“What was Victor Frankenstein carrying upon his person when you rescued him?” I asked.
“Oh, very little. Not much more than the clothing he carried upon his back and some dried biscuits in his pockets.”
“He carried no compass, then? How did he find his way about the north if he carried no compass?”
The Captain looked discomposed for a moment or two and then blurted, “For certain he must have used the sun and the stars to guide him along his way.
“Victor told me so much in his time with me. Starting his tale from his boyhood, Victor guided me through early life in the Frankenstein household, his schooling abroad, and the experiences that lead to the making of a monster, in fact, almost the whole of his life right up to the moment where he was found by my crew, near death on a dogsled in the unforgiving world of ice and snow. Victor had achieved and experienced much, culminating in a race across the frozen north after his own personal demon. Day by day, I was enwrapped in the details of the creature Victor brought to life, and the destruction this creature wrought. What was Victor Frankenstein's life if not marvellous? So much was told; great was the understanding between us as newfound friends.
“But we were not safe as the ship was surrounded by mountains of ice that threatened to crush us at any moment. The weather changed and the ice let up. I resolved, by the insistence of my crew, to return. I heard a sound of a human voice, yet not, coming from where Victor lay in his final repose. The monster was gigantic in stature, and uncouth and distorted in its proportions. It had long locks of ragged dark hair, and skin the colour and appearance of that of a mummy. It made a strange noise in its throat when it heard me approach, and his face was so horrible I could barely look upon it. Never before have I witnessed such unbelievable hideousness.”
“You did not try to kill or drive off the monster?”
“No, rather, I asked him to stay.”
“You asked him to stay knowing that he might kill you as he had the others?”
“He may have harmed others, but would never harm me,” Walton said with unusual certainty. “He told me the story of what he had done. He wanted the truth to be known.
“He left through the cabin window, and made away on the ice raft upon which he had come to the ship, and soon he and the raft were borne away by the motion of the waves.”
“Did any of your crew see the monster?”
“It was such a troubled time, and they had much to take care of once the ship had been freed from the ice. I do not recollect entirely if any of the rest of the crew spoke of the monster. It was a crafty creature for all its size and horribleness.”
“How can you be certain the monster took its own life?”
“Oh, it is dead. Certainly it is dead. It vowed over and over that from that point on it would live no longer.”
“But what if it did not? What if it made it to shore on the ice raft? The monster had proven capable of many great feats before, why not that?”
“The person responsible for the deaths of Henry Clerval, Elizabeth Lavenza, and William Frankenstein perished in the north seas.” Walton was adamant in his belief that the monster lived no more.
“Did anything occur or did Victor Frankenstein tell you anything which you did not note in your journal?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“Does the name Dippel mean anything to you?” I asked.
“No, why should it? He is not part of my crew,” the Captain retorted, but he would not look me in the eye.
“It is the name of the man who was Victor Frankenstein's assistant in Ingolstadt.”
“Victor never mentioned him. I cannot think of anything more to tell you, and I really should return to my preparations.”
“Captain Walton, I have studied every aspect of this case meticulously and I can tell you that Dippel is the key. All the information and evidence I have gathered has led me to conclude that there was in fact never any monster. What Victor Frankenstein created was not a monster but rather a monster of a man, born and raised much as all men are, but driven into complete madness by the selfish demands of Victor Frankenstein.
“It was really Victor's associate Dippel who was responsible for all that happened. Victor Frankenstein drove Dippel to madness by
forcing the man to steal, perhaps even kill, to get cadavers upon which Victor might practise his experiments. The only monster that Victor created was the tormented mind of Dippel, who then began to prey upon Victor's family. Victor devised the story of a monstrous creation as a way to hide the truth and displace blame.”
Captain Walton paled slightly but shook his head, and yet his negation lacked conviction.
“I have sent a letter to a Dr. Bosch who runs the asylum where Dippel resides,” I told the Captain. “In my letter, I have asked Dr. Bosch to question Dippel on certain areas of his relationship with Victor Frankenstein.”
“And you would believe the ravings of a madman?” Captain Walton scoffed, but his words still lacked conviction, and his face, still wary, held also a look of concern, and his brow furrowed noticeably.
“In the next few days, I will also speak with Victor's brother, Captain Ernest Frankenstein. I intend to return here armed with both Dr. Bosch's response, as well as information gained from Victor Frankenstein's brother. I think you and I will need to talk again after that.”
“Ernest is here, in Archangel?” Walton demanded.
“Captain Frankenstein is at this time stationed in St. Petersburg,” I corrected.
“You have all the information there is to gain and will find no more. Do as you must, and believe what you will, but you and Mr. Clerval shall both be disappointed once you have discovered that all your efforts have been to no end. Nothing of any service will come of your efforts. Your client's son is dead, as is the monster who killed him; you need look no further as your investigation is at an end.” With a curt nod, he went to the table and his charts and did not look up even as I left.
Upon my return to the Archangel Inn, I immediately began reflecting on my interview with Captain Robert Walton. There is less of the romantic adventurer to Captain Walton than I would have expected upon reading his journal and speaking with his sister. In his place, I met a driven man, almost frenzied in his desire to put aside the past and move on with his new adventure. It is as though he would forget the unpleasantness that he was told, and the hardships he experienced, and go on with his latest endeavour.
Most of Captain Walton's original crew left Archangel on other ships, except for the first mate, who went missing after a bar fight one evening. This left in Archangel only two members of the original crew with whom I could speak, and only one lucid. Robert Walton's behaviour once Victor Frankenstein was brought on board became secretive, and almost furtive. The surgeon also confirmed that the body of Victor Frankenstein was simply disposed overboard, in a large weighted coffin.
