That is, in the morning.

Mary Shelley is so insistent on this point that she has Walton repeat it to Victor
Frankenstein (I:L4:6), whose formal education, by contrast, is extensive. It could
be that she is trying to make a point about the primacy of moral education or the
essential importance, in a novelistic tradition one associates with Henry Fielding,
of a good heart. But it is more likely that she is establishing a perspective by which
to engage larger questions concerning the means and ends of education. Victor Frankenstein's
Creature is also self-educated and likewise has his identity strongly molded by what
he happens to read.

Victor's education to this point reveals him to be a strong but indulgent student,
well-trained in languages and mathematics, undirected in the sciences (I:1:26).

Victor has been laid up by his illness for some five to six months and feels himself
reborn by the season. In the meantime, his Creature has been through a similarly confining
experience and reacts to the arrival of his first spring with a like elation: see
II:4:19.

In Geneva Mary Shelley hired a local nursemaid for her son William named Louise Duvillard,
who would remain with the Shelley family until 1818, when she left them to marry in
Naples. William Frankenstein's sweetheart bears her first name, and this rich banker
her second. To some extent Justine Moritz may be modeled on her.

As the subsequent paragraph will bear out, here begin conflicting claims of duty that
Victor will be unable to sort out.

Suddenly Elizabeth has her gender role thrust upon her, and the reader cannot but
be conscious that it is a subordinate one. At the same time, the discipline with which
she reacts to this family crisis clearly elicits Victor's respect, and with his follows
the reader's.

Emphasized here and twice repeated in the succeeding paragraph, the notion of duty
will assume a problematic but highly important position throughout Frankenstein. Its
characters are repeatedly cited in terms of the obligations for which they are held
responsible, and on occasion they even find themselves confronted with a disturbing
conflict when multiple duties interact or appear to contradict one another.

The phrase demonizes the Creature, lending him the aura of an otherworldly existence.
The overwrought language of this paragraph, appropriate as it may be to Victor's hysterical
condition, is one of the few times in the novel where Mary Shelley indulges in the
stock properties of the Gothic. By its melodramatic indulgence it testifies, if only
in contrast, to the general stylistic restraint with which Mary Shelley vests her
novel.

Drawing was a customary component of a standard gentlewoman's education in the late
eighteenth century: cf. Mary Wollstonecraft's Vindication, Chapter 12. The oddity
of its being here singled out as Elizabeth's concern is that it was not a component
of Mary Shelley's Godwinian education. On the other hand, perhaps we are to understand
that this is Victor speaking, not Mary Shelley. This, then, could be another aspect
of the inherently sexist categorizing in which he engages.