Chapter 1

"And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, 'You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die" (Holy Bible, Genesis 2:16-17).

"Alas! Why does man boast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might nearly be free; but now we are moved by every wind that blows and a chance word or scene that that word may convey to us" (Frankenstein, page 100).

February 12, 17-

Dear Robert,

I have received your letters and am, indeed, intrigued by the tale you related as relayed to you from your late companion, Dr. Victor Frankenstein. I sensed your horror at the hearing of his saga. Upon first reading it I was not horrified but concerned more for your sanity by your depiction of such a tall tale. Then, by a strange turn of events, I was able to believe its authenticity and its noble instruction.

First, I must regretfully inform you that my husband and companion of only a short few years, Mr. Saville, passed away soon after your departure. He went very peacefully from a disease for which the doctors could not find a name, cause, or cure. After a sufficient period of grief, and quite accidentally, I met a man here in England, himself a Genevan and a student at Oxford embarking on the study of theology. We met casually inside a café one rainy afternoon. I detected a sad mien and lonesomeness upon him. My own grief and loneliness, as well as my longings for you, gave me empathy for this man so that I was prompted to take a seat beside him and offer him my compassion. Had I not done so your story would have forever remained to me an apparition of yours influenced by the desolate and desperate circumstances in which you found yourself. But Robert, this man's tale of woe was so compatible with that of your friend's that I am bound now to believe the strange events you have shared.

The man's name is Eugene Frankenstein. You have heard of him, yes. He is the brother of your late friend, Victor Frankenstein. Eugene had once aspired to a military career, much to the chagrin of his father and Elizabeth, your Victor's wife. Perhaps now they can find peace, at least in their deaths, that one of their wishes has come true. Eugene chose to give up his aspirations for the military after suffering the loss, one by one, of his entire family, save Victor, of whose demise had had not yet heard, until he met me, and so hoped in vain for him to still be alive. Having lost his beloved family, Eugene became a pensive man, searching for the meaning of life and death in a way that Victor had not. Eugene, unlike Victor, is not interested in the physiology o f life. He wants to know the meaning behind it; where we come from, why we are here, why we die, and where we go when we die. I must admit I found his interests more virtuous and beneficial than those of your friend initially, until Eugene, through his studies, was able to reconcile all that has transpired in recent years, and especially now with this last bit of information that you have shared with me, and I have subsequently shared with Eugene. You can imagine his surprise when I showed him your letters.

Much time has passed since our first meeting and we have seen each other regularly ever since. His grief over Victor's death, at last has come to an acceptance, through the reading and interpretation of your letters. Certainly, hearing Victor's confession, as you did in person, and seeing the non-verbal reactions of your story-teller, must have given his account an eerie tone. Having had the advantage of reading it rather than hearing it, gentler, more profound feelings have benefited Eugene and me about the adventures of Victor and his creature. Moreover, Eugene's theological studies have fortified him with an apocryphal understanding of the occurrences actuated by the scientist and his experiment. I shall share his conclusions, as he explained them to me, herein.

It seems your affections for Victor Frankenstein, fortunately, were nourished, not by his actions, but by the fact that you met him in his remorse. He discovered deeper truths in the end and you were privileged to hear those truths. Because you have shared them with me, and I with Eugene, the truths Victor discovered have given his brother comfort also.

I hope, Robert, that you also were able to feel the depth and hear the lessons on life, death, and the pursuit of knowledge that your confessor revealed to you. If you were not able to experience these sensations, having to witness his changing complexions during his telling of this beast tale, allow me then to expound upon the message therein, as interpreted to me by Eugene, that you might learn from his story, too.

Eugene proclaims it is the liability of humans that we are wont to pursue knowledge so ardently. We all begin our lives in such innocence. And losing that through the pursuit of higher studies can lead to good, but also to evil. In the myth of the creation of man and woman, Eugene states the tree of knowledge, at the center of the Garden of Eden, was also at the center of life's drama. Adam and Eve were banished because they desired God's knowledge instead of the humble existence with which they were entrusted. It is the seeking of such enlightenment that separates humans from animals, but also from the divine. Have you ever wondered at the meaning of this myth and why God forbade the first humans to eat from this one tree? It was because He knew the misery it could bring upon them. He knew it might cause them to hurt each other and to be hurt in return. In effect, God knew that knowledge could also open the world and its inhabitants to sinfulness. Wisdom makes us capable of critical analysis, which in turn allows us to respond to differing feelings that emerge inside of us in response to reactions to us by others. Knowledge is the nexus of our evolution from animal to human. Once we have acquired it our eyes are indeed opened, but not in the way we had hoped. Our newfound knowledge only removes the blindfold so that we can see our own nakedness, our defenseless, vulnerable, human frailties and limitations. Once endowed with such awareness, our lives are never again as peaceful as depicted in the Garden of Eden. Essentially, we become aware of who and what we are and of who and what we are not, and of whether or not we fit with others of our own kind. Knowledge gives us cause to imagine a future and to worry about one, and dreadfully, to imagine how and when we will die. We also fail to realize, in our initial and limited acquisition of this newfound capability, that death is not a punishment. Rather, it is only in death that we will again find the peace we have lost through knowledge. Death is only frightening because we love and are loved by others. Departing this world costs us nothing, as Victor's creature realized, only if we love no one and no one loves us. It is love that causes us to wish to avoid death and seek life. Otherwise the pain of living might hasten our journey to death, as it did your friend and his creature when neither of them had anyone left to love or be loved by. I only wish Victor had realized how much Eugene would love to have his companionship even now, after all that has passed.

Forgive me, Robert, if I seem opposed to erudition. I am not. Furthermore, Eugene has assured me that it is precisely our capability of higher thought that causes us to chase it. But in addition to curiosity, one must not forget that living beings are also endowed with a feeling sense and a moral sense. We are vulnerable to pain, hurt, agony, dejection, loneliness, despair, anger, and yes, of vengeance, as in the case of your friend's created creature.

Eugene told me that his childhood, and Victor's, was innocent, too. You mentioned that Victor said, with remorse in his voice, "No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself…before misfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright visions of extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self…."

Well, whether or not Dr. Frankenstein realized it, the creature he created out of his own ardent quest for greatness, however unusually he came into being, was formed in innocence, too, because you told me he said, woefully, "When I run over the frightful catalog of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness."

As each of them, Victor Frankenstein and his creature, grew, they independently became aware of their surroundings, which inspired each of them to learn.

Whereas, dear Robert, you told me his creature confessed, "My sensations had…become distinct, and my mind received every day…additional ideas," you also revealed to me, how Dr. Frankenstein confessed, "The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine…. It was the secrets of heaven and earth that I desired to learn…."

Eugene has construed, dear brother, that Victor Frankenstein tasted the forbidden fruit, despite having been forewarned by at least three prominent men in his life, to not seek the study of alchemy: his father, albeit, in a cursory manner; M. Kremp vehemently; and M. Waldman, more gently. All three admonished him to not study the likes of Cornelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, and Albertus Magnus. But these serpents had already seduced him and his downfall was complete. Remember, Robert, how you told me that he said himself, in his great despair, "…the birth of that passion, which afterwards ruled my destiny…swelling as it proceeded…became the torrent which, in its course…swept away all my hopes and joys."

That passion to which he refers was his rampant preference for prescience, power, prestige, and might I say, praise. For Victor also, in his confession to you, said that it was not a desire for wealth that drove him thus. Nay, he admitted, "…What glory would attend the discovery, if I could banish disease from the human frame and render man invulnerable to any but a violent death!... A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me…. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation."