Peter Ackroyd - The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein

So many impressions crowded in upon me that the night seemed to stretch into infinity. I had never anticipated that the effects of the electrical fluid would take so profound and terrifying a form. I had proved beyond doubt that the fluid could reanimate a human corpse, but in so unexpected and awful a fashion that I had become afraid of my own handiwork. I had become afraid of myself, so to speak, afraid of what I might accomplish and afraid of what I might witness. What other secrets might be revealed to me, as I pursued my strange experiment?

A little reflection, however, brought me to my senses. The murmur of the Thames soothed me. The mist had lifted, and the outlines of the city became apparent. It was close to dawn. I had worked all night. The round of existence would soon begin anew and, with the feeling of the immensity of London coming to life, my own strength was resumed and confirmed. There was much for me to do.

I WAS DOZING BY THE FIRESIDE, in my apartments at Jermyn Street, when I was roused by a sudden rapping at the street door. I scarcely had time to prepare myself when Fred came into the room. “Ever so much beg your pardon, sir, but there is a Fish to see you.”

“Whatever are you saying, Fred?”

“That’s what I asked him, sir. But he kept on saying, ‘Fish, Fish.’ I told him we had a fishmonger just down the street.”

At that moment Bysshe rushed into the room, bursting past Fred and embracing me with all the fervour and animation I remembered.

“My dear fellow,” I said, “I thought you were living in the North.”

“I have returned to warmer climes, Victor. To my friends.” He stepped back and looked at me. “Are you angry with me?”

“I was. Yes. I admit. Very. But now that I see you, I cannot be angry.”

“I am glad of it. You know, Victor, I can return the fifty guineas. My dreaded father has paid my allowance.”

“No need. No need at all.”

He resumed his gaze at me for a moment. “Why did you not write to me that you were ill?”

“ Ill? I have never felt better in my life. I am in perfect health.” He seemed perplexed. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Bysshe.”

“There is a change in your countenance, Victor. I cannot be deceived in that.”

“Well. Youth turns to age. Think no more of it.” I tried to remain cheerful and composed. “Where are you staying in London?”

“Harriet and I have found rooms in Soho. Back to our old haunts, Victor.”

“And how is Harriet?”

“She is well. She is thriving.” He laughed. “She is swelling in the most peculiar manner.”

“Do you mean-?” He nodded. “Very well done, Bysshe!”

“I am not the one to be congratulated. It is the woman who carries the burden. But I must confess to some pride in creating life.”

“It must be an exhilarating sensation.”

“I am reciting poetry to the unborn babe, Victor, so that in the womb it will become accustomed to sweet sounds. And Harriet sings lullabies. She swears that it soothes the child.”

Fred knocked upon the door, and entered the room with a flask of brandy spirit. “It has struck five,” he said.

Bysshe looked at the liquor in surprise. “You drink brandy now, Victor?”

“It soothes the child. Will you join me? We will raise a glass to companionship.”

Bysshe was eager to explain his schemes of future happiness. He wished to start a little community in Wales devoted to the principles of equality and justice; he was intent upon writing an epic poem on the subject of the legendary Arthur; he wished to travel to Ireland to assist in the project for freedom. I understood that he had found a new favourite in Mr. Godwin, the philosopher. He had sought him out, and had already visited him in a charming house in Somers Town. Then once more he gave me a quick, watchful glance. “And you, Victor, what is your news?”

“I am experimenting still. I am testing the capacity of the electrical fluid. I am measuring its strength.”

“Wonderful! You are going to its limits, as we used to discuss?”

“I remember that we used to speak of electrical kites and balloons. I am not so much in the air now, Bysshe. I am in the earth.” I had no desire to explain my work, until it had reached a successful conclusion, and so I discussed with him the generalities of electrical science. He was as impetuous, and as eager to learn, as he had always been. I had never encountered anyone who was so filled with animated and spirited life.

“You will come and visit us then?” he asked me as he was about to take his leave. “Harriet will be overjoyed to see you.”

“Of course. Whenever you wish.”

He embraced me, and a few moments later I heard his light rapid steps upon the stairs. I heard him speaking to Fred, but could not understand what he said. I went to the window and looked down into Jermyn Street; he was walking quickly through the throng, but then he glanced up at my window. For some reason I stepped back.

Fred came in to clear away the glasses. “That friend of yours,” he said, “is curious enough. He asked me if you were in good health. I say yes. He asked if you were eating well. I say yes. He asked if you was drinking. I say yes and no. Then he opens the door for himself, although I was right behind him, and then he rushes out like a squib.”

“What do you mean, Fred, yes and no?”

“Yes, he drinks. And no, he don’t drink in that way.” He pretended to stagger and fall.

“It is good of you to say so.”

“Thank you, sir. I do my best.”

I HAD NO INTENTION of visiting Bysshe and Harriet while my work continued. I could no more prepare myself for society than if I had spent the past months in the frozen wastes of the Arctic. Ever since the resurrectionists had first visited me at Limehouse they had plied a busy trade. I had more need than ever of their services since I was intent upon testing every fibre and muscle of the human frame for its electrical potential. I had learned that the muscles of the leg were at first most resistant to the power, but that a slight repositioning of the metal strip above the tarsal bone worked wonders with movement and flexibility. The bones and ligaments of the human hand were highly responsive to the electrical fluid, and I discovered that a slight contact with the various carpal bones set off a frenzy of fluttering and trembling. The carotidal and vertebral arteries were also a source of much satisfaction to me, being highly delicate and flexible when charged. So by degrees I devised an electrical map of the human body.

I had more success than I expected on the transplantation of limbs. I believed that all the emanations of the human body possessed an innate living principle, seeking as well as manifesting life, taking energy and animation from whatever source was available. The late John Hunter had excelled at what he called the transplanting of teeth, from the mouth of a healthy young sweep to the decaying jaw of a London merchant, and I saw no reason to deny the principle to the arm or to the leg. In the Limehouse workshop I removed two arms from the body of a young man by means of surgical amputation, and then quickly stitched them onto the torso of an elderly specimen who, as Boothroyd informed me, had expired of the dropsy. When I applied the electrical charge the hands and forearms worked as if they were in perfect order, with no sign of dropsical trembling; he continued to clench his fists, and raise his palms outward, for the duration of the experiment. When I repeated the procedure, I observed the same movements executed with a slight increase of motion. I was curious to see the extent of the change if I altered the rate and rapidity of the charge, and to my surprise the hands began to communicate with each other-so to speak-by the touching of the fingertips. There was a defined pattern of movement, so much like sign language that I had the strangest sensation of being signalled by the cadaver in front of me. Was it possible that the young man, whose hands and arms had been severed, was skilled in the gestures of the dumb?