Frankenstein;

or, the Modern Prometheus

by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley

CONTENTS

Letter 1
Letter 2
Letter 3
Letter 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24

Letter 1

To Mrs. Saville, England.

St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—.

You will be happy to know that nothing bad has happened at the start of this trip, even though you worried so much about it. I arrived here yesterday, and my first job is to tell my dear sister that I am safe and feeling more and more sure that my journey will succeed.

I am already far north of London. As I walk through the streets of St. Petersburgh, I feel a cold north wind on my cheeks. It wakes me up and makes me happy. Do you understand this feeling? This wind has traveled from the icy lands I am heading toward, and it gives me a little taste of what's coming. It fills my mind with exciting dreams. I try to tell myself that the North Pole is just ice and emptiness, but in my imagination it always seems like a beautiful, wonderful place. There, Margaret, the sun never sets — it just glows along the edge of the sky all the time. There, I believe (trusting the sailors who explored before me), there is no snow or frost at all. If we sail across a calm sea, we might reach a land more amazing and beautiful than any place ever found on Earth. Everything there might be completely new, just like the strange lights and stars people see near the poles. What might we discover in a land of endless daylight? Maybe I'll find the mysterious force that pulls a compass needle north — a discovery that could explain a thousand confusing things scientists have seen in the sky, if only someone made this voyage. I will finally satisfy my burning curiosity by seeing part of the world no one has ever visited, and maybe walk where no human has ever walked. These are the things pulling me forward, and they are strong enough to make me forget all fear of danger or death. I feel as excited as a child setting off on a little boat with friends to explore a river near home.

But even if all my hopes turn out to be wrong, you cannot argue with this: I could help all of humanity, forever, by finding a shortcut near the North Pole to places that currently take many months to reach by other routes. Or I might solve the mystery of magnetism — and that can only be done by a voyage like mine.

Thinking about all this has calmed the nervous feeling I had when I started writing this letter. My heart feels full of excitement, almost like it's lifting me toward the sky. Nothing calms the mind like having one clear goal to focus on. This trip has been my favorite dream since I was young. I eagerly read stories about earlier trips that tried to reach the North Pacific Ocean by sailing through the seas around the North Pole. Remember how our good Uncle Thomas's whole bookshelf was full of stories about explorers? I didn't get much schooling, but I loved reading. I studied those books day and night, and the more I read, the more I wished I could go to sea myself — something my father had forbidden before he died, and which my uncle promised to enforce.

Those daydreams faded a little when I first read great poets — writers whose beautiful words thrilled my heart and lifted my spirit. For a while, I even tried writing poetry myself, imagining I might become as famous as Homer or Shakespeare one day. You know how that turned out, and how disappointed I was. But right around that time, I inherited money from my cousin, and my old dream of exploring came right back to me.

It has been six years since I decided to make this journey happen. I still remember the exact moment I promised myself I would do this great thing. I started by training my body to handle hardship. I joined whale-hunting ships on trips to the North Sea. I chose to go through cold, hunger, thirst, and lack of sleep on purpose. I often worked harder during the day than the regular sailors, and at night I studied math, medicine, and science — subjects that would help someone exploring by sea. Twice, I even worked as an assistant officer on a Greenland whaling ship, and I did very well. I admit I felt proud when my captain offered me the second-highest position on the ship and begged me to stay, because he valued my work so much.

So now, dear Margaret, don't I deserve to achieve something great? I could have lived a comfortable, easy life, but I chose glory instead of wealth. I wish someone would tell me, right now, that I will succeed! My courage and determination are strong, but my hopes go up and down, and sometimes I feel discouraged. I am about to begin a long, difficult voyage that will test everything I've got. Not only will I need to keep my crew's spirits up, but sometimes I'll need to keep my own spirits up too, when theirs fail.

This is the best time of year to travel in Russia. Sledges glide quickly over the snow — it's a smooth ride, actually nicer than riding in an English stagecoach. The cold isn't too bad if you wear furs, which I've already started doing, since sitting still for hours in the cold is very different from moving around on a ship's deck; when you sit still, nothing keeps your blood from nearly freezing. I don't want to freeze to death on the road between St. Petersburgh and Archangel!

I'll leave for Archangel in about two or three weeks. Once there, I plan to rent a ship (which is easy if you pay insurance to the owner) and hire sailors experienced