Until I get a response from Dr. Bosch, there is nothing more here for me at present in Archangel. I have received notice that Captain Ernest Frankenstein is currently in residence in St. Petersburg. He is the only person with whom I have not yet spoken. Although his involvement in the matter was completely from the outside, he would know his brother best of any one left alive. I have reached a juncture
in the investigation where I depend on someone like Ernest Frankenstein to offer some insight to help me put the pieces of this case together.
So many weeks of investigation have passed, and yet what little findings am I able to present in regards to the murder of Mr. Clerval's son Henry. To what do all the documents I have created and collected related to my investigation into this matter truly amount? All I can reasonably ask are that he accept my apologies that all was in vain. My documents can be selected and ordered in such a way as will best help Mr. Clerval comprehend the situation as it has become clear to me. I have at all times striven to include all the information I have gathered, even though on first appearance it might be deemed trivial or not pertinent to the case. Where possible, I have tried to accommodate those points where memory may err, and could have wished that less time had passed between the murder and my investigation. In every way, I have worked to give a complete understanding of all that I have undertaken in my quest to discover who ended Henry's life so brutally, and whether the murderer lives still. Yet in the end, it amounts to nothing. I am no closer to now knowing who or what murdered Henry Clerval than I was before I set out from London.
My investigation began in England, and then moved to Scotland, Ireland, Geneva, and Ingolstadt, and I fully believed that it would end here in the north, Archangel, and that from here I would confirm the answer to the nature and fate of Henry's murderer. Only after I had reached the north did I truly determine my full disappointment. The journal of Captain Robert Walton has proven to be a far greater mystery, as is the man himself, although initially I viewed it as my greatest source of information about this case. Visiting significant locations and speaking with people who knew Henry and his friend Victor Frankenstein have not gained me the greater understanding of what passed, and what the real answer might be. Through these interviews, I also learned of the limitations of Captain Walton's journal and Victor Frankenstein's version of the murders.
There was a certain pattern to Victor Frankenstein's meetings with his monster. Often, he first sees the monster through a window, then faints, or grows ill, and soon after Victor would go off alone. After William's murder, Victor swooned, leaving Henry to take care of him until Victor returned to Geneva, just before Justine Moritz was tried and hung for his brother's murder. In jail, after the murder of Henry, Victor swooned again and remained ill until his father arrived. In Evian, after his new bride was murdered, while he was just down the hall from her, he lost consciousness yet again. Victor was also known to venture off alone in Geneva and Scotland, and entirely so in Ingolstadt, but the monster followed him everywhere.
Initially in my investigation, I considered three possible explanations as to the murder of Henry. First, that the monster alluded to in Robert Walton's notes did in fact exist and was responsible for all the murders exactly as described in Walton's journal, wherein he preserved the strange story told to him by Victor Frankenstein. Second, the solution first suggested that Victor Frankenstein allied himself with certain unsavoury characters and that one of them committed the murders as a sort of punishment visited upon Victor Frankenstein. Lastly, I considered that the murders might in fact be a result of unusual coincidence by persons unknown and unconnected. When I made these conjectures, I was not in possession of the understanding that I now have. Although I was in doubt for some time, my many months of investigation have indeed been worthwhile, and I am convinced that I have uncovered the truth of the matter.
After much consideration and careful review of all my notes and observations, there is no doubt in my mind that a creature of Victor Frankenstein's making, much as described in the journals of Robert Walton, was entirely responsible for the murders. I am also certain that the existence of the creature was due to Victor Frankenstein. Others were aware of what Victor was capable, but said nothing, and in this way could be seen as accomplices. They have either died or are in such a state that to bring them to justice would be of no use. Victor
was aware of what he was nurturing; he knew of its terrible and destructive powers. Nevertheless, he went ahead, unheeding the warnings of those around him, and instead of leaving it dormant where it lay, he allowed his monster to come forth and wreak havoc on the lives of those around him.
In their few days together on board Captain Walton's ship, Victor Frankenstein told Walton much, but not all. I have discovered that which Victor Frankenstein did not want known â details he kept hidden to protect himself from the aspersions of others at what he had done. There is more to this monster than Victor was willing to admit even to his last friend on earth, Captain Robert Walton. Victor was only partially candid. There is both more and less to the monster's true identity than Victor was willing to relate.
Tomorrow, I leave upon what will most likely be the final leg of my journey. There remains only Captain Ernest Frankenstein to be spoken with. He is currently in residence in St. Petersburg, the capital of Russia, at the top of the Gulf of Finland. Although still very much a northern city, it is upon a more temperate latitude than Archangel and so will in all hope be less bitterly cold. From St. Petersburg, I can continue my return journey to England.
Once the chamber door shut firmly behind the servant, Ernest Frankenstein gestured towards an armchair by the hearth that was filled with a generous fire. I sat and glanced about me and discerned that Ernest Frankenstein's tastes, it would seem, ran similar to mine own. It was a comfortable room, at once snug and handsome. On one table a shaded lamp diffused a soft amber light, casting warm shadows on the bookshelves on either side of the mantlepiece. The room's efficiency and neatness exactly suited my tastes.
“Forgive me for not rising, but just yesterday I was set upon by a footpad, that is why you see me so bruised and battered. I might have been killed, so fierce and sudden was the attack. Had not two gentlemen happened along the street at the same time and scared the villain off, I am not sure I would be sitting with you here today. But the villain did not get a cent off of me,” Captain Ernest Frankenstein said with some satisfaction after I had been led into his office. One of his arms was set in a sling. “My collar bone is a little worse for wear, but you have not come to hear my woes. You have come because of the journal. Frankly, when I first read it I had the greatest urge to either hide or destroy the thing.