Dear Mr Darcy… Yours, Victor Frankenstein

Mr Darcy offers advice to a misguided scientist with serious problems around medical ethics

Dear Mr Darcy

I find myself trapped by a wrong of my own doing – and I fear it may be my undoing!

Whilst pursuing my studies in chemistry and anatomy, I succeeded in discovering the cause of life itself, and I determined to bring the gift of my knowledge to the world. Many midnight hours I spent collecting bones from charnel-houses; many dark nights I was eagerly engaged in my task; until, one dreary night in November, I saw the fruits of my labours awaken.

A monster stood before me. Breathless horror and disgust filled my heart as I gazed upon the wretch and, unable to countenance this spectre that I had brought into being, I fled the room. When I returned, later, the creature was gone; I hoped, for good, as I could not bear to look upon him or contemplate what I had done.

However, peace of mind was not to be my lot. The fiend has now returned to my life in the most brutal manner, murdering those I love and threatening my happiness and my very existence. Not only this, he insists that I create a female with whom he may share his miserable life!

How can I consent to such a demand? And yet, if I do not, what further horrors may he visit upon me? Sir, I would be most grateful for any words of comfort and assistance you can offer this despairing soul in his hour of need, for I am at my wits’ end.

Yours,

Victor Frankenstein

My Dear Victor

A pervasive feeling of disbelief and, yes, nausea sweeps through me as I read your letter. How can a man of your good standing, your family background, your education, have pursued a path of such misjudgement and unalloyed horror? I am almost speechless with disgust; but I must continue, for if I do not speak my mind, what further atrocities will you yet commit?

You must surely be aware that your behaviour, far from being pitiable, is unacceptable in the extreme. The gift of life is not yours to bestow: that was your first, and your greatest, error; your second was that, having granted life – if such an abject existence can be thus described – to this poor, wretched creature, you then walked away from your substantial duty of care.

Yes, you have a duty! A duty to help, advise and provide for this living, breathing being whom you have brought, by your own choice, into this world. However ghastly his aspect, however repugnant his demeanour, he cannot be expected to adhere to the conventions of society if he is not shown the way by you, his creator. If he has violated customs, and even laws, as you say he has, then who, sir, is finally to blame? You need only look in the mirror.

You may ask how I am qualified to offer you this counsel. It pains me to admit it, but in your behaviour I recognise a past transgression of my own, albeit amplified many times. In allowing the tendencies of a certain George Wickham to go unchecked, I paved the way for his elopement with my sister-in-law, Miss Lydia Bennet. Had I acknowledged my role in the development of his character, I could have acted to prevent this, thereby saving my beloved Elizabeth much distress. You will therefore understand how anxious I am that my mistake be not repeated by others.

It has been said that with great power comes great responsibility. You, sir, have claimed the greatest power man can know, and you must now face up to your responsibilities. Whether you choose to accede to the brute’s demand for a mate or not, the weight of the decision rests entirely on your shoulders: having created this situation, you must now resolve it as you see fit.

But know this. Whatever decision you take, whatever choice you make, the direction of this creature’s life – his relationship with society, whether he pursues a course of good or evil – will depend solely on you. Do not waste this opportunity.

I wish you well.

Yours,

Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq.