The Frankenstein Papers

by Fred Saberhagen

  My post is here. In haste, Sir, I dispatch this message. My next to you, God willing, will come from London.

  Yr Son,

  Benj Freeman

  LETTER 5

  December 28,1783

  Dear Sir & Parent—

  My inquiries so far, since arriving in London, have pretty effectively winnowed the possible Savilles down to no more than three, and of those I think only two are really good candidates for the Frankenstein connection. I of course shall continue to use all caution, as you advise, in my investigations here.

  I also plan to go, probably within the week, to Birmingham to visit Priestley. I understand that the meetings there of his Lunar Society, held always on nights of a full moon, are most interesting. There is no particular reason to connect him with Frankenstein; but in matters of philosophy Priestley is certainly one of the pre-eminent men in Britain, and any new and important discoveries in electricity, medicine, or related studies are likely to have come to his attention.

  Later_have just heard from one of the Saville families; Mrs. S., sounding very gracious in her note, states that my inquiries about the book, and on the subject of Frankenstein in general, have come to her attention. She says that she was indeed the recipient of those thrilling letters from her dear brother, Captain Walton, when he was in the ice-bound Arctic, and she wonders if I could come to tea. Apparently her own inquiries about me have already satisfied the lady that I am a gentleman in good standing, or such an invitation would never have been forthcoming. Naturally I shall accept.

  Later still_After the Saville event. The coach that called for me at my humble lodgings was impressive indeed; four matched mares, and two footmen. There is no doubt that the Savilles are immensely wealthy. Young Roger Saville, the lady's absent husband, was indeed a student at Ingolstadt during the earlier years of Frankenstein's tenure there. Quite a coincidence, then, that Frankenstein should later encounter, by accident in the Arctic, her brother's ship. But of course not impossible. Was Saville by any chance on that ship too?—he does not appear in the story. The lady dismissed that question with a pretty gesture, that seemed to say No, but really said nothing at all.

  Also says she does not know that the two men, Frankenstein and her husband, ever met, at school or elsewhere. But she does remember hearing somehow, of last summer's terrible tragedy in Geneva, where Victor became a bridegroom and a widower on the same June day.

  I have no doubt that the lady rather enjoys having a connection, at least an indirect one, with the Frankenstein affair. She is on the whole pleased with her brother's book. I suspect that the connection may be more direct than she has yet indicated directly.

  Her nautical brother is now absent also. His whereabouts are vaguely described by Mrs. Saville as somewhere at sea—she says this as if she were bored by the subject.

  One particularly interesting item revealed to me today by Mrs. S., is that the book did not tell the whole story of what happened in the Arctic. It now appears that Frankenstein, before he died, and while on Walton's ship, transferred ownership of the monster to the good captain, who so kindly tried to rescue the scientist and who so patiently listened to his story before transcribing it into letters for his sister. It was, I confess, the first time that the idea of ownership of this being, as if he were a horse or cow—or, indeed, a slave—had occurred to me. Why are we able to accept as commonplace that black Africans should be so bought and sold and owned, and yet are struck by a peculiarity in the case of this rare specimen?

  After explaining to me, as she put it, the matter of property rights, the charming Mrs. Saville (I admit I had been expecting, for some reason, to encounter a rather older woman) enquired whether I might have any knowledge of the whereabouts of Ernest Frankenstein, Victor's brother and the only surviving member of the immediate family. I could truthfully deny having the least cognizance in that matter.

  I have as yet no reason to believe that she suspects my relationship, either familial or political, with you; and I saw nothing to be gained by enlightening her, though from certain remarks made in passing, I am tolerably sure that she is sympathetic to the American cause.

  We discussed, during our meeting, several passages from the book that brought us together; I think I gained a certain new insight into several of them. Since there is some time yet tonight, I think, before I can hand this to the messenger, it might be well if I wrote down my thoughts on the subject, that you may have the benefit of them, however small.

  Consider to begin with the following speech by the monster, uttered on the occasion of his interview with his creator in the lonely mountain hut above Geneva:

  You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone can do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to concede.

  But the philosopher evidently considered that he had done enough harm with his first effort. He denied the application, saying "no torture shall ever extort a consent from me."

  "You are in the wrong," replied the fiend; "and instead of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable… You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph… you would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he contemns me?… towards you, my arch enemy, because my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred…" A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled into contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently he calmed himself and proceeded. "I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do not reflect that you are the cause of its excess… what I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of another sex, but as hideous as myself."

