Employing my own strength, and my own determination, I had made sure that the ceilings in several of these reconstructed houses, including this one, were high enough to allow me to stand erect. As I first approached the table, at the rear of a group of eager observers, lightning flared outside, and a loud hum sounded from the electrical equipment. I started, as did the other observers.
A moment later, when Frankenstein pulled back the cover, my heart sank. My disappointment was acute. This grotesquely cobbled thing? This devil's handiwork, like some mad mockery of God's? This naked female form all mismatched parts and bandages and chemicals—the open eyes stared blindly back at me from their raw butchered sockets, and I could see that they had come from two different heads—I could not believe that this face, this frame, could be induced by any art to stir with life.
And besides, bloody mosaic though it was, the countenance before me was undoubtedly a human face, and not an unclassifiable, sui generis visage similar to my own.
The gentlemen had gathered round the table, as close to it as Frankenstein would let them, their faces composing a study in their various emotions. The connections were made to the batteries, the final process was set in motion. The probes in the hands of the philosopher were moved in particular order from one set of points upon the body to another, and at each was made an application of electricity.
There was no immediate response from the subject on the table, except for a minor burning and sizzling, when, now and again, the full force of the electrical fluid was made to pass through the inert flesh.
There was an immediate slight reaction of disappointment among the watchers. But Frankenstein hastened to remind them all, pointing to me as he spoke, that in my case the reanimation had not been immediate either.
"Nor did I suppose," he added, "that an instantaneous response would be obtained tonight."
Eyes turned toward me. I stood before them all as living proof that Victor Frankenstein had once done just what he was attempting to do tonight.
The philosopher continued, "We must be patient. In an hour, perhaps two, there will be evidence of life. I am going to wait here, for the first signs. I would prefer that the rest of you leave, for a time at least. You may return later."
I had at first intended to remain with my creator during his vigil, but could not stand still enough to keep from irritating him, and he soon ordered me out. When I took my leave, the form upon the table was still as inert as it had ever been.
I approached the other gentlemen, who were still outside, smoking and talking, and stood on the fringe of their group. Saville was saying: "I have seen it happen, I tell you. Seen it all, beyond any possibility of trickery. Clerval here can back me up." When Henry had nodded soberly, Saville continued: "Gentlemen, d'you think I'd be here otherwise, staking my gold and my time on a story like this one?"
It was plain from their expressions that no member of the little group had the least intention of thinking anything like that.
It began to rain again, thick mournful drops that spattered heavily. The group drifted toward the warmth and shelter of the largest cottage, with Saville still harking back to what had happened on the night of my creation. "We came there with pranks in mind, but before the night was over…"
The cottage door closed softly in my face. I was not to hear the story of that night from Saville then. I hope that I may hear his version of it someday, just before my right hand strangles the last breath in his throat.
Presently I heard the door of the laboratory open, and saw the lamplight flow out into the night. Victor emerged slowly in its path, and walked tiredly along what had once been the village street. He appeared to have no particular goal, but to be only stretching his legs. A little more than an hour had passed since his last pronouncement that the effort was going to be successful.
He stopped in front of me and tilted back his head, and looked me in the eye. "Nothing yet," he said softly, and there was controlled worry in his voice.
He went into the cottage where the others were, and this time I reached out to keep the door from closing in my face. I went in after him.
The others looked at me when I entered, but said nothing.
Frankenstein told them the bad news with a dismissing shake of his head that seemed to assure them that the news was not really bad. He sat down.
"Well," said Walton, to be saying something.
"The bodies that I used in Bavaria were comparatively fresh," Victor remarked absentmindedly, poking the fire and staring into it. "It may be that the preservation in brine has been more detrimental than I anticipated."
He paused. "Then," he added, "there was the idea that occurred to me when I was in Geneva."
"In Geneva?" someone asked, not understanding.
He looked at the questioner. "Yes. It occurred to me, just after the execution of Justine Moritz, that could I have obtained her body, fresh from the scaffold—I am sure that I could have brought her back."
There was a brief silence.
Frankenstein went on to explain that of course he had not had his equipment with him then; and Elizabeth and others had been there, in front of whom he would not have dared to announce any such seemingly blasphemous scheme. To revive an anonymous corpse was one thing, to defy the law by restoring a condemned criminal something else.
He spoke with calm conviction; I could see that all the others were impressed. But my chief thought at the moment was: to Victor's knowledge I am not a condemned criminal, then. It had lately occurred to me to wonder about that point.
Perhaps Saville had thought about it also. "If you could bring back—" He jerked his chin toward me, and broke the statement off.
"Yes, Yes, Justine would have been easy." Frankenstein appeared to be pondering some abstract problem.
It seemed a very long time before the two hours were up. We all walked back in a body to the laboratory building, where things were as we had left them. The body, long, grotesque, and naked, had no more life in it than the table upon which it lay. Saville turned and stalked away, and Small, who had joined us, moved after him. One by one the others left, until I was alone with my creator.
I worked the treadle, and Frankenstein tried the probes once more. We stood there watching for a long time, while nothing happened, except that the dawn began its gray and distant entry on the world.
Chapter 9
At that season the day began at a very early hour. Before it had time to progress very far in its development, there came a messenger trotting toward us through the gloom and rain, from the direction of the largest house.
It was one of the sailors-turned-servant, in a state of quiet excitement. He was clenching his hands and moving his arms as if he did not know what to do with them. "Doctor Frankenstein, sir. Mr. Saville sent me to tell you. There's been—been an unfortunate accident. Miss Bess is dead."
There followed a grief silence, broken only by the drip of water from the skies, and from the shabby eaves of the little houses. From the moment that I heard the sailor's words I was possessed by a strong suspicion of the evil truth that lay behind them. But Frankenstein, curiously innocent, suspected nothing. Not at first.
His first reaction to the news was the natural one of shock and sadness. But then an inspiration struck him, and his demeanor altered. His eyes flashed, and he seized the manservant by the arm. "Wait! It may be—it may be that this is not after all a tragedy, but an act of Providence! Where is she?"
The sailor goggled at Frankenstein, not knowing what to make of this reaction. "A little distance inland, sir. She was alone when it happened—must have fallen down the bank of the stream, a little way from the village, at the place where the path is steepest."