Mary sat at the prow of the boat, looking eagerly ahead as we made our way. “The spirit of this place is more friendly than you suppose, Bysshe,” she said. “It is more intimate with humankind. Do you not see? How much more harmonious than those mountain peaks and abysses you praise so highly! This landscape is touched by the human spirit.”
“Please, Miss, but your hair is unloosed.” Lizzie spoke out from the middle of the boat. “Are you wishing me to fix it?”
“No, Lizzie. In the open boat we are free.”
“It will hang down awful,” the girl replied.
Bysshe laughed. “By all means see to the appearance of your mistress, Lizzie. She is now a married woman.”
I had moved to the stern of the barge, where a small wooden bench had been set up. Fred sat down beside me and whispered, “Lizzie is very bold, sir. Talking to the mistress like that.”
“Is she bold in other matters, Fred?”
“I don’t talk to her. I don’t look at her. I don’t consider her.”
“You must not be so bashful.”
“Ma warned me about London girls. That Lizzie comes from Bethnal Green.”
“How do you know that?”
“Mr. Shelley told me so. He said that she had been rescued by the mistress.” He needed to say no more.
WE MADE GOOD PROGRESS up the Rhine. By day we passed several populous villages, as well as the fields and vineyards tended by labourers; by night I could hear the soughing of the wind in the trees mixed with the distant bells and the calls of the wolves resounding in the woods. Never had the world seemed so vivid to me. The new poetry of nature, which Bysshe extolled, seemed then to settle in my bosom.
Nevertheless I was overjoyed to reach Strasbourg. It marked the end of our river journey, and the latest milestone on our progress to my home town. The landscape by degrees had now become more rugged and more majestic, filled with intimations of the grandeur of the Alpine region that we would soon be entering. We hired a carriage to Geneva as soon as we reached the market square of Strasbourg, and before long we were upon the highway to Switzerland. I rejoiced in the sight of my native country, where every prospect reminded me of my happy infancy. I remarked to Bysshe with pride that here the inns were clean and wholesome. He concurred, and commented also upon the bracing air of the region. “It sustains the soul,” he said. “We are living in the higher realms.”
My first sight of Geneva elevated my spirits to the utmost degree: here I could return to what I might call my native innocency. My visits to the hallowed spots where my father and sister lay buried would serve to strengthen me against any calamity, and my walks in the familiar forests would restore my calm. These, at least, were my expectations. I ordered the coachman to drive us directly to the Villa Diodati, where Byron had already installed himself. It was beside the lake, surrounded by a large garden that sloped down to the water; I remembered it well, having as a boy roamed through the neighbourhood. We had come off the principal avenue that skirted the lake, and were with considerable difficulty manoeuvring our way down the narrow road that led to the villa, when suddenly Byron was striding beside us. “I glimpsed you from the balcony,” he said. “Only you would arrive in a Strasbourg carriage.”
We were soon tumbling out of the vehicle onto the lawn. Byron embraced Mary with the greeting of “Bonjour, Madame Shelley!” Then he shook hands with Bysshe and myself. “You are on home ground, Mr. Frankenstein,” he said to me. “Do not forget to worship the Penates of this house. You will bring us good fortune.”
I was about to reply, when Dr. Polidori emerged from the far side of the lawn. I cannot say that I was pleased to see him. “William is here to minister to me,” Byron said. “But he spends his days reading beneath the trees. I have warned him against the study of books, but he will not listen to me.” I could see all around me the wild rhododendron and mountain roses I had known as a child; the air was very still, and the surface of the lake unruffled. I knew that in this region the twilight was of short duration, and I could sense the arrival of dusk and the night. “This gentleman,” Byron said, looking up at the driver, “is in desperate need of being paid. Pray do so. The servants will take in your bags.”
We were soon comfortably ensconced in the villa. My own room overlooked the garden and the lake, and in the gathering darkness I could see the feeble lights of the villages on the further shore. There were sounds of shouting, and of a general commotion, coming from somewhere in the distance; but I paid little regard to them. I was too much in thrall to the spell of this place, and to the force of my own old memories.
19
“THE SERVANTS TELL ME,” Byron said as we sat down to breakfast on the following morning, “that a sea monster has been glimpsed in the lake. Surely that is a contradiction?”
“What kind of monster?” Bysshe asked.
“I presume one monster is very like another. I have read of the great serpents that inhabit the deep, but they were never clearly described. But now I have it.” Byron put down his fork. “This is what we will do. We will launch an expedition across the lake. We will hunt the monster! It will be an escapade!”
“Is that wise?” Mary was visibly perplexed.
“If I did what was wise, I would do nothing at all. My boat is properly rigged, if that is what you mean.”
“No. I meant that to chase a serpent-”
“There is no serpent, Mrs. Shelley. I am quite confident of that. But it will be an adventure. We will stand forth as the Argonauts, braving the waves to hunt down a legendary creature. It will be splendid.”
I stayed silent throughout this exchange but, after the meal was over, I agreed to go with them in the two-sailed skiff that Byron had purchased in Geneva. Mary declined the voyage preferring, as she said, to observe the myriad lizards that inhabited the southern wall of the garden. “I prefer my monsters to be diminutive,” she said.
So we set forth, stirred by Byron’s high spirits, on the bosom of the lake. We made for the further shore, so that we might see the setting of the Villa Diodati against the background of the mountains: the prospect was one I knew well, but Bysshe and Polidori professed themselves enchanted. Beyond the banks were slopes of vines, with a number of other villas and gardens situated amongst them. Behind these were the various ridges of black mountains, and towering behind them all was Mont Blanc itself hiding its summit among clouds. The lake was as blue as the sky, with sundry gleamings and twinklings in the varied light of the morning. I looked down into the water, the clearness of which allowed me to see the pebbles in its depths and the occasional shoals of small fish forming and reforming in a galvanic dance. All was pure and limpid. I let my hand trail in the water for a moment.
Suddenly Byron began to sing-or, rather, to wail one high note which echoed across the water. Then he broke into laughter. “That is my Albanian song,” he said. “I learned it from the tribesmen themselves. It is a wild howl, is it not? It may lure the sea-serpent from its lair.” We made our way across the lake, moving steadily further from the shore; Shelley and Polidori were debating the relative merits of Alexander and Napoleon, when our attention was arrested by shouts and calls on the northern bank. A group of people had assembled on an outcrop of rock that jutted into the water, and were pointing towards the middle of the lake. Much to my consternation Byron gave out a whoop of joy, or of excitement, and began steering the craft in that direction. “The good citizens,” he shouted, “have seen some wonder. We must investigate.”