Chapter 15 — Teaching Companion

What it asks It asks the student to weigh how far the creature is made by others and how far he makes himself. Reading Plutarch, he comes to admire “peaceable lawgivers” over conquerors, and he credits the “patriarchal lives of my protectors” for it. Had his first teacher been a soldier, he says, he “should have been imbued with different sensations”. He calls himself “unformed in mind”, and he reads all three books “as a true history”, so each goes into him as fact. The student decides how much of the self he carries to the cottage door is his own. The answer should stay with this chapter and not borrow what he does later in the book.

One reading

Very little, and he says so himself. The cottage was “the only school” where he studied people, and its gentle lives made Plutarch’s peacemakers his heroes. He leans toward Werter’s opinions and weeps at his death “without precisely understanding it”. The gentle voice De Lacey will hear is the cottage’s work as much as his.

• The cottage of my protectors had been the only school in which I had studied human nature
• I inclined towards the opinions of the hero, whose extinction I wept, without precisely understanding it.

Another reading

More than he admits. Others give him the stories, but he chooses which ones to see himself in: he applies what he reads to his own case, and he picks Satan over Adam as “the fitter emblem”. He resolves not to despair and spends months fitting himself for the meeting. At the end, struck by Felix, the choice is his alone: “I refrained.”

• As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and condition.
• I resolved, at least, not to despair, but in every way to fit myself for an interview with them which would decide my fate.

Listen for

• Notices “perhaps”: the soldier is his own guess, not something the chapter proves.
• Notices that he calls himself “unformed in mind” and the cottage “the only school” he had.
• Finds the places where he does choose: which likeness fits him, when to make the visit, whether to strike back at Felix.
• Carries the question to the door: if the cottage made his gentle words, whose words does De Lacey hear?

If stuck

• What does Plutarch teach him to admire, and what does he say caused that?
• What does he think a soldier would have taught him instead?
• Where in the chapter does he decide something for himself?

A strong answer A strong response takes a measure and grounds it. One reader says very little was his to choose: the cottage was “the only school” he had, and he says himself that a soldier would have filled him with “different sensations”. Another says more than he admits: he chooses which story fits him, chooses to wait and prepare, and at the end chooses to hold back from Felix. The best answers carry the question to the cottage door, where De Lacey trusts the words and the family fears the form, and ask how much of either was his own.

What it asks It asks the student to look into a feeling he confesses about the people he loves. He calls the family his “protectors” and his “friends”, and he yearns “to be known and loved” by them. Yet he says that “like him”, like Satan, he feels envy when he sees “the bliss of my protectors”. The student decides what the envy is reaching for. The question keeps the envy in the lesson, so the creature is neither a saint nor a devil. Satan is his own way of reading himself, not the novel’s verdict.

One reading

To be let in. The envy and the love are one hunger. He wants their happiness by being part of it, and that hunger drives the whole plan: he watches more closely, longs for their “sweet looks”, and fixes on a way to enter the cottage. Envy here is the wish to be inside a warm room he can see from the cold.

• my heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures
• My attention at this time was solely directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my protectors.

Another reading

Something the cottage cannot give. What he envies is that their joys depend “on each other”: they have each other, and he has no one like himself. His daydream is of “amiable and lovely creatures” who share his thoughts, and he wakes to “no Eve”. He also has no Creator who answers. The family can offer kindness, but not that, and an envy like this has no cure inside the cottage.

• their joys, depending on each other, were not interrupted by the casualties that took place around them.
• But it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone.

Listen for

• Notices that he chooses Satan, not Adam, as “the fitter emblem of my condition”, and that envy is his reason.
• Notices that the envy comes from watching “the bliss of my protectors”: the people he loves are the ones he envies.
• Notices that their feelings were “serene and peaceful, while mine became every day more tumultuous”.
• Does not turn the envy into a threat to the family; the chapter shows him envying, not harming.

If stuck

• What does he feel when he watches the family, besides love?
• Which figure in Paradise Lost does he say fits him better, and why?
• What do the cottagers have that he says he lacks?

A strong answer A strong response names what the envy wants and grounds it. One reader says it wants to be let in: the same longing that makes him envy their bliss makes him plan, for months, a way “to be known and loved” by them. Another says it wants what no cottage can give: joys that depend “on each other”, an Eve, a Creator who answers. The best answers hold the love and the envy together and notice that he tells this on himself.

