Read The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein for Free Online Page B

the seed of new life.”
    “It can do so much?”
    “Of course. The imagination is the divine spark leaping across chaos.”
    “The stream was made of silver paper.”
    “Oh, that is nothing. Mortal men make up the scene, but the vision—” He stopped to purchase a bottled beer, and drank it down without a pause. Then he wiped his hand across his mouth.
    The musical interlude had stopped, and the second act began in the setting of the ruined chapel. Yet once more I was distracted. There was someone speaking to a companion, immediately behind me, his voice quite audible. “I wonder if the monster lives or dies? I wonder if he feels remorse for what he has done? What is your opinion?” There was silence for a few moments. “Who created him, do you think? What man and woman gave him birth?” He paused again. “I could never forgive the person who created such a being.” I could feel the hot breath of the man upon my neck. “I could never condonethe making of a blighted life. It would deserve dire and condign punishment. Punishment without end.” I turned round but those closest to me seemed to be enthralled in the drama and not to have spoken. The acoustics of the theatre were no doubt peculiar.
    The curtains were pulled for a short interval, and then drawn back to reveal a pool or what the Scottish people call a tarn on the summit of a mountain. Melmoth now stood against a fading perspective of mountain tops and crevasses, as he grasped by her wrists the reluctant bride. “The seed of such a creature will be barren.” It was the same voice again, speaking distinctly behind me. “By his own account he has aged more than a century. Yet if he has risen above the confines of ordinary life, well, who is to say?” The girl broke away from his restraining hold, and flung herself into the water. I had been expecting a splash, or some movement in the water, but instead she descended slowly with her arms raised above her head. Of course it was part of the mechanics of the stage.
    Bysshe clutched my arm, and whispered to me. “I cannot endure this. It is too disturbing. Too tremendous.”
    “Do you wish to leave?”
    “Yes. I am in a fearful fright.” I had always believed that Bysshe was too sensitive to endure the buffets of the world, and this sign of his tremulous nature did not wholly surprise me.
    “Let us go then,” I said. “If we can make our way through this crowd.”
    When we came out into the vestibule he stopped and, taking my arm again, he laughed. “I am a fool,” he said. “Forgive me. I was seized by some panic fear. Now it has passed. You look surprised.”
    “I am curious.”
    “When the girl threw herself into the lake, and lifted her arms above her head. That seized me with a frightful rush of terror. I am at a loss to explain why.”
    “Shall we go back?”
    “I have seen enough. Unless you, Victor—”
    “Oh, no.”
    We had reached the street, when all at once we heard someone calling out, “Mr. Shelley! Mr. Shelley!” It was Daniel Westbrook, running towards us. “Thank God I am in time!”
    “Whatever is the matter?”
    “It is Harriet. She has been taken ill. She is asking for you.”
    “What? What has happened? What is the matter with her?”
    “She collapsed just before we reached home. She was talking wildly.”
    Bysshe ran out into the road, and hailed a cab that had just turned into Drury Lane. Hurriedly we stepped in, as Daniel called out the destination in Whitechapel High Street, and the sudden jolt of the carriage threw us all into the back seat. “Is this your arm or mine?” Bysshe asked as he extricated himself and sat on the wooden seat opposite to us. “Is she in a fever? We must get ice. The fever will break. Can we go no faster?” All the time he was looking out of the window, which was covered with linen and not glass, as if he were estimating the speed of our journey. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
    Daniel explained that he and Harriet had left