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When I think about my entire life, about the people I have met, I know well whom my heart loved with the greatest and at the same time most desperate love. In the short time we had together, I gave Victor Frankenstein my whole soul; when he died, he took it with him, leaving me with only a painful, powerful, crushing emptiness. But do I regret it? No, I could never regret a feeling the power of which I am afraid to even think about. Today, however, I have made a decision: I will delve into the labyrinth of my broken heart. I feel ready.
I remember when I first took him in my arms, anxious, shaken. The cries of my men echoed in my ears, and I frantically wrapped the emaciated wretch in my own fur.
"For God's sake! Gentlemen, move aside, make way!" I heard the irritated voice of the surgeon, Jonathan Stevens, right next to me. I was infinitely grateful to him, because I couldn't bring myself to speak. My crew members moved nervously around us like a rolling sea. "This man is freezing to death!"
I knew this better than anyone. I supported the staggering man, feeling the icy cold emanating from him; it was as if the poor man had become one with the harsh Arctic and absorbed all its cold. Instinctively, I pulled him closer to me and whispered something to his ear — I don't remember the exact words, they were spoken in a moment of extreme mental agitation and have already faded from my memory — but I know it was something like what a mother says to a sick child, words of comfort, gentle and sweet. He did not answer me, though he was still conscious at the time; such an effort must have been beyond his strength.
As soon as we entered the cabin, he fainted. Stevens, a good man, seeing that I was perturbed and did not know what to do next, took the unconscious man from my trembling hands and carried him back on deck.
I came to my senses and rushed to help.
We rubbed brandy on his numb limbs, and I decided that it would not hurt to revive our poor castaway a little by giving him some of this wonderful liquor to drink.
I put the bottle to his blue, trembling lips and half forced him to drink.
"Easy, easy!..." I whispered, supporting his head as he began to choke. His large, panicked eyes looked at me and I could see that he was trying to say something, but his own body betrayed him. He just grabbed my shirt as a last resort and breathed with great difficulty. "You're safe, sir."
These words seemed to soothe him to some extent. He rested his head on my chest and closed his eyes with a faint sigh; long eyelashes cast a shadow on his ghostly pale cheeks.
"Easy..." I repeated, more to myself than to the half-conscious weight in my arms - a very light weight.
"Let's get him as close to the fire as possible," said Stevens, as always the embodiment of reason.
Suddenly, I found myself holding a bowl of soup, a modest sailor's meal. I looked up and saw the surgeon's seemingly calm face.
"Feed him, sir" he said to me; an order. Theoretically, I should have been the one giving orders here, but now it was the last thing on my mind. "Just, for God's sake, slowly, carefully! An organism that has been deprived of food for a long time may react badly to too much food in too short a time!"
So I mustered my patience and put the spoon to his lips, which were thankfully less blue now, just as I would have done with one of my nephews. Gently, ever so gently, as if he were a child.
He did not resist eating, perhaps he did not have the strength to do so. He looked with a misty gaze over my shoulder, and with each spoonful of soup that I gently poured into his mouth, he trembled more and more, until finally it became uncontrollable and I had to stop, whether I wanted to or not.
"Enough," he whispered, so quietly that I could barely hear him, even though our faces were inches apart. He looked at me with great difficulty, then his head fell limply onto my shoulder. I supported him and brushed the tangled, damp strands of hair from his emaciated face, running my fingers through them. My heart trembled uneasily, as if in response to his trembling.
"Don't worry," I said as calmly as I could. Unfortunately, he didn't hear me, couldn't hear me; he fell back into the black, gloomy depths of some dream, or perhaps fainted. "We'll take care of you."
Having made this promise, I did not yet know what sweet suffering it would bring upon me, but I must have already sensed it, for I was suddenly overcome by a piercing pain, the origin of which cannot be traced. It was my elusive soul speaking within me, screaming as if in hellish torment.
***
He was sleeping when I slipped quietly into my own cabin like a thief; sleeping fairly peacefully. Perhaps, however, he heard my last words, spoken before he lost consciousness, and clung to them like a child clinging to his mother's reassurances.
I said he slept fairly peacefully: that was the truth. Complete peace seemed beyond this tormented man, even in his sleep. He breathed rather heavily, and the furrow between his dark eyebrows had not disappeared.
I sat quietly beside him and watched him sleep. It had been almost two days since we found him, or perhaps he found us. He alternated between losing and regaining consciousness, but even when theoretically awake, he only stared with an empty, bleary gaze, heavy with fatigue, saying nothing.
I did not allow anyone from my crew to approach him. Their inquiries would only harm him more, I told myself, well aware that I was not much better myself when it came to the number and feverishness of my questions. I decided firmly that if he woke up now, I would not ask him anything - and indeed, when he opened his eyes, I did not say a word, only running my hand across his warm, damp forehead. To my utter amazement, he was the one who spoke, displaying surprising clarity of mind for a man who had been delirious for the last forty-eight hours.
"Captain?..."
"That's me," I replied simply, briefly, and yet I couldn't help asking the question. In my defence, it was said out of concern for my guest. "How are you feeling, Mr...?"
"Frankenstein," he replied, understanding the reason for my pause. "Victor Frankenstein. And I feel..."
At that moment, he had the expression of a man who really wanted to give a reply but couldn't. The answer had to be more complex than 'good' or 'bad'. I reassured him with a quick wave of my hand.
"You don't have to answer. Get some rest, sir."
"Yes, you're right, Captain. I need to rest. I need to save my strength." There was an almost childlike determination in his words, and I struggled to suppress a smile.
"Strength for what?" I asked.
"For catching the devil," he replied so grimly that I immediately stopped smiling. "Forgive me," he added immediately with an elegant courtesy somewhat incongruous with our harsh surroundings. "If I lack manners, it is only because I have been deprived of the company of a single friendly soul for a long time. I may have forgotten what gentleness is."
I considered his apology unnecessary, especially since it had exhausted him badly.
"Don't worry about it, we're not in am elegant French salon, after all," I replied cheerfully.
He smiled, or at least you could say he did, because although the corners of his mouth turned up, there was no joy in it.
"I must also thank you. It seems that I have aroused your curiosity and that of your crew, and yet, in your blessed sensitivity, you ask no questions."
So he doesn't remember the last two days, I thought, feeling myself blushing.
"I believe," I began, somewhat awkwardly. "That at the right time..."
"But of course," he interrupted me. "It's the least I can do in response to your kindness."
Something in his remark, though spoken calmly, even with the weariness that was overwhelming him again, made me feel as if he had fallen to his knees before me and begun to kiss my hands. I was glad he closed his eyes, because my cheeks were now burning with fire. I wondered what was happening to me. What kind of spell had this stranger cast on me?
He fell asleep, but I couldn't bring myself to leave his side for a long time. Listening to his breathing, I suddenly remembered my letters to Margaret. I remember well now what I boldly thought at the time: that God himself must have sent this man to me in answer to my dreams.
***
He had a gift for crafting stories; even despite his illness, he painted such enchanting pictures of his youth that at times I completely forgot where I really was. Together with him, Elizabeth and Henry, I ran through green hills, picked flowers, learning their names and weaving them into crowns, sang loudly, lit bonfires in the evenings and danced around them, played various characters, from Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon (in the form of a nearby stream) to Robin Hood, who robbed the rich to give to the poor (the rich were represented by a maid with a tray full of delicacies, and the poor were, of course, us). But no matter how beautifully Frankenstein told his stories, I knew that this sweet utopia could not last forever, and with each passing moment, my anxiety grew.
Together with Frankenstein, I left this wonderful world behind for Ingolstadt with its busy streets. His voice did not tremble, nor did he pause to reflect on the lost dream, but something made me realise how much regret there was in him; perhaps it was the way his eyes lost their sparkle, almost like those of a dying man. In fact, now that I think about it years later, something in him died then, in its own way.
I listened and watched without saying a word, only occasionally wiping the sweat from his brow. He paid no attention to these gestures and talked and talked... And the harsh madness I had seen earlier when he mentioned catching the devil intensified with every word.
It was obvious to me that I could not allow him to tell his story without interruption, which was something he seemed to want, at least initially. But in the end, he himself discovered that he had overestimated his strength when he fell heavily onto the pillows, literally in mid-sentence, unable to catch his breath.
When he was finally capable of speaking again, he sighed quietly and said, with what could be described as a blush colouring his pale cheeks:
"Forgive me, Captain. You must be tired, and here I am keeping you by my side and mercilessly placing the burden of my story on your shoulders."
