LETTER 3
November 26, 1782
Esteemed Sir and Parent—
Your letter reached me just before my departure from Ingolstadt; I am glad that you concur with my plan of investigation.
I arrived in Geneva yesterday, and have availed myself of the funds in the account here as per your instructions. The bankers have been as cooperative as I could wish. It is my impression that public affairs here are rapidly returning to an approximation of normal, following last summer's political unrest and the occupation by the French. The tension, the potential turmoil, is of course perceptible below the surface here as it is elsewhere across Europe.
Be assured that I am devoting myself to this research with all my energy, and all the acumen that I can muster. Yet the matter appears if anything more difficult than before.
To begin with, Geneva is a different matter from Ingolstadt; the folk at the university in Bavaria were in general more impressed than those here are by my identity as your acknowledged son.
Of the Frankenstein family, who were your friends, I regret to report that there is not now a single representative left alive, with the likely exception of Victor's surviving brother Ernest. Ernest is not here now. The only clues I have to his current whereabouts are vague reports that he emigrated to America late last summer, after the tragic death of Elizabeth, and Victor's subsequent disappearance.
I did attempt to visit the Chateau Frankenstein_climbed a narrow street of houses roofed in brown tile, to behold a hillside of rich vineyards, and in front of them the house. It is an impressive dwelling, but there are others nearby more so. Standing at the front gate one has a view across Lake Geneva, with the Alps as backdrop. The house itself is ancient in some of its parts, modern in others, moderate in size—for a chateau—and now untenanted except for caretakers. Fountains play cheerily in front of it, and there is no outward sign of the history of horror and murder that the place contains. If other events had not come crowding in upon the city so thickly in recent months—the French have seen to that—I am sure that this mansion would be the chief topic of conversation among its neighbors.
In Germany, I was forced to deal only with rumors about Frankenstein and his experiments; no one would admit to actually having seen the creature, or to taking part in any of the important events resulting from his creation. Most people there pleaded inability to remember anything they might once have known about the subject. Here, although I have yet to encounter a witness who will admit to actually having seen the monster, the chain of tragedies beginning about three years ago are still fresh in the public mind, and there is no disposition to pretend they are forgotten. Those events, as they involved the subject of my investigation, were mortally grim, with at least three deaths occurring during their progress. Here, there is no difficulty in finding some folk who are willing to speak on the subject. Few of those ready to express opinions seem to know much about it, however, and the problem of the investigator lies in trying to disentangle contradictory accounts, and deciding which of them are sheer fantasy, and which, however fantastic they may sound, deserve a hearing.
The bald, undisputed facts of the events in Geneva are these: Victor Frankenstein's youngest brother, William, a child of only seven, was attacked and brutally strangled in May of 1780, approximately half a year after Victor's supposed creation of a monster in Ingolstadt and his sudden departure from that place. (It is worth noting that in the Walton relation, a full year and a half intervenes between the two events.) A young woman, Justine Moritz, who had served the Frankenstein family for years as a governess, was arrested within a few days after the murder, convicted (on what seems to me the flimsiest of evidence) and put to death within a few days after her conviction.
According to the Walton relation, that tragedy visited the Frankensteins in the following way.
The father, and the two brothers who were living at home (Ernest and William; the mother died of scarlet fever some years ago), along with a companion or two, had been on an afternoon outing near the city, when William wandered away from the others.
The father, Alphonse Frankenstein, is speaking, according to Walton:
… presently Ernest came and inquired if we had seen his brother; he said… that William had run away to hide himself, and that he had vainly sought for him, and afterward waited a long time, but he did not return.
This account rather alarmed us, and we continued to search… about five in the morning I discovered my lovely boy, whom the night before I had seen blooming and active in health, stretched on the grass livid and motionless; the print of the murderer's finger was on his neck.
There ensued, naturally enough, general alarm and confusion. Elizabeth Lavenza, Victor's fiancie (and since July of this year also among those mysteriously and violently deceased), was greatly affected at the sight of the child's corpse.
She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty… she told me (Alphonse) that that same evening William had teased her to let him wear a very valuable miniature that she possessed of his mother. This picture is gone and was doubtless the temptation which urged the murderer to the deed. We have no trace of him at present, although our exertions to discover him are unremitted…
Thus did matters stand when Victor's father supposedly posted his letter to his eldest son, detailing the tragic news. But since we now know that Victor was not in Ingolstadt at the time, we may wonder where the letter was really sent. Evidently Victor received the news of the murder somehow, for he was in Geneva within a month.
According to his narrative in the Walton account, he was obliged to pass the last night of his journey at Secheron, a village near Geneva, the gates to the city itself being already closed for the night when he arrived. Realizing that he was staying very near the scene of the crime, Victor resolved that night to visit the place.
En route to the site of the tragedy, and on his arrival there, Victor observed a thunderstorm passing over lake and land:
… this noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my hands and exclaimed aloud, "William, dear angel! This is thy funeral, this thy dirge!" As I said these words, I perceived in the gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I stood fixed, gazing intently; I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning illuminated the object and discovered its shape plainly to me; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect, more hideous than belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the filthy demon to whom I had given life… Could he be the murderer of my brother? The figure passed me quickly and I lost it in the gloom. Nothing in human shape could have destroyed that fair child. He was the murderer! I could not doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof of the fact.
Should I ever find myself, Sir, standing in the dock, I should not be pleased to find the philosopher Victor Frankenstein seated on the jury.
After affording Victor one glimpse of itself, the figure of the monster disappeared again into the rain, without approaching its creator or speaking to him.
At the risk of repeating myself too often let me say again that I have not yet encountered anyone, in Ingolstadt or here, who will admit to having actually seen the thing. I have had, Sir, and continue to have, the gravest doubts concerning its existence. And yet, Father, and yet, there must be something—