have made it my pecu­liar study; but at the same time, I have not neglect­ed the oth­er branch­es of sci­ence. A man would make but a very sor­ry chemist if he attend­ed to that depart­ment of human knowl­edge alone. If your wish is to become real­ly a man of sci­ence and not mere­ly a pet­ty exper­i­men­tal­ist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy, includ­ing mathematics.”

He then took me into his lab­o­ra­to­ry and explained to me the uses of his var­i­ous machines, instruct­ing me as to what I ought to pro­cure and promis­ing me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in the sci­ence not to derange their mech­a­nism. He also gave me the list of books which I had request­ed, and I took my leave.

Thus end­ed a day mem­o­rable to me; it decid­ed my future destiny.

Ingol­stadt ⇒ An inde­pen­dent city on the Danube in Upper Bavaria, Germany.

hith­er­to ˈhɪðəˈ­tuː adv Until now; before this time

omen ˈəʊmɛn n A sign of some­thing about to hap­pen: fore­run­ner, fore­to­ken, pre­fig­ure­ment, sign, augury

scar­let fever ⇒ An acute com­mu­ni­ca­ble dis­ease (usu­al­ly in chil­dren) char­ac­ter­ized by fever and a red rash: scar­lati­na

to refrain form ⇒ To hold back from doing something.

at first ⇒ In the beggining.

entreaty ɪnˈtriːti n Earnest or urgent request: appeal, prayer, plea, suit, request

men­ace ˈmɛnəs v To threat­en with vio­lence, dan­ger, etc: intim­i­date, endan­ger, imper­il, jeop­ar­dize, peril

watch­ful ˈwɒʧfʊl adj Engaged in or accus­tomed to close obser­va­tion: vig­i­lant, open-eyed, wake­ful, alert, awake

malig­ni­ty məˈlɪɡnəti n The con­di­tion or qual­i­ty of being high­ly dan­ger­ous or inju­ri­ous: dead­li­ness

dis­tem­per ˌdɪsˈtɛm­pə n (Archa­ic) A dis­ease or dis­or­der: dis­ease, dis­or­der, sick­ness, affec­tion, ail, ail­ment, complaint

impru­dence ɪmˈpruːdəns n The qual­i­ty of being unwise indis­creet or incau­tious in prac­ti­cal affairs: incau­tion, incau­tious­ness, rash­ness, heed­less­ness, mind­less­ness, improv­i­dence, shortsightedness

atten­dant əˈtɛndᵊnt n (Usu­al­ly pl) Per­sons who are present, as an event or meeting.

prog­nos­ti­cate prəɡˈnɒstɪkeɪt v Make a pre­dic­tion about: fore­cast, fore­run, fore­shad­ow, fore­tell, foretoken

for­ti­tude ˈfɔːtɪtjuːd n Strength of mind that enables one to endure adver­si­ty with courage: brav­ery, guts, courage, fearlessness

benig­ni­ty bɪˈnɪɡnəti n The qual­i­ty of being kind and gen­tle: benig­nan­cy, gra­cious­ness, kindness

con­so­la­tion ˌkɒn­səˈleɪʃᵊn n The com­fort you feel when con­soled in times of dis­ap­point­ment: com­fort, help, sup­port, relief, ease, cheer

alas əˈlæs interj Used to express grief, pity, or con­cern: sad­ly, unfor­tu­nate­ly, inopportunely

befit bɪˈfɪt To be appro­pri­ate to or suit­able for to be appro­pri­ate to or suit­able for: beseem, suit

endeav­our ɪnˈdɛvə v To attempt: essay, try, assay, seek

indulge ɪnˈdʌlʤ v To allow to fol­low one’s will or incli­na­tion: wal­low

coun­te­nance ˈkaʊn­tᵊnəns n The appear­ance con­veyed by a person’s face: vis­age

rend rɛnd v pp, pt rend­ed; rent To sep­a­rate into parts with force or vio­lence: tear apart

irrepara­ble ɪˈrɛpərəbᵊl adj Impos­si­ble to repair, rec­ti­fy, or amend: irre­versible, irrecov­er­able, incur­able, irretrievable