I struggled to hide my smile. A foolish, proud man, I thought – ah, yes! – with affection. I had known him for only a short time, but it seemed very fitting to his character to deny his own weakness in this way. I decided to play along, as I realised that otherwise I would not be able to persuade him to rest. I pretended to yawn.
"Yes, you are right, Mr Frankenstein. It is very late. Well, I wish you a good night."
I got up, but he grabbed me by the sleeve.
"I realised - forgive me for only doing so now - that I am taking your bed, Captain. Where will you sleep?"
"On the floor, as I have for the last three nights," I replied with a smile. At this answer, his face wrinkled with horror.
"Oh, that's horrible, that's unacceptable!... Why didn't you say anything, Captain?"
"Sir, I see that you consider me to be someone made of glass, or perhaps raised in a palace. I assure you, I have experienced much worse conditions in my life and I can sleep on the ground under warm furs quite comfortably. As for why I didn't say anything to you, well, even if I wanted to, it was, to be honest, a bit difficult."
"But..."
"Please do not protest, or I will call Mr Stevens. You have already met him in his good mood, and I do not think you would want to meet him in his bad mood as well."
I could see that he was having an inner fight.
"Are you sure that...?"
"Absolutely. However, if you want to repay me somehow..."
"I'll do everything in my power."
"...please call me by my first name."
"Oh, it's such a small thing! All right, Robert, if that's what you want. And you, please do the same with me."
And when he looked at me from under his eyelashes with bright eyes that almost sparkled, I began to understand that I was lost.
***
He had now reached the terrible crux of his story; he recounted this part with less lyricism, even seeming to struggle to find the words. I was patient and listened with what could be described as terrible fascination. I had to remind myself to interrupt him when he faltered too much.
When he finished telling me about the process of Creation, he simply sank into silence for a few hours. He did not faint, he was conscious, but his empty eyes stared blankly at one point, his whole body motionless like a statue. I rushed to recount the chilling story of the zenith of his genius in a letter to Margaret, with the hope, which seemed naive to me at the time, that she would one day be able to read it.
When Victor came to his senses, he resumed the story, and suddenly a kind of involuntary joy and relief echoed in his voice as the one hero who had been previously left behind now returned to the narrative.
Oh, how he seemed to adore Henry Clerval! How very sweetly, with heavenly delight, he uttered his name! There is no doubt that he considered Clerval his guardian angel, who had saved him from falling into an extreme madness. It is strange; even when he told me of his great but terrible efforts to create life, I did not wish to interrupt him as much as when he spoke in praise of his friend. Suddenly, for the first time, I was overcome with impatience. However, I gritted my teeth and suffered in silence.
Oh, yes, I suffered! I was foolish then; the feeling that gripped my heart was jealousy, but I did not understand it until it was too late.
I must admit that I was terribly childish in that jealousy; I wanted the whole world to admire him boundlessly, but at the same time I couldn't bear the thought that someone else could love that soul more and with greater tenderness than I did.
"You remind me of him, Robert," Victor said quietly at one point, and my heart was pierced by a blade, causing me both anguish and bliss. "How much I owe you both, how great my debt to you is!"
"There are no debts between friends," I replied, and suddenly it seemed incredibly bold, perhaps because I heard my own tone, which was not as confident as I had planned.
"So you consider me to be...?" He did not finish; I could not quite discern his feelings. I decided to take a chance and simply said:
"Yes, Victor."
"That's good," he said with a pale smile. "Because, you see, Robert, I have come to love you. It's hard not to love you, brave, good heart!"
It was normal for a friend to say that to his friend, I told myself, turning my face away so he couldn't see my red cheeks. So why did I desire...?
Oh, my foolish heart, be damned! It's a pity you didn't stop beating at the very moment! Why did you turn against your master?
***
"Henry, Henry, it's so cold!"
"I know, Victor," I whispered to him, responding to a name that wasn't mine. I was helpless; I wrapped him in all the blankets and furs I could find, but to no avail. All I could do was rub his emaciated hands with his long fingers, which must once have been constantly stained with ink. I longed for those better times, even though I didn't know them, and that only made me envy Clerval more. Some part of Victor would always remain inaccessible to me, I knew that, though I tried desperately to drown out the thought by imagining our future life together. I would invite him to Margaret's house and we would pick flowers in her garden together, eat at the same table, lend each other our favourite books. I would never be able to have what I wanted most, but Victor's presence alone would be enough...