  The monster admitted that the "gratification" to be expected from such a mate was small.

  … but it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from the world, but on that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless and free from the misery I now feel. Oh! My creator! Make me happy; let me feel gratitude toward you for one benefit!

  Moved by the partial justice (as he now saw it) of this plea, Frankenstein wavered in his resolve. The "fiend" observed this reaction, and pressed his claim all the harder.

  If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see us again; I will go to the vast wilds of South America. My food is not that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite; acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment. My companion will be of the same nature as myself and will be content with the same fare.

  We may note here in the creature's plan a certain unguarded optimism, born perhaps of inexperience in dealing with the fairer (if that term here applies) sex.

  We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on man and will ripen our food. The picture I present to you is peaceful and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the wantonness of power and cruelty.

  But the creator was not yet entirely convinced.

  "You swear," I said (Frankenstein speaks) "to be harmless; but have you not already shown a degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust you?"

  A not unreasonable question, addressed to one who had already murdered the narrator's young brother, and then arranged matters so that another innocent victim should be executed for the crime. As for the creature's plea to have a mate:

  May not even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by affording a wider scope for your revenge?

  But further arguments by the creature wore Victor down, and eventually he allowed himself to be persuaded that the creation of a female monster would be the best way out of his predicament.

  Turning to him, therefore, I said, "I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe forever, and every other place in the neighbo
rhood of man, as soon as I shall deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile."

  "I swear," he cried, "by the sun, and by the blue sky of heaven, and by the fire of love that burns my heart, that if you grant my prayer, while they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your home and commence your labors; I shall watch their progress with unutterable anxiety, and fear not but that when you are ready I shall appear."

  Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than the flight of an eagle, and quickly he was lost among the undulations of the sea of ice.

  The scientist went home. But he did not hurry to begin his labors. Perhaps he was considering the fuller implications of the second creation, and the tribe of monsters that it might engender, though oddly such considerations receive only brief mention in the book. He relates that he "passed whole days alone on the lake in a little boat," rather avoiding the matter than thinking it over. And he debated, with his father, another matter that had long been subject to an "understanding" among the parties involved—his expected marriage to Elizabeth Lavenza.

  Alas! To me the idea of an immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror and dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise (He means to the monster, not to her—B.F.) which I had not yet fulfilled and dared not break, or, if I did, what manifold miseries might not impend over me and my devoted family! Could I enter into a festival with this deadly weight yet hanging around my neck and bowing me to the ground? I must perform my engagement and let the monster depart with his mate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from which I expected peace.

  Frankenstein declares that he had "heard of some discoveries having been made by an English philosopher," knowledge of which would be "material to his success." (It would appear, esteemed Parent, that since the first male of the monster race was constructed without the benefit of this knowledge, it must pertain particularly to the female parts.)

  To fulfill his promise, then, Frankenstein faced the necessity "of either journeying to England or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers of that country whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my present undertaking." But he considered that "the latter method of obtaining the desired intelligence" would be "dilatory and unsatisfactory."

  Besides, I had an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my loathsome task in my father's house while in habits of familiar intercourse with those I loved. I knew that a thousand fearful accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to thrill all connected with me with horror.

  Unarguable; but there was more.

  I was aware also that I should often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my unearthly occupation. I must absent myself from all I loved while thus employed.

  With these considerations in mind, Victor expressed to his father "a wish to visit England," and his father, glad to find him able to take pleasure in any plan of activity, readily agreed. The marriage to Elizabeth was to be casually postponed, for a year, or at the most two. Victor's friend Henry Clerval (who had been with Victor on the first morning after the creation, and supposedly nursed him through the subsequent illness) was enlisted as a traveling companion. Elizabeth, we are told, "approved of the reasons" for the trip, and "only regretted that she had not the same opportunities of enlarging her experience, and cultivating her understanding." But she wept at Frankenstein's departure.

  Descending the Rhine from Strasbourg to Rotterdam on a boat, Clerval and Frankenstein took ship for London, where they arrived at the end of the year 1780. They remained in London for almost three months, while the experimenter made use of the letters of introduction given him by his father, and "addressed to the most distinguished natural philosopher;" which gentlemen are not otherwise named.

  Being well equipped with letters of my own, Sir, I mean to try such gentlemen as Joseph Priestley and others. We shall see whether they remember, and are willing to discuss, a visit from Victor Frankenstein a couple of years ago.

  I will write again, Sir, when I have something else of substance to report.

