The Frankenstein Papers

LETTER 9

February 23,1783

Most Esteemed Parent—

Rejoice with us, for we have reached France alive!

I may describe the crossing as being not unattended by some little danger, for M. Saville's reach was evidently a little longer even than we feared. Had it not been for my own wits and experience, and the strength and sometime ferocity of my uncouth-looking companion, I fear that both of us would be feeding the Channel fishes at this very moment. Or else, ignominiously bound hand and foot, on our way back to a certain estate in suburban London, where a very uncertain welcome would await us.

The issue was for a little while in doubt, even after we had left the shores of Bonny England well behind us. The cutthroats with whom we had contracted for our passage had decided that turning us in to those who hunted for us, once we were under way and our suspicions allayed, would bring a greater profit and less risk than the service upon which we had agreed with them. Failing a good chance to betray us to our enemies, I believe they would have preferred to carry us only half way, and from that point carry on our purses for us.

Before we could entirely disabuse them of this notion, one of their number had begun to swim for shore (it proved to be a trifle far for him, I fear) and the other two had received certain stern teachings that left them aching. The remainder of our journey was relatively uneventful.

I had hoped that Saville might be inclined to give up once we had got to France. But the pertinacity of his pursuit thus far has inclined me to take a grimmer view of the matter now.

Later_We have purchased a wagon, cheaply, and are now on our way across France. I drive, while my companion for the most part remains out of sight. Our goal of course is Paris.

I have asked my friend—he has certainly become that—by what name he prefers to be called The look I got from him in response was a peculiar one, as though I had inadvertently touched upon a matter of great importance.

"If ever I possessed a name," he at last responded, "it has long been lost. Do you wish to assume the responsibility of bestowing one upon me? I think I shall be inclined to accept it, if you do."

I have never been made such an offer before. I think it was his solemn manner as he said those last words, more than anything else, that made me hesitate. "If it comes to that," I said at length, "I think that a man should name himself, rather than depend upon the notion of some friend, however well intentioned it might be."

He nodded slowly. "In that I believe that you are right, Freeman. And yet I hesitate to name myself. It seems to me that I should have a name_nay, that I do. And yet I do not know what it is."

A silence fell, not grim, but thoughtful, and persisted between us for some time. So far I have been reluctant to press him for what he knows—or even what he imagines—about his origins. He has volunteered a little, enough to assure me that the scene of his creation, as he remembers it, was not very greatly different from the description of that scene in the book.

If he can remember anything from an earlier life, before his—transformation, if that is the appropriate word—he has said nothing to me about it. But I am increasingly consumed with curiosity. There is a natural nobility in my companion. Might his brain have once inhabited the skull of some great leader or philosopher? And if so, who?

Later again_We travel, pretty steadily, and in passing we marvel at the destitution among the people. I have observed much poverty during the past four years, in several parts of Europe, and yet this is remarkable. Each time I return to France it appears to have grown worse. A loaf of bread is only two sous, and yet there are many who cannot buy a loaf. The income of Louis XVI, I am sure, must be reckoned in the millions of livres annually; the Condes entertain thousands of guests, in an opulence surpassing even that of Versailles, not to mention ancient Rome—and meanwhile the poor keep themselves alive, when they are able to manage the trick at all, on rye bread and black porridge, with a few chestnuts now and then as luxury when times are good.

My companion assures me that for the most part his epic journeys around the world have not been conducted in any style of travel familiar to the wealthy. But such poverty as we see around us now in France surprises him as it does me. The condition of the mass of the people here grows more desperate with each passing year. I would not be at all surprised if this nation, one day soon, were convulsed in its own revolution—I do not see how matters can go on as they are.

When we reach the neighborhood of Paris, we shall go into hiding, rather than try to approach you directly—this at least unless I have some instruction from you to the contrary. You will be able to reach me through the same person as before, when I was last lodging in the vicinity. I appreciate, and so does my companion, that the peace negotiations, especially in what must be so sensitive a stage as they now are, ought not to be disturbed by the intrusion of other matters, even those as important as this one will ultimately be to all mankind.

It crosses my mind, as I meditate upon a thing or two I heard in London, that it might be wise for us to seek information, perhaps guidance, from this man Mesmer, who as I hear is now returned to Paris. Have you any thoughts upon that point? In any case, Sir be assured that for the time being, we are both well and safe. Good health and good fortune attend you until I see you again.

Your affectionate Son,

B. Freeman