The clip Mary Shelley's story from Bride of Frankenstein (1935) with Gavin Gordon, Douglas Walton
How beautifully dramatic.
The crudest, savage, exhibition of nature at her worst, without,
and we three, we elegant three, within.
I should like to think that an irate Jehovah
was pointing those arrows of lightning directly at my head.
The unbowed head of George Gordon, Lord Byron, England's greatest sinner.
But I cannot flatter myself to that extent.
Possibly those thunders are for our dear Shelley.
Heaven's applause for England's greatest poet.
What of my Mary?
She is an angel.
You think so?
Come, Mary. Come and watch the storm.
You know how lightning alarms me.
Shelley, darling, will you please light these candles for me?
I, Lord Byron?
Frightened of thunder, fearful of the dark.
And yet you have written a tale that sent my blood into icy creeps.
Look at her, Shelley. Can you believe that lovely brow conceived of Frankenstein?
A monster created from cadavers out of rifled graves.
Isn't it astonishing?
I don't know why you should think so.
What do you expect?
Such an audience needs something stronger than a pretty little love story.
So why shouldn't I write of monsters?