Peter Ackroyd - The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein

“I was in my last year at Eton, living in Dr. Bethel’s house. The name will mean nothing to you, but I mention it here in a desire to be accurate. One evening in one of my restless wanderings I left the school and the town far behind, and found myself walking by the river in the vicinity of Datchet. I came upon a small boathouse here, that had an open gallery on two sides-it was a most curious construction, of which I still have a vivid recollection. It was quite deserted, and the boat itself was gone; I assumed therefore that the owner had decided to embark upon an evening voyage, and I sat down in the gallery to enjoy the silence and seclusion of this restful spot. Who knows what dreams took hold of me? I only know that, in this portion of my life, I delighted in wild fancies and ideas that were only half-formed. My mind was the sky through which clouds passed. Then, after some time taken up in this idle but inexpressibly delightful pursuit, I heard the splash of oars in the water. I sprang up from the gallery and went down to the bank; the sound of the craft came nearer, and I put my hand above my eyes to see it more clearly as it made its way past a small island in the middle of the river. It was a white boat, as purely white as any I had ever seen. Its rower had turned away, looking upstream; he seemed absent-mindedly to move the oars, as the boat drifted gently towards the bank. And then he turned to face me. It was my own image, my double, my second self, staring at me. It opened its mouth, and its words were, ‘How long do you intend to remain content?’ I swooned upon the bank. When I awoke the boat, and its occupant, had gone. The boathouse had vanished. I was lying beside an utterly unoccupied part of the river. So, you see, I shrieked when I heard the words from the coffin in Whitby. It reminded me so forcibly of that moment in my life.”

“You have never told me this before,” Mary said.

“I have never told anyone. I do not know why I am telling you all now. It was the surprise of it, I suppose.”

“Well now, you see,” Byron said, “how our own stories are more interesting than the German tales.” He went over to Bysshe. “That is the most interesting case of the doppelganger I have ever heard. Do you recall if, at the moment it was most alert, you felt weak?”

“I was close to fainting. And then I fell.”

“Precisely. The double image always saps the strength of its source. No doubt it will appear to you again, Shelley. It may offer you advice or counsel. Do not listen to it. It is sure to deceive you.”

“It has no shadow,” Mary added. “At least that is what I have read.”

“Be sure not to confuse it with your husband.” Byron was laughing. “There would be the devil of a row.”

“Who is to say what is true and what is false?” she replied.

“Mary was about to describe her story to us,” I said. “It was concerned with the unhallowed arts. Am I correct, Mary?”

“No. I will say no more about it. I will brood upon it, Victor. I will nourish it secretly, until it is ready to enter the world.” She got up from the table, and walked over to the window. “These storms will never cease.”

“You can sit beneath the awning on the balcony,” Bysshe replied to her. “Then the rain will be delightful. You will see it nourishing the earth. The garden here will be replenished.”

At that moment Polidori leaned over to me and said, in a low voice, “I meant to tell you yesterday. But there was no proper occasion. I have discovered the words for you.”

I knew at once his meaning, but I did not know his intent. “The words for the golem?”

“I have been in correspondence with my old master in Prague. He did not wish to write them down but I persuaded him that, in the interest of science, it would be a noble gesture. It is here.” From his waistcoat he took out a slip of paper. I placed it in the inside pocket of my jacket. I did not wish to look at it. Not yet.

A FEW MORNINGS LATER, Mary confessed to an alarming sensation in her stomach; she complained of a great ache accompanied by a tingling pain. Bysshe and Byron had not yet appeared, so Polidori and I sat alone with her in the dining room. She could not eat, and sat on a small sofa by the window. “There is a blockage somewhere,” Polidori told her. “The fluids are hindered. Will you allow me to help you?”

“By all means,” she replied. “Lord Byron has told me of your magnetising.”

“May I sit opposite to you? Here.” He moved a chair from the breakfast table, and brought it over to her. “Now, will you allow yourself to become quite inert? Let your arms hang by your sides. Let your head fall. Good. You are now relaxed?”

“Am I allowed to speak?”

“Of course.”

“Yes. I am relaxed.”

Polidori drew his chair close to Mary, so that their knees touched. Then he leaned over and took her arm. “I am applying a gentle friction,” he said. “Do you feel anything as yet?”

“No. Not yet. Yes. Now I do. I sense a warmth in the shape of a circle. A small coin.”

“Now, Mary, I am not being indelicate. I wish you to put your knees between mine so that we are in a manner locked together. Will you do that?”

“As long as my husband does not see us.”

“Shelley approves of my work already. Fear nothing. Where exactly is the pain?”

“Here. Just above the abdomen.”

“That is the site of the hypochondriac organ. I do not need to put my hands there. I will place them on your temples. They are well named. If you will be so kind as to lower your head. Just so.” He put his fingers to the sides of her head, and began a series of stroking movements. “What do you feel now?”

“There is a warmth in my big toe. On my right foot.”

“Well now. Visualise that warmth moving upwards through your body. See it as a fire. It will burn away the impurities as it progresses.” I was about to speak, but with a look Polidori urged me to keep my silence. “The body,” he said to her, “is made up of little magnetic centres comprising the great magnet of the human frame.” He looked at me for confirmation.

“So the electrical fluid is beginning to flow freely through me? Is that it?”

“Precisely so. Do you not feel, Mary, the warmth of the current?”

“Oh, yes.” She sighed. “The pain is dissolving.”

“It will soon pass altogether.”

“I must sleep,” she said. “I want to sleep.” She rose from the chair and, without looking at us, left the room.

Polidori looked at me, almost slyly. “She is drawn to magnetic slumber,” he said. “All of them feel the need to sleep.”

“I believe, Polidori, that you are on the wrong path. Magnetic slumber is not the cause. It is the effect. The consequence of far larger powers.”

“I do not understand you.”

“There are forces of which you know nothing.”

“Then I will be obliged if you inform me of them.”

“It is premature, Polidori.”

I believe that, from this time forward, he decided to pursue me with all the subtlety and cunning at his command. He became the hunter, I his quarry.

“At any rate, Frankenstein, will you allow me to indicate the pulses in your own body?”

“If you wish it,” I said.

“Oh, yes. Most certainly.”

When Byron came down to breakfast he found Polidori leaning over me with his hands upon my thighs. “We used to do that at Harrow,” he said, apparently not in the least surprised.

“I am instructing Frankenstein in the mysteries of magnetism.”

“Is that so? I thought you were about to bugger him. Where are the kidneys?” Byron surveyed some dishes laid out on a side-table. “And answer came there none.” He piled some smoked bacon upon a plate, and carried it over to the table. “Where shall we travel today? Where in this region will we beat a path? Tell us, Frankenstein.”