very ˈvɛri adj Used to empha­size the impor­tance of what is spec­i­fied: exact, actu­al, pre­cise, same, real, express, iden­ti­cal, unqual­i­fied, selfsame

extin­guish ɪksˈtɪŋg­wɪʃ v To cause to stop burn­ing or giv­ing light: put out, douse, quench, snuff

hush hʌʃ v Cause to be qui­et or not talk: qui­eten, silence, still, shut up

lapse læps v An inter­val or pas­sage of time; elapsed peri­od: inter­val, break, gap, passage

rude ruːd adj Social­ly incor­rect in behav­ior: impo­lite, unman­ner­ly, impolite

at length ⇒ After some time; even­tu­al­ly. final­ly, at last.

indul­gence ɪnˈdʌlʤᵊns n A dis­po­si­tion to yield to the wish­es of some­one: lenience, lenien­cy

deem diːm v To regard as: con­sid­er:

sac­ri­lege ˈsækrɪlɪʤ n The act of depriv­ing some­thing of its sacred char­ac­ter: des­e­cra­tion, pro­fa­na­tion, blasphemy

ban­ish ˈbænɪʃ v To dri­ve away: expel

spoil­er ˈspɔːɪlə n Some­one who pam­pers or spoils by exces­sive indul­gence: cod­dler, mol­ly­cod­dler, pamperer

defer dɪˈfɜː v Hold back to a lat­er time: post­pone, pro­rogue, put off, set back

respite ˈrɛs­paɪt n A usu­al­ly short peri­od of rest or relief: pause, rest, relief, break, halt, inter­val, interruption

repose rɪˈpəʊz n Free­dom from activ­i­ty: rest

akin əˈkɪn adj Sim­i­lar in qual­i­ty or char­ac­ter: sim­i­lar to, like, relat­ed to, cor­re­spond­ing to, par­al­lel to

mourn­ing ˈmɔːnɪŋ n State of sor­row over the death or depar­ture of a loved one: bereave­ment

thick θɪk The most intense­ly active cen­tral part: eye, midst

veil veɪl v To cov­er, or con­ceal with or as if with a veil: con­ceal, hide, disguise

strive straɪv v pp strove or strived, pt striv·en or strived To make an attempt to do or make: attempt, endeav­or, assay, essay, seek, try

com­forter ˈkʌm­fətə n A per­son who reduces the inten­si­ty (e.g., of fears) and calms and paci­fies: allay­er, reliever

zeal ziːl n A feel­ing of strong eager­ness, usu­al­ly in favor of a per­son or cause: ardor, ardour, elan

enchant­i­ng ɪnˈʧɑːn­tɪŋ adj Cap­tur­ing inter­est as if by a spell: cap­ti­vat­ing, entranc­ing, fascinating

in vain ⇒ To no avail; with­out success.

debar dɪˈbɑː v Pre­vent tem­porar­i­ly; from school, office, etc: sus­pend

kin­dle ˈkɪndᵊl v To become bright: glow

restrain rɪsˈtreɪn v To hold, fas­ten, or secure so as to pre­vent or lim­it move­ment: con­fine, lim­it, throt­tle, tram­mel, restrict, bound

farewell ˌfeəˈwɛl n An acknowl­edg­ment or expres­sion of good­will at part­ing: good­by, adieu

pre­tence prɪˈtɛns n A false claim or alle­ga­tion: pre­text, claim, excuse

deceive dɪˈsiːv v To cause to believe what is not true: mis­lead, fool, delude, dupe

car­riage ˈkærɪʤ n A com­fort­able wheeled vehi­cle for con­vey­ing per­sons, usu­al­ly drawn by hors­es: freight

bestow bɪˈstəʊ v To give for­mal­ly or offi­cial­ly: present, grant

fem­i­nine ˈfɛmɪnɪn adj Of or relat­ing to women or girls: wom­an­ly

play­mate ˈpleɪmeɪt n A com­pan­ion at play: playfel­low

chaise ʧeɪz n Any of var­i­ous light open car­riages, often with a col­lapsi­ble hood, espe­cial­ly a two-wheeled car­riage drawn by one horse.

melan­choly ˈmɛlənkəli n Sad­ness or depres­sion of the spir­its: depres­sion, mis­ery, gloom, sorrow

ami­able ˈeɪmiəbᵊl adj Pleas­ant and friend­ly: cor­dial, good-natured

endeav­our ɪnˈdɛvə v To attempt: essay, try, assay, seek

whith­er ˈwɪðə conj To which spec­i­fied place or position.

seclud­ed sɪˈk­luːdɪd adj Con­fined to par­tic­u­lar per­sons or groups or pro­vid­ing pri­va­cy: pri­vate, shel­tered, iso­lat­ed, lone­ly, solitary

invin­ci­ble ɪnˈvɪn­səbᵊl adj Inca­pable of being over­come or defeat­ed: uncon­quer­able, unbeatable

repug­nance rɪˈpʌgnəns n Extreme hos­til­i­ty and dis­like: hatred, hate, repul­sion, detes­ta­tion, loathing, abhor­rence, abomination

unfit­ted ʌnˈfɪtɪd adj Not meant or adapt­ed for a giv­en pur­pose: inap­pro­pri­ate

ardent­ly ˈɑːdəntli adj In an enthu­si­as­tic and pas­sion­ate manner.

coop kuːp v (Often used with up) To con­fine in a small or cramped space: cage, enclose

sta­tion ˈsteɪʃᵊn n Social posi­tion: rank

fol­ly ˈfɒli n Fool­ish behav­iour: absur­di­ty, insan­i­ty, fool­ish­ness, crazi­ness, pre­pos­ter­ous­ness, sense­less­ness, silliness

repent rɪˈpɛnt v To feel regret­ful or con­trite for past con­duct: regret, lament, rue, sorrow

steeple ˈstiːpᵊl n A tow­er ris­ing above the roof of a build­ing, such as a church, and usu­al­ly sur­mount­ed by a spire.

alight əˈlaɪt v To get down, as from a vehi­cle: dis­mount

soli­tary ˈsɒlɪtəri adj Being the only one; sin­gle and iso­lat­ed from oth­ers: lone, lone­some, only, sole

to pay a vis­it to some­one ⇒ To vis­it or meet with some­one, espe­cial­ly in a brief or infor­mal manner.

omnipo­tent ɒmˈnɪpətᵊnt adj Hav­ing unlim­it­ed or uni­ver­sal pow­er, author­i­ty, or force: almighty, supreme, invin­ci­ble, all-powerful

sway sweɪ n Influ­ence or con­trol: pow­er, powerfulness 

nat­ur­al phi­los­o­phy or the phi­los­o­phy of nature ⇒ The philo­soph­i­cal study of nature and the phys­i­cal uni­verse that was dom­i­nant before the devel­op­ment of mod­ern sci­ence. It is con­sid­ered to be the pre­cur­sor of nat­ur­al sci­ences such as physics.

uncouth ʌnˈkuːθ adj Lack­ing refine­ment or cul­ti­va­tion or taste: rough-cut, vul­gar, coarse

imbue ɪmˈb­juː v To inspire or influ­ence thor­ough­ly: per­vade

apper­tain ˌæpəˈteɪn v To belong as a prop­er func­tion or part: per­tain, belong

con­tempt kənˈtɛmpt n Lack of respect accom­pa­nied by a feel­ing of intense dis­like: despite, dis­dain, scorn

non­sense ˈnɒn­sᵊns n Sub­ject mat­ter, behav­ior, or lan­guage that is fool­ish or absurd.

affir­ma­tive əˈfɜːmətɪv adj Assert­ing that some­thing is true or cor­rect: pos­i­tive; optimistic

utter­ly ˈʌtəli adv Com­plete­ly and with­out qual­i­fi­ca­tion: com­plete­ly, absolute­ly, entire­ly, totally

greed­i­ly ˈɡriːdɪli adv In an extreme­ly eager or desirous for an activ­i­ty or pur­suit manner.

imbibe ɪmˈbaɪb v To receive and absorb into the mind: absorb

musty ˈmʌsti adj Smelling or tast­ing old: stale, mouldy, stuffy, airless

enlight­ened ɪnˈlaɪt­nd adj Hav­ing knowl­edge and spir­i­tu­al insight: edu­cat­ed, informed

dis­ci­ple dɪˈsaɪpᵊl n Some­one who believes and helps to spread the doc­trine of anoth­er: fol­low­er, adherent

Alber­tus Mag­nus OP, also known as Saint Albert the Great, Albert of Swabia or Albert of Cologne ⇒ A Ger­man Domini­can fri­ar, philoso­pher, sci­en­tist, and bish­op, con­sid­ered one of the great­est medieval philoso­phers and thinkers.

Paracel­sus born Theophras­tus von Hohen­heim ⇒ A Swiss physi­cian, alchemist, lay the­olo­gian, and philoso­pher of the Ger­man Renaissance.

anew əˈn­juː adv Again, once again.

pro­cure prəˈkjʊə v To come into pos­ses­sion of: get, obtain, acquire, secure

repro­bate ˈrɛprəbeɪt v To dis­ap­prove of: con­demn, cen­sure, denounce, deplore, reprehend

at all ⇒ In any way; for any rea­son; to any extent; whatever.

inclined ɪnˈk­laɪnd adj Hav­ing a dis­po­si­tion: tend­ing recur

recur rɪˈkɜː v To hap­pen or occur again or repeat­ed­ly: repeat

squat skwɒt adj Short, heavy, and solid­ly built: stub­by, chunky, stumpy

gruff ɡrʌf adj (of a voice, bark, etc) Low and throaty: croak­ing, croaky, hoarse, husky

repul­sive rɪˈpʌl­sɪv adj So extreme­ly ugly as to be ter­ri­fy­ing: hideous, ugly

pre­pos­sess ˌpriːpəˈzɛs v Engage or engross the inter­est or atten­tion of before­hand or occu­py urgent­ly or obses­sive­ly: pre­oc­cu­py

in favor of some­one or some­thing ⇒ In sup­port of some­one or something.

to give an account of some­thing ⇒ To recount something.

retread ˌriːˈtrɛd v pp, pt retread, retrod Use again in altered form: make over, rework

inquir­er ɪnˈk­waɪərə n Some­one who asks a ques­tion: asker, enquir­er, ques­tion­er, inves­ti­ga­tor, querier, quester, researcher

immor­tal­i­ty ˌɪmɔːˈtæləti n The qual­i­ty or con­di­tion of being not sub­ject to death: death­less­ness, eter­ni­ty, ever­last­ing life

futile ˈfjuː­taɪl adj Inca­pable of pro­duc­ing any result: inef­fec­tu­al, use­less, not successful

seemed to ⇒ To appear to one’s own mind, sens­es, etc.

anni­hi­la­tion əˌnaɪəˈleɪʃᵊn n Utter destruc­tion: erad­i­ca­tion, exter­mi­na­tion, extinc­tion, liq­ui­da­tion, obliteration

chimera kaɪˈmɪərə n A grotesque prod­uct of the imag­i­na­tion: noun illu­sion, dream, fan­ta­sy, delusion

bound­less ˈbaʊndləs adj Being with­out bound­aries or lim­its: unlim­it­ed, end­less, illim­itable, infinite

grandeur ˈɡrænʤə adj n The qual­i­ty of being mag­nif­i­cent or splen­did or grand: splen­dour, glo­ry, majesty, nobil­i­ty, magnificence

local­i­ty ləˈkælə­tiz n A par­tic­u­lar neigh­bor­hood, place, or dis­trict: area, neigh­bor­hood, vicinity

abode əˈbəʊd n Hous­ing that some­one is liv­ing in: home, house, lodg­ing, place, residence

ensu­ing ɪnˈsjuːɪŋ adj Fol­low­ing imme­di­ate­ly and as a result of what went before: suc­ceed­ing

con­ceit­ed kənˈsiːtɪd adj Hav­ing a high or exag­ger­at­ed opin­ion of one­self or one’s accom­plish­ments: swollen, vain, ego­tis­tic, egotistical

pul­pit ˈpʊlpɪt n A plat­form raised above the sur­round­ing lev­el to give promi­nence to the per­son on it: podi­um, ros­trum, plat­form, stand, lectern

rec­ol­lect ˌriːkəˈlɛkt v To renew an image or thought in the mind: recall, remem­ber, bethink, call to mind, think

expres­sive ɪksˈprɛsɪv Effec­tive­ly con­vey­ing mean­ing, feel­ing, or mood: mean­ing­ful, indica­tive, sug­ges­tive, demon­stra­tive, reveal­ing, sig­nif­i­cant, allusive

benev­o­lence bəˈnɛvᵊlᵊns n An incli­na­tion to per­form kind, char­i­ta­ble acts: kind­ness, under­stand­ing, char­i­ty, goodness

tem­ples ˈtɛm­pᵊl n pl The pos­tero­lat­er­al angles of the head, in lice.

erect ɪˈrɛkt adj Upright in posi­tion or pos­ture: upright, stand­ing, straight

reca­pit­u­la­tion ˌriːkəˌpɪʧəˈleɪʃᵊn n A sum­ma­ry or con­cise review: recap, review

fer­vour ˈfɜːvə n Great warmth, earnest­ness and inten­si­ty of emo­tion: ardour, pas­sion, enthu­si­asm, zeal, eagerness

cur­so­ry ˈkɜːsᵊri adj Per­formed with haste and scant atten­tion to detail: brief, rapid, casu­al, hur­ried, care­less, super­fi­cial, hasty

prepara­to­ry prɪˈpærətᵊri adj Serv­ing to make ready or pre­pare: intro­duc­to­ry, pre­lim­i­nary, prefatory

pan­e­gyric ˌpænəˈʤɪrɪk n A lofty ora­tion or writ­ing in praise of a per­son or thing: eulo­gy, praise 

trans­mute trænzˈmjuːt v To change from one form, nature, sub­stance, or state into anoth­er: meta­mor­phose, transform

elixir ɪˈlɪk­sə n A sub­stance believed to main­tain life indefinitely.

dab­ble ˈdæbᵊl v Dip a foot or hand briefly into a liq­uid: dip, dunk, souse, douse, plunge

pore pɔː v To read, study, or exam­ine some­thing care­ful­ly and atten­tive­ly: focus, cen­ter, concentrate

cru­cible ˈkruːsɪbᵊl v A ves­sel made of mate­r­i­al that does not melt eas­i­ly; used for high tem­per­a­ture chem­i­cal reac­tions: melt­ing pot

recess­es rɪˈsɛs n often pl A remote, secret, or seclud­ed place.

ascend əˈsɛnd v To go or move upward: rise, climb, mount

cir­cu­late ˈsɜːkjəleɪt v To move in or flow through a cir­cle or cir­cuit: flow

acquire əˈk­waɪə v To gain through expe­ri­ence of or expo­sure to some­thing: devel­op, evolve, acquire

mim­ic ˈmɪmɪk v To copy or imi­tate close­ly: imi­tate, sim­u­late, copy

mock mɒk v To mim­ic or resem­ble close­ly: imi­tate, sim­u­late, copy

enounce ɪˈnaʊns v Speak, pro­nounce, or utter in a cer­tain way: enun­ci­ate, pro­nounce, sound out, artic­u­late, say

grap­ple ˈgræ­pl v To seize firm­ly: grip, clutch, clasp, clench, grab, grasp

pal­pa­ble ˈpælpəbᵊl adj Eas­i­ly per­ceived by the sens­es or the mind: tan­gi­ble, obvious

chord kɔːd n A com­bi­na­tion of three or more notes that blend har­mo­nious­ly when sound­ed together.

