FRANKENSTEIN - CHAPTER SIX
I came across the following letter from my father:
"My dear Victor,
"You have probably been waiting impatiently for a letter to confirm when you can return home. I wanted to write only a few short lines telling you the date, but that would have been cruel. How can I prepare you for the terrible news I must share? You may already be scanning this letter for the words that will explain it.
William is dead. My sweet, gentle boy—so full of life and joy—has been murdered.
"I will not try to comfort you but will tell you everything that has happened.
"Last Thursday evening, your brothers, Ernest and William, and Elizabeth joined me for a walk in Plainpalais. The weather was warm and peaceful, so we stayed out longer than usual. As dusk fell, we realised William and Ernest had gone ahead and were nowhere to be seen. After a while, Ernest returned, asking if we’d seen William. He said William had been playing hide and seek, but he couldn’t find him and had waited a long time before coming back.
"This worried us greatly, and we searched for him as darkness fell. Elizabeth suggested William might have gone back to the house, but when we checked, he wasn’t there. We searched again with torches, fearing he might be lost in the cold, damp night. Elizabeth was distraught.
"At dawn, I found him—my dear, sweet boy—lying lifeless on the grass. His body was cold and still, and there were marks on his neck where the murderer had strangled him.
"We brought him home. When Elizabeth saw my face, she guessed what had happened and begged to see William’s body. I tried to stop her, but she insisted. She rushed into the room, saw the marks on his neck, and cried out, ‘Oh God! I have killed my darling boy!’ She fainted, and we could barely revive her. When she finally spoke, she explained that William had begged to wear a miniature portrait of your mother that evening. The portrait is missing, and we believe it was stolen by the murderer.
"We don’t know who did this. We’ve been searching tirelessly, but nothing will bring back William. Please, Victor, come home. Elizabeth blames herself and cannot stop crying. She needs your support, and so do I. Your mother, had she been alive, would have been devastated. Thank God she was spared this grief.
"Come back to us, Victor, not with anger or hatred but with love and compassion. Help us heal from this tragedy.
Your loving father,
Alphonse Frankenstein"
Henry Clerval had been watching me as I read the letter. He saw the despair on my face, replacing the joy I’d felt at receiving news from home. I threw the letter on the table and buried my face in my hands.
"My dear Frankenstein," Henry said gently, "must you always suffer? What has happened?"
I couldn’t speak and motioned for him to read the letter. As he did, tears filled his eyes.
"I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling," he said softly. "What will you do now?"
"I must go to Geneva immediately," I replied. "Come with me, Henry, to arrange the horses."
On our way, Henry tried to comfort me. "Poor William," he said. "Such a bright, beautiful child. He is now at peace, free from pain and suffering, but his loss is unbearable for those who loved him. We can only mourn and remember him fondly."
His words stayed with me, but they did little to ease my sorrow. Once the horses were ready, I climbed into the carriage and said goodbye to my friend.
The journey was agonising. I was desperate to be with my grieving family but terrified of facing the reality of what had happened. As I neared Geneva, memories of my childhood and the places I once loved overwhelmed me. How much had changed in six years? And now, this terrible tragedy had struck. I stayed two days in Lausanne, trying to calm my mind by looking at the serene lake and mountains. The beauty of the landscape offered some peace, and I continued my journey.
When I arrived near Geneva, the gates of the town were shut for the night. I stayed in a nearby village but couldn’t sleep. I decided to visit the place where William had been killed. I crossed the lake by boat under a dark, stormy sky. The lightning lit up the mountains, and the thunder echoed around me.
As I climbed a small hill, I saw a figure in the gloom. A flash of lightning revealed its enormous, hideous form. I recognised it immediately—it was the monster I had created. Could he have murdered my brother? The thought horrified me, but I felt certain it was true. I tried to chase him, but he disappeared into the darkness.
By morning, I was cold, wet, and consumed by despair. I returned to Geneva, determined to tell no one about what I had seen. Who would believe me? The idea of a creature I had created murdering my brother seemed like madness.
When I reached my father’s house, I was greeted by my brother Ernest. "Victor," he said sadly, "you’ve returned to share in our misery. Elizabeth blames herself, and father is heartbroken. But worst of all, the murderer has been found."
"The murderer? Who?" I asked, horrified.
"Justine Moritz," he replied. "But you’ll hear everything at her trial today."
"My dear Victor,
"You have probably been waiting impatiently for a letter to confirm when you can return home. I wanted to write only a few short lines telling you the date, but that would have been cruel. How can I prepare you for the terrible news I must share? You may already be scanning this letter for the words that will explain it.
William is dead. My sweet, gentle boy—so full of life and joy—has been murdered.
"I will not try to comfort you but will tell you everything that has happened.
"Last Thursday evening, your brothers, Ernest and William, and Elizabeth joined me for a walk in Plainpalais. The weather was warm and peaceful, so we stayed out longer than usual. As dusk fell, we realised William and Ernest had gone ahead and were nowhere to be seen. After a while, Ernest returned, asking if we’d seen William. He said William had been playing hide and seek, but he couldn’t find him and had waited a long time before coming back.
"This worried us greatly, and we searched for him as darkness fell. Elizabeth suggested William might have gone back to the house, but when we checked, he wasn’t there. We searched again with torches, fearing he might be lost in the cold, damp night. Elizabeth was distraught.
"At dawn, I found him—my dear, sweet boy—lying lifeless on the grass. His body was cold and still, and there were marks on his neck where the murderer had strangled him.
"We brought him home. When Elizabeth saw my face, she guessed what had happened and begged to see William’s body. I tried to stop her, but she insisted. She rushed into the room, saw the marks on his neck, and cried out, ‘Oh God! I have killed my darling boy!’ She fainted, and we could barely revive her. When she finally spoke, she explained that William had begged to wear a miniature portrait of your mother that evening. The portrait is missing, and we believe it was stolen by the murderer.
"We don’t know who did this. We’ve been searching tirelessly, but nothing will bring back William. Please, Victor, come home. Elizabeth blames herself and cannot stop crying. She needs your support, and so do I. Your mother, had she been alive, would have been devastated. Thank God she was spared this grief.
"Come back to us, Victor, not with anger or hatred but with love and compassion. Help us heal from this tragedy.
Your loving father,
Alphonse Frankenstein"
Henry Clerval had been watching me as I read the letter. He saw the despair on my face, replacing the joy I’d felt at receiving news from home. I threw the letter on the table and buried my face in my hands.
"My dear Frankenstein," Henry said gently, "must you always suffer? What has happened?"
I couldn’t speak and motioned for him to read the letter. As he did, tears filled his eyes.
"I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling," he said softly. "What will you do now?"
"I must go to Geneva immediately," I replied. "Come with me, Henry, to arrange the horses."
On our way, Henry tried to comfort me. "Poor William," he said. "Such a bright, beautiful child. He is now at peace, free from pain and suffering, but his loss is unbearable for those who loved him. We can only mourn and remember him fondly."
His words stayed with me, but they did little to ease my sorrow. Once the horses were ready, I climbed into the carriage and said goodbye to my friend.
The journey was agonising. I was desperate to be with my grieving family but terrified of facing the reality of what had happened. As I neared Geneva, memories of my childhood and the places I once loved overwhelmed me. How much had changed in six years? And now, this terrible tragedy had struck. I stayed two days in Lausanne, trying to calm my mind by looking at the serene lake and mountains. The beauty of the landscape offered some peace, and I continued my journey.
When I arrived near Geneva, the gates of the town were shut for the night. I stayed in a nearby village but couldn’t sleep. I decided to visit the place where William had been killed. I crossed the lake by boat under a dark, stormy sky. The lightning lit up the mountains, and the thunder echoed around me.
As I climbed a small hill, I saw a figure in the gloom. A flash of lightning revealed its enormous, hideous form. I recognised it immediately—it was the monster I had created. Could he have murdered my brother? The thought horrified me, but I felt certain it was true. I tried to chase him, but he disappeared into the darkness.
By morning, I was cold, wet, and consumed by despair. I returned to Geneva, determined to tell no one about what I had seen. Who would believe me? The idea of a creature I had created murdering my brother seemed like madness.
When I reached my father’s house, I was greeted by my brother Ernest. "Victor," he said sadly, "you’ve returned to share in our misery. Elizabeth blames herself, and father is heartbroken. But worst of all, the murderer has been found."
"The murderer? Who?" I asked, horrified.
"Justine Moritz," he replied. "But you’ll hear everything at her trial today."