His quiet sobbing snapped me out of my reverie. I shouldn't let my dreams carry me so high that I later fall painfully to the ground, like Icarus, who flew too close to the sun.
"I'm sorry, my dear friend," I said. "Oh, how I wish I could ease your suffering!"
"I'm so cold..."
Suddenly, in my desperation, an idea came to me.
"Let me share my warmth with you, Victor. May I?"
His only response was a quiet but agonised moan. So I lay down beside him and put my arm around his slender frame. "Did Clerval also lie with him like this during those winter hours of illness in Ingolstadt?" I wondered involuntarily.
His dark head moved closer, and I laid it on my chest. I hoped that, lost in the dark world of feverish dreams, he would hear my heart beating for him and draw some comfort from it, however small.
***
When I woke up the next morning, I was surprised to see that Victor was not beside me. At first, I sat up abruptly, alarmed, and saw him sitting in a chair at the desk, pensive and pale, but no longer looking like a living corpse.
"For God's sake, Victor, what are you doing out of bed?!" Despite my anger, I couldn't help feeling a certain joy that he had proved strong enough to get up and walk to the chair on his own.
He had enough decency to look ashamed.
"I woke up a while ago... I felt better, but I couldn't sleep, and you... I thought... oh, never mind."
I saw a slight blush on his cheeks and was glad; another good sign. The gardens, shared meals and exchanged books suddenly seemed a little closer to me. But I couldn't neglect my care for him, so I put on the most serious, firm expression I could muster.
"You go back to bed immediately, dear sir!" I said sternly, placing my hands on my hips. He smiled shyly.
"I'm afraid, my dear Robert, that when I walked from there to here, I didn't think about whether I could repeat the feat by going the other way."
"Oh, Victor!" I sighed, moving to help him.
I embraced Victor tightly, helping him up, and then I felt his shoulders tremble. With the utmost concern, I looked into his face.
He was laughing, that beautiful devil.
When I finally got him onto the bed, he was gasping for breath from a mixture of exhaustion and laughter. I found it really awful that I couldn't stay angry with him for long.
"Dear Robert, don't frown!" he said with the playful charm of a child or perhaps a woman, completely disarming me. "Such gloom does not suit you."
I sighed once more.
"What am I to do with you, Victor, the worst patient in history?" I asked rhetorically, but he replied:
"You will play chess with me, perhaps?"
So I did. Ten games, to be precise, before I reluctantly had to leave him due to my captain's duties.
I lost eight times.
Of course.
***
One night, he had gently asked me if I could help him get out on deck. I wrapped him carefully and thoroughly in furs and granted his request.
It was one of those harsh but beautiful nights that are common at the pole. The air was crisp and crystal clear, and everything around us seemed particularly vivid.
I stood beside Victor as he leaned against the ship's side, watching his face closely, looking for any signs of discomfort, ready to take him back immediately. But he showed no desire to return, only gazing at the stars with an inscrutable expression.
"You don't see them so clearly in the cities," he said suddenly, quietly, as if to himself. "But here... We are so small compared to them, Robert, so small!... God, oh, God!"
I said nothing in response to Victor's cry of despair. I already knew enough of his story to understand what it all meant, and that he was not looking for empty words of comfort.
"Robert..." he whispered suddenly, with a childlike vulnerability. "I know I'm a bad man and I don't deserve it, but when I die, could you please not throw me overboard?"
I froze.
"Victor, my dearest, what made you think I could!..." I cried, grabbing his hands. "Besides, you're not going to die. We'll find you a good doctor in England and you'll get well soon. And if you don't completely forget your friend, then I hope you'll come with me to my sister's house. I'm sure she'd be delighted to meet you, as would be my nephews. They're charming boys, albeit very mischievous. Margaret has a lovely garden, of which she's very proud. You'll like it... And her library!..."
I hadn't looked him in the eye the whole time, but suddenly I glanced up and was overcome by the expression I saw on his face. A veil of tears clouded my vision, and though I tried very hard, I couldn't speak any further.
"Oh, Robert..." Victor said gently. "Dear Robert! I would like nothing more, but I know, and you must know too, that it is not meant to be. It is enough for me if indeed you do not throw my body overboard and perhaps remember this miserable wretch fondly from time to time..."
I hugged him tightly before he could say anything else.
And to this day, I don't know if I only thought or actually uttered these words:
"I will always love you, Victor."