One rainy, autumn night, Frankenstein brought his creation to life and all his illusions of grandeur were dashed by the hideousness of the beast. He had constructed the monster in perfect proportion with parts he considered beautiful, but the end result was horrific. His perfect creation was a frightening disaster. "For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart." Chapter 5, pg. 42 Frankenstein fled his laboratory and collapsed in his room. He woke from a nightmare to see the monster standing over him, smiling with his hideous, black lips.
Frankenstein ran away out into the city and walked until dawn. He ran into Henry in the city and was so excited to see his friend that he forgot about the monster that he had created until they returned to his apartment. The creature was gone, and Frankenstein was relieved, but as he and Henry talked, Frankenstein's fatigue and poor health prompted hallucinations of the monster. Frankenstein collapsed into a fever that left him bedridden for several months, during which Henry cared for him. In the throes of his illness, Frankenstein rambled on about the monster, but Henry chalked it up to the fever. He never asked Frankenstein what had happened, and he covered up the severity of Frankenstein's illness when he wrote to the Frankenstein family. When Frankenstein began to recover, Henry gave him a letter from Elizabeth.