exclaim ɪksˈk­leɪm v To cry out or speak sud­den­ly and vehe­ment­ly, as in sur­prise, strong emo­tion, or protest: call out, cry out, out­cry, shout, cry

2tread trɛd v To step, walk, or tram­ple so as to press, crush, or injure some­thing: squashm, step on, trample

insur­rec­tion ˌɪn­sᵊrˈɛkʃᵊn n Orga­nized oppo­si­tion to author­i­ty; a con­flict in which one fac­tion tries to wrest con­trol from anoth­er: revolt, upris­ing, rebel­lion, rising

tur­moil ˈtɜːmɔɪl n A state of great com­mo­tion, con­fu­sion, or dis­tur­bance: tumult, agi­ta­tion, upset

thence ðɛns n (Archa­ic) From that time: thence­forth

by degrees ⇒ Grad­u­al­ly, by suc­ces­sive steps or stages.

yestern­ight ˈjɛstəˈ­naɪt n (Archa­ic) n Last night.

to pay a vis­it to some­one ⇒ To vis­it or meet with some­one, espe­cial­ly in a brief or infor­mal manner.

for fɔː cj Because; since.

mien miːn n Bear­ing or man­ner, espe­cial­ly as it reveals an inner state of mind: bear­ing, pres­ence, manner

affa­bil­i­ty ˌæfəˈbɪləti n A dis­po­si­tion to be friend­ly and approach­able: friend­li­ness, warmth, good humour

Hein­rich Cor­nelius Agrip­pa ⇒ A Ger­man Renais­sance poly­math, physi­cian, legal schol­ar, sol­dier, knight, the­olo­gian, and occult writer. Agrippa’s Three Books of Occult Phi­los­o­phy pub­lished in 1533 drew heav­i­ly upon Kab­bal­ah, Her­meti­cism, and neo-Pla­ton­ism. His book was wide­ly influ­en­tial among eso­teri­cists of the ear­ly mod­ern peri­od, and was con­demned as hereti­cal by the inquisi­tor of Cologne.

inde­fati­ga­ble ˌɪndɪˈfætɪɡəbᵊl adj Show­ing sus­tained enthu­si­as­tic action with unflag­ging vital­i­ty: tire­less, inexhaustible

to a great degree ⇒ To a con­sid­er­able extent; immea­sur­ably, exceedingly

erro­neous­ly ɪˈrəʊniəs­li adv In a mis­tak­en man­ner: mis­tak­en­ly

scarce­ly ˈskeəs­li adv Not quite, almost not: bare­ly, hardly

pre­sump­tion prɪˈzʌm­pʃᵊn n An assump­tion that is tak­en for grant­ed: giv­en, precondition

affec­ta­tion æfɛkˈteɪʃᵊn n A delib­er­ate pre­tence or exag­ger­at­ed dis­play: pre­ten­sion, pre­ten­tious­ness, arti­fi­cial­i­ty, insin­cer­i­ty, pos­tur­ing, posing

prej­u­dice ˈprɛʤədɪs n An opin­ion formed before­hand, esp an unfavourable one based on inad­e­quate facts: bias, pre­con­cep­tion

def­er­ence ˈdɛfərəns n Cour­te­ous regard for people’s feel­ings: respect, respect­ful­ness

on that account ⇒ Because of that.

pecu­liar pɪˈkjuːliə adj Not nor­mal, unusu­al or eccen­tric; dis­tinct from all oth­ers: queer, curi­ous, fun­ny, weird, unusu­al, quaint

neglect nɪˈglɛkt v To fail to care for or attend to prop­er­ly: dis­re­gard

but bʌt adv (Archa­ic) Mere­ly; just; only.

pet­ty ˈpɛti n Infe­ri­or in rank or sta­tus: junior-grade, low­er-rank­ing, sub­al­tern, low­ly, secondary

derange dɪˈreɪnʤ v To put out of prop­er order: dis­arrange, dis­or­der, dis­turb, mess up, upset

to take leave ⇒ To depart. In this usage, a per­son­al pro­noun is used between take and leave.