Peter Ackroyd - The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein

THEN, TWO WEEKS LATER, I received another letter. I recognised the handwriting on the envelope to be Mary’s, but it was so scrawled and strained that I knew that it contained fearful news:

There is something I cannot say. And I can barely express it in words. Shelley is dead. He was drowned at sea. He died with a companion, in a boat that has not yet been found. They had set sail from Livorno into the Gulf of Spezia, when by all accounts they were overwhelmed by a sudden summer storm.

Her letter broke off at this juncture, but then at some later time she resumed it on a separate sheet.

Yesterday he was recovered. He had been washed onto the shore, near the mouth of the Serchio river, two miles from here. Lord Byron formally recognised the body. I could not do it. Bysshe was wearing the double-breasted jacket and nankeen trousers he purchased in Geneva. Do you remember them? The officials here demanded that he should be buried where he was found, with his grave filled with quicklime, but Byron and I revolted at such a coarse procedure. For once I felt grateful to Byron for assuming the manner and authority of lordship. We were given permission to cremate poor Bysshe on the sea-shore. Two servants of the house, together with Byron, built up a funeral pyre on the beach. It was a day of bright sun. How I wish you had been with me, Victor, during these last rites. We placed Bysshe on the flames, and Byron poured wine, salt and frankincense on the conflagration. I could not look, but Byron plunged his hand into the fire and took out Bysshe’s heart still intact. He means to bury the ashes in the Protestant cemetery at Rome, but I could not endure any further time in this country. I must leave. And there is an end of all but despair.

THE DEATH OF MY COMPANION had so thoroughly unnerved me that for two days I lost all sensation of living. I do not know how I conducted myself, or where I travelled; I awoke in soiled linen and, as far as I am aware, I did not eat. I believe that Polidori avoided me, in consideration of my grief, but on the third morning he knocked upon the door of my study.

“Mary is returning next week,” he said. “Here is a note from Byron.”

The imminent return of Mary roused me from my stupor. For some reason inexplicable to myself, I wished to destroy the creature before she arrived in England: I did not allow myself to suppose that there was any real threat to her, as there had been to Harriet and Martha, but I wanted to be free of that foul burden before I saw Mary again. I wished to protect her in her grief-and, perhaps, to console her. How could I perform such a task with the creature still alive? I had in any case reached the pitch of my experiments, when success now seemed to me to be assured. By the use of conducting wires, and a series of metal plates placed at variable levels and degrees of inclination, I had at last been able to alter the direction and strength of the electrical fluid. I had tried the experiment on a stray dog, tranquillised by ether, and it had immediately expired under the charge.

For an extravagant sum I now purchased a Barbary ape from a sailor in Wapping: I could not test my theory upon my fellow beings, and I believed that the ape was the closest to our species for the purposes of experiment. I tranquillised it with ether, as before, and after securing it upon the table with leather straps I subjected it to the electrical charge. It was thrown into severe convulsions, with many spasms and contortions, and expired after sixteen seconds. Then I applied the charge again: even as I watched the body began to decay, the skin shrivelling and the flesh dissolving. The stench was terrible, but I was determined to see the experiment to the end. I administered a further shock, and very soon the body was reduced to a skeleton; then the bones themselves began to fragment until they crumbled into dust. I had succeeded.

I LEFT LIMEHOUSE in a state of exaltation. I was sure that my long bondage to the creature was now at an end. I walked down the highway, past the small streets where those in search of strange sights and sensations were always to be found. I walked in perfect safety. I turned a corner and, glancing quickly to my right, I saw Polidori. He was standing in the shadows, but he was perfectly recognisable to me. In my mood of triumph I decided to make a chase of it. I stood in the street and gave him ample time to notice me. Then I walked with rapid step towards Ratcliff and Whitechapel, and threaded my way through the narrow streets that comprise the neighbourhood. I believed that I could hear footsteps somewhere behind me; so I turned into an alley, and waited. When Polidori passed me I stepped out and took him by the arm. “Good evening,” I said. “I see that we frequent the same neighbourhood.”

He turned towards me, and became quite still. “Perhaps I am in search of adventure?”

“No. You are in search of me.”

He was silent for a moment. “You interest me, Victor, I admit it. You have an understanding altogether more vast than mere-”

“So you have gone through my papers, as I suspected. Is it not so?” I no longer cared to conceal anything. “What have you seen?”

“Wonderful things. But I cannot find the key.”

“And I hold the key. That is why you follow me.”

He had recovered his self-possession. “I told you that I wish to know your secrets. I believe that you are conducting, performing, how shall I put it, something unusual?”

He had found the proper opportunity. My exhilaration and sense of achievement were such that I might have cried them aloud in the streets. “Mine is a strange case,” I said.

“I knew it.”

“You will not believe me.”

“There is conviction on your face. That is enough for me.”

“Not conviction. But triumph. We cannot speak here.” I must have been perspiring very freely, for my clothes were quite wet.

I hailed a cab and we made our way to Jermyn Street. We sat in my study. I could hardly wait to tell the story of my success.

“Mine is a strange case. I don’t think there has ever been a stranger. I believe it to be unique.”

“Are you being serious, Frankenstein?”

“I dare say you will be ready to laugh at me.”

“Not at all. I want to understand you.”

“Oh, then you would have to go a long way back.” I told him then the whole story of my experiments. Throughout the long discourse, he said nothing. He was observing me in the most unusual way. “I can assure you, Polidori, that what I have told you is true and exact. Every stage of the proceedings is as I have outlined.”

When I paused, having told him of the first awakening of the creature, he leaned forward and whispered: “So this thing lived? Is that what you are telling me?” He put his hand to his forehead, in a gesture of extreme astonishment. His eyes were very wide.

I nodded. Then I added, in a low voice, “It still lives.” Polidori looked around the room in terror. “No. Not here. It lives on the estuary of the river. Away from human habitation.”

“You have seen it again?”

“Wait until I have reached the end of my story.” Then I told him the tale of Harriet Westbrook, and of the unlawful condemnation of her brother for her killing. I wept throughout the narrative, for in truth up to this time I had done my utmost to suppress it from my thoughts. Then I related to him the abduction and murder of the servant, Martha, beside the river at Marlow. I began to tell him the history of the creature’s subsequent visits to me. “It threatened me,” I said, “with such dreadful-” I stopped, and found myself to be shaking.