What it asks It asks the student to follow a turn in the creature’s own reasoning. Reading Victor’s journal, he finds “the minutest description” of his body, set down in his maker’s horror, and he cries, “Accursed creator!” Then he sets Victor beside God. In his telling, God made man “after his own image”, and made him beautiful “in pity”; his own form is “a filthy type” of Victor’s, “more horrid even from the very resemblance.” The student decides why being like a man makes him worse to look at, not better. The comparison with God is the creature’s, not the novel’s verdict.

One reading

Because he is almost one of them. A strange beast is only strange, but a near-man is measured against men and falls short at every point. He feels this as he reads, before the journal names it: he is like the people in his books and “strangely unlike” them at once. Each human feature he has points to the ones he lacks.

• I found myself similar yet at the same time strangely unlike to the beings concerning whom I read
• My person was hideous and my stature gigantic.

Another reading

Because the likeness is to Victor. God made man in his own image and made him beautiful; Victor made a copy of himself with no such care, and then could not bear to look at it. The body is a picture of its maker that its maker turned from. The resemblance makes the ugliness a charge against Victor, and that is why the cry is a curse.

• my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance.
• Why did you form a monster so hideous that even _you_ turned from me in disgust?

Listen for

• Notices whose image he is: “a filthy type of yours”, a copy of Victor, not of man in general.
• Notices “even _you_”: the stress falls on his maker, the last one who should have turned away.
• Links the cry to his reading: “similar yet at the same time strangely unlike”.
• Carries it to the door: what Felix, Agatha and Safie see is a shape like a man’s, clinging to the old man’s knees.

If stuck

• What does the journal describe, and whose horror does it show?
• In his telling, whose image is man made in, and whose image is he made in?
• Which is harder to look at, a strange animal or something that is almost a man? Why?

A strong answer A strong response gives the resemblance a reason and grounds it. One reader says he is worse because he is nearly one of us: he is “similar yet at the same time strangely unlike”, so every eye measures him against a man and finds him short. Another says the likeness is to Victor: his form is “a filthy type of yours”, a copy its own maker turned from in disgust, so the body itself accuses the one who made it. The best answers carry this to the cottage door, where the family see a shape like a man’s at the old man’s knees, and ask what the likeness does to their eyes.

What it asks It asks the student to account for the creature’s collapse at the one question his plan had to meet. Everything has gone as he hoped: De Lacey has let him in, heard him out and offered help. Then the old man asks for “the names and residence of those friends”. The creature calls it “the moment of decision”, struggles “vainly for firmness”, sinks on the chair and sobs aloud. Only the young ones’ steps outside force the answer from him. The student decides what breaks him here, at the point of success, and not earlier. The card must not say how De Lacey would have answered.

One reading

Fear. The names are the one fact the plan held back, and saying them stakes everything on one answer. He has felt this before: that same day, setting out from the hovel, his limbs failed him and he sank to the ground. The nearer the trial comes, the less his body holds.

• This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to rob me of or bestow happiness on me for ever.
• yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my limbs failed me and I sank to the ground.

Another reading

The kindness. He came ready for prejudice and met kindness instead, for the first time in his life. The question about names comes from a man who wants to help, and answering it means testing that kindness against the old man’s own family. He has more to lose now than when he knocked.

• From your lips first have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me
• You raise me from the dust by this kindness

Listen for

• Notices what fails him: the plan staked everything on his words, and at “the moment of decision” the words will not come.
• Notices the echo of earlier that day at the hovel, when his “limbs failed” him and he sank to the ground.
• Notices how much has just gone right: the offer of help, and “my best and only benefactor”.
• Notices that he names the family only when the steps outside leave him no time: “Now is the time!”

If stuck

• What does De Lacey ask just before the creature breaks down?
• What has the old man already said and offered him?
• What happened to him when he first set out from the hovel that day, and why might it happen again here?

A strong answer A strong response names what undoes him and why at this moment. One reader says fear: the names are the fact the plan kept back, and saying them is, in his words, “the moment of decision”, so his strength fails as it failed at the hovel that day. Another says the kindness: he came ready for prejudice and heard “the voice of kindness” instead, so he now has more to lose than when he knocked. The best answers notice that he names the family only when the steps outside leave him no choice.

