Franklin and his son embraced each other warmly as they exchanged greetings. It is obvious that there is a strong natural affection between them, as well as respect for each other's abilities. I could not help overhearing some discussion of how Mother—obviously not Franklin's wife, who died a few years ago—was faring in Virginia.
But very soon the great man tilted back his head to meet my eye, eager to give me his full attention. "Sir, I welcome you again. You have traveled far and perhaps learned much since last we met; while I, I fear, am in the same room still, and only doubtfully any the wiser."
I was provided with a seat, in the form of some cushions strewn upon the floor; my host remembering from the occasion of my last visit what peculiar seating arrangement I really found most comfortable.
My traveling companion was then sent, or called, out of the room, having as I understood to make some detailed report upon some other matter of politics or business in which he had been engaged with his father and others.
Benjamin Franklin and I were alone, and the aged man, now seated in his own comfortable chair, turned to me. Our faces were nearly at a level, with me sitting on the floor.
Franklin asked eagerly: "And have you still no name?"
"None, sir. None that I know of."
"Ah. It is very strange." He meditated for a little time in silence. "And the memories? Have more of them returned?"
"Not enough to help." I told him, in broad out-line, of my adventures since we had last met. He interrupted me frequently, with questions about Frankenstein, and his countenance grew sad at the news I had to relate about the son of his old friend Alphonse. He had heard of Victor's release from prison—largely through the belated influence of Saville—of his marriage, and the tragic loss upon his wedding night of his dear bride Elizabeth.
We returned to my own situation. "And has Priestley seen you?" Franklin asked. "Or Lavoisier?"
"No. Frankenstein and the others have generally kept me out of sight of other men of science."
"Ah." It was a sigh, that seemed burdened with several meanings. "There is as much jealousy among philosophers, I fear, as among whores.". Franklin shook his head. "The more I have considered your case, my friend, the more I am puzzled by it. Are you never struck by the sheer unlikelihood, (or so it seems to me), of anyone being able to do what Frankenstein has claimed to do? I pray you believe that it is not my own jealousy that speaks. No one else, to my knowledge, has been able to animate so much as a mouse, or a toad."
I sipped lightly at the brandy I had been given. I had tasted strong drink but rarely. It called up in my brain such clouds as made me fear all memories were lost forever. "The point, I admit, has suggested itself to me. And yet, sir, here I am."
"Aye, here you are. From somewhere. Perhaps young Frankenstein has, through some happy accident, learned much of the nature of life, as he claims. Perhaps, with all our boasts of progress in philosophy, we in general know too little even to be able to judge of the difficulty of such matters.
Perhaps some simple key to great treasure lies waiting to be found."
But he did not believe it.
We discoursed further on the subject of Frankenstein, and on that of the evil men with whom the philosopher had become involved.
"I did not tell my son of that first meeting between us, because I wished him to approach the investigation with an entirely open mind. I knew that I had entertained someone here in 1781—yourself. But whether you were in fact the creature Frankenstein claimed to have created…" My host spread his hands and raised his shoulders in an expressive shrug.
"If I am not that creature, who am I?"
"In either case there arise perplexing questions."
Franklin continued to see no prospect of being able to act against Saville without upsetting the all-important peace talks, which occupied most of his daytime efforts.
He spread his aged hands once more, this time in a gesture of helplessness. "My friend, I must repeat what I said to you on the occasion of your previous visit. It would please me greatly to have you stay here as my guest, to converse with you at great length, and with your permission have certain physicians examine you. And yet I fear that in the circumstances for me to issue such an invitation is impossible."
"I quite understand, Sir. But I hope that we may at least meet frequently. There is nowhere else I can turn for help in solving the great questions that perplex and trouble me."
"I shall certainly try to arrange something. Believe me, my curiosity as to your nature and origins can be exceeded only by your own."
Standing and stretching—I do enjoy high ceilings—I went to examine some of the electrical equipment near his desk. Immediately my host, with his usual lively curiosity, began to question me as to the resemblances and differences I noted in comparison with the machinery that Frankenstein had used. The two sets of apparatus were much alike, I thought. The same glass tubes, gold leaf, rods and wires… but it struck me suddenly that there should be something more. A great deal more, perhaps, required for the successful completion of electrical experiments. Or… but what?
Old memory, dropping infuriating hints like a jester propounding a riddle, said that something was missing. Whatever it was had been missing also in Frankenstein's laboratories, or at least in the ones of his I could remember. There ought to be more to an electrical experimenter's machinery than this. Tantalizing old memories danced before me, they came and went before they could be pressed into being useful. I stood with eyes tight shut, clenched fists at my forehead, trying to seize the dancing phantoms as they passed.
"What is the matter?" Franklin's voice, concerned, sounded from behind me.
"Almost… almost, that time, I had something," I shrugged, and gave up; everything was gone.
"Come, another brandy. It will brace you up. Here. To friendship, and to new discoveries."
We drank to that. I felt moderately encouraged by the near success of my efforts to remember. Next time, perhaps, I should succeed.
I could remember my creator's apparatus quite clearly from my experiences on the island, and my visit to his workroom in Saville's mansion. Though I had no clear remembrance of what the equipment had been like in that room where I first saw the light, if not of day, then of the world. Flax, metal foil, oiled silk, Leyden jars, the probes and wires—all the usual materials and devices, nothing new or unexpected. Whatever was lacking here, if there was truly something lacking, had been missing there as well.
I communicated my feelings, my impressions, as well as possible to my host.
"That is certainly interesting. Though I suppose it is possible that your memory plays you false. Count Cagliostro, as you have now learned from the man himself, remembers many things that could never have happened to him, and I am not sure that all of his false memories are deliberate lies."
The turn the conversation had now taken reminded my host of Anton Mesmer, and in that case he was uncertain. "Many cures that are hard to explain by any known theory of medicine are credited to him."
"And he is now in Paris?"
"Yes."
"I ask your advice, sir—should I see him?"
"Were I in such a parlous state that I did not know what was wrong with me, I might well seek him out. Alas, I know full well my own difficulty, and animal magnetism is powerless to lift it—the burden of four-score years that weigh upon me."
In my present state I am ready to try anything.
LETTER 11