  Yr Obdt Svt

  Benjamin Freeman

  LETTER 6

  January 27,1783

  My Dear Father—

  Once more allow me to add my small congratulations to those of the rest of the world, on your great achievement in working out the preliminary peace agreement. Here in London the general sentiment is strongly in favor of peace, and I think that if my true identity should become known today I should be little the worse for it. May we soon be able to exchange letters by the regular post—though I suppose that will hardly be likely to make the delivery any swifter or more certain. The more I travel in the world, the more I come to appreciate, among other things, your achievements as a postmaster.

  On to business. I have had more contact with the Saville clan. The lovely Mrs. Saville—her first name is Margaret, by the way—has entertained me once more at tea. Husband Roger, I have been given to understand, is still absent, off somewhere in India. When he is likely to return has not been specified. But wherever Mr. Saville may be, he seems to be at least as interested as his good lady is in Frankenstein's experiments; she says that she has sent Roger a copy of the book, which he found most intriguing, and that he is anxious to converse with anyone who knows anything of the matter. Such a person may be hard to find in India.

  The lady tries in many subtle ways to discover all that she can about my own background, and, as she is certainly a charmer, I am continually on my guard not to give much away.

  Later_I may have been wrong about the strength of the peace sentiment. There were loiterers in the street near my lodgings, a different man on each occasion, and I now have some suspicions that I am being watched. I intend to use even greater care than usual in dispatching this note.

  There is interesting gossip I would ordinarily pass along—about the current London fashions, and so forth, since I know your continuing interest in such matters—but I prefer to keep this message short.

  I was fortunately able to see Priestley without going to Birmingham, catching him on one of his periodic visits to London and the Royal Society, and was able to get a word with him alone. I divulged my identity, and presented greetings from you, Father, which he was happy to receive. He sends his warmest regards in return.

  He recalls that young Frankenstein visited him in London, in the early spring of 1780, and says that he also heard of the fellow's arrest in Ireland in 1781, and his tragic marriage last summer during the occupation of Geneva by the French—tragic of course because of the bride's murder, by person or persons unknown, on her wedding night. There have been whispers, I am told, of suspicion against the husband himself. But there was no evidence to disprove his story of a mysterious prowler, and no legal steps were taken against him.

  Priestley says he did not know quite what to make of Frankenstein at their one meeting. It pleased him also to demonstrate his electrical machine for me—it is made mostly of mahogany and baked wood, and supports four electrical globes, of moderate size, that can be charged simultaneously. The prime conductor is a hollow vessel of polished copper, shaped like a pear. It can produce either negative or positive power, depending upon how the connections are made.

  In all, my meeting with the eminent man was interesting, but not very helpful as regards the chief objective of my visit. I expect to gain much more from my association with Mrs. Saville.

  Yr Son,

  Benjamin Freeman

  Chapter 12

  February 18, 1783—London, at last

  The crossing has been perilous in the extreme, attended with a thousand dangers. Having survived them all, I am not sure now whether the worst of them emanated from the crew of scoundrels with which I found myself surrounded, from the final perfidy of the captain, or from the ele
ments. On the whole my instincts are to award the plaudits to the crew. Were not my size and appearance enough to intimidate even the worst blackguards among them—except on one occasion, when I was forced to demonstrate a willingness to act—I have no doubt that the crossing would have been even more interesting than it was.

  There were other, incidental, perils. On the fifth day we were sighted by a vessel that our captain proclaimed to be an American privateer, which gave chase to us. We fled successfully, though our escape may be more attributable to a sudden change in wind and weather than to any particular facility in seamanship on the part of the master of our own craft.

  On the next day, it was the turn of a French man-of-war to discover our sail and give chase, but with the same outcome. I suppose that her captain, as cautious as most commanders of large warships are said to be, might have been loath to risk an encounter with an armed opponent of any description. But that, and all other difficulties of the crossing, are now fortunately over.

  Later_Ashore. The ship is behind me now, and so are those dockside neighborhoods in which the press gangs are wont to seize their victims. Some have assured me that such kidnappings never take place in London, but I do not trust the men who told me so.

  That I am here, and free, is not due to the good will of any of my erstwhile shipmates. I am now certain that the sailor who recruited me, though not a member of the Argo's crew when I was aboard her, had and still has some connection with Captain Walton, and through him had learned something of my history. This man must have recognized me at first sight in Philadelphia, and seized the initiative. He knew that I was still being doggedly sought by Walton and Saville, who had quietly passed the word around among certain of their associates that they were offering a substantial reward for my live capture and return.