What it asks It asks the student to test the old man’s own maxim against the end of the chapter. By his fire, De Lacey tells the stranger that hearts free of “obvious self-interest” are full of love. Soon after, the door opens and Felix, Agatha and Safie see the visitor “to whose knees I clung”. Agatha faints, Safie runs out, and Felix tears him away and strikes him. The student decides what blocks the brotherly love De Lacey promised. The chapter gives no line of Felix’s thoughts, so the card should not make him a villain.

One reading

Love for the old man. What Felix sees is a giant gripping his blind father’s knees. If anything like “self-interest” is at work, it is his family’s safety, and that is love, not hatred. De Lacey’s maxim does not cover the moment, because the moment calls for protection, not charity.

• Felix darted forward, and with supernatural force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung
• the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are full of brotherly love and charity.

Another reading

The sight itself. All three react before a word is spoken: one faints, one flees, one strikes. That is the “fatal prejudice” the creature predicted. Here it is not self-interest but the eyes, and the maxim never reckoned with eyes.

• Who can describe their horror and consternation on beholding me?
• but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable monster.

Listen for

• Notices what Felix sees from the doorway, “on beholding me”: a stranger clinging to his blind father’s knees.
• Notices that the three react differently (faint, flight, blow) and does not treat them as one.
• Notices the word the two men share: De Lacey speaks of hearts “unprejudiced” by self-interest, and the creature of “a fatal prejudice”.
• Notices that De Lacey speaks from his own case: “I and my family have been condemned, although innocent”.

If stuck

• What does De Lacey say about the hearts of men?
• What do Felix, Agatha and Safie see as they come in?
• What might Felix believe is happening to his father?

A strong answer A strong response names the obstacle and tests the maxim with it. One reader says love for the old man: Felix sees a giant at his blind father’s knees, and his “self-interest” is his family’s safety. Another says the sight: all three react to his form “on beholding me”, before a word is said, which is the prejudice the creature foretold. The best answers keep Felix human, and ask whether the old man’s maxim was ever made for this.

What it asks It asks the student to judge the plan the creature spent a winter making. He saw that “the unnatural hideousness” of his person caused the horror he met, and that his voice “had nothing terrible in it”. So he chose to enter when the blind man was alone, win his good will, and through him be “tolerated” by the rest. In the talk he says his friends are “French”, asks to “change the subject”, and names them only as the young ones’ steps sound outside. The student builds a thesis on how fair the plan is to the old man, meets the strongest objection, and revises.

One reading

Fair. It is the only way he can be heard at all, and he says nothing false: he was taught by a French family, his life has been “harmless”, and he has done the family months of kindness. Choosing a listener who cannot see is choosing a fair hearing, not a trick. De Lacey offers his help freely.

• 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 Lacey, I might by his means be tolerated by my younger protectors.
• I have good dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless and in some degree beneficial

Another reading

Unfair. The plan depends on the man’s blindness and on his ignorance. De Lacey asks him to “unreservedly confide” his tale, and he holds back the one fact that matters most. The old man promises help for friends who live nearby, and only then learns they are his own family, so his kindness is used before he knows what it has been asked to do.

• If you will unreservedly confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in undeceiving them.
• But let us change the subject.

Listen for

• Notices that the plan is his own judgment: he had “sagacity enough” to see that his form, not his voice, frightened people.
• Notices that most of what he says is true, tests that against his first words at the door, “a traveller in want of a little rest”, and asks whether keeping back the names is the same as lying.
• Notices that he puts off the meeting for months, out of “a dread lest I should fail”.
• Weighs his choice to name the family at last, when the steps sound outside and “Now is the time!”

If stuck

• Why does he choose to speak to De Lacey when the others are out?
• What does he tell the old man about his friends, and what does he leave out?
• When De Lacey offers help, does he know who the friends are?

A strong answer A strong thesis takes a position on fairness and argues it from the page. A student might argue that the plan is fair: nearly every word he speaks is true, his voice is the one part of him that cannot frighten, and a blind listener gives him the hearing his face never could. The strongest objection is that the old man is asked to “unreservedly confide” his trust while the stranger keeps back his own secret, and that the plan works only because De Lacey cannot see. A good revision might say the plan is honest in word and less so in design, and that the creature, who calls the family’s view “a fatal prejudice”, built his hope on a listener who could not share it.

What it asks It asks the student to account for a sentence the creature chooses to tell his maker. Felix tears him from his father, dashes him to the ground and strikes him with a stick. The creature says he could have torn Felix apart, “as the lion rends the antelope”, and that his heart sank “as with bitter sickness” and he “refrained”. He tells this to Victor, the maker whose journal he has just handed back. The student builds a thesis on why he includes the sentence, meets the strongest objection, and revises. He hurts no one in this chapter, and the card must not read later violence into it.

One reading

To prove his goodness. The restraint is the evidence for everything he told De Lacey about his “good dispositions”. Struck and beaten, he holds back a strength far greater than Felix’s. He wants Victor to know what Felix could not see: the creature at the door was dangerous and chose not to be.

• I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope.
• But my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained.

Another reading

To let his maker feel his power. He is speaking to the man who made him and fled, and he chooses a hunter’s image, the lion and the antelope. The sentence admits the fury as well as the restraint, and a listener who made this body hears both. It tells Victor what the creature could do as much as what he did.

• Accursed creator!
• I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope.

Listen for

• Notices the simile: a lion and an antelope, a hunter and its prey.
• Notices that he does not strike back, and that he leaves “overcome by pain and anguish”.
• Notices who is listening: the maker he cursed earlier in the chapter.
• Does not claim he hurts anyone, or read later chapters into this one.

If stuck

• What does Felix do to the creature?
• What does the creature say he could have done, and what does he do?
• Who is he telling this story to, and what has he already said about him?

A strong answer A strong thesis gives the sentence a purpose and defends it. A student might argue that he tells it to prove his goodness: beaten by a weaker man, he “refrained”, which is the clearest proof of the “good dispositions” he claimed by the fire. The strongest objection is that he tells it to the maker he called “Accursed creator!”, in a predator’s image, so the sentence shows his power as much as his mercy. A good revision might hold both: the restraint is real and on the page, and so is the fury he wants Victor to hear he mastered.

What it asks It asks the chapter’s whole question. De Lacey, who cannot see, judges by words and finds “something in your words which persuades me that you are sincere”. Felix, Agatha and Safie see a giant at the old man’s knees, and they faint, flee and strike. The student builds a thesis on who sees him more truly, tests it against the strongest other reading, and revises. The chapter does not say De Lacey would have taken him in; the talk breaks off at “Who are you?”

One reading

De Lacey. He hears what the creature has become in a year of watching and reading: a mind that speaks with feeling, means them no harm, and has done the family months of hidden kindness. The others see only the body the journal described. The restraint at the end confirms the old man: struck, the creature refrains.

• I am blind and cannot judge of your countenance, but there is something in your words which persuades me that you are sincere.
• But my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained.

Another reading

Neither, or the family more than it seems. De Lacey hears only what the creature has prepared for him, a plan built on his blindness, and he never hears of the envy or the curse. The creature confesses that “the bitter gall of envy” rose in him, and he names Satan as his likeness. The family sees a real fact the old man cannot: the strength that could have torn Felix “limb from limb”. The old man’s last words, “Who are you?”, admit he does not yet know.

• 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.
• ‘Great God!’ exclaimed the old man. ‘Who are you?’

Listen for

• Says what seeing him truly means: true to his words and deeds, to his body, or to his whole self, envy included.
• Notices that the old man’s judgment rests on a plan made for a blind listener, and that De Lacey speaks from his own case (“condemned, although innocent”).
• Notices that the family’s judgment is made in an instant, by sight, and that the page gives no line of Felix’s thoughts.
• Keeps clear of saying De Lacey would have taken him in, or what became of the family.

If stuck

• What does De Lacey know about the visitor, and how does he know it?
• What do Felix, Agatha and Safie know, and how?
• What does the creature tell Victor about himself that neither De Lacey nor the family ever learns?

A strong answer A strong thesis takes a side and earns it. A student might argue that De Lacey sees more truly: he judges the words, and the words are true to a year of kindness, a fact the creature’s restraint under Felix’s blows confirms. The strongest objection is that the old man hears only what was prepared for a blind man, while the creature himself confesses envy, takes Satan as his likeness and curses his maker, and the family sees a strength that is really there. A good revision might say each sees a true part and neither the whole, and that the old man’s last words, “Who are you?”, are the chapter’s own admission that no one at the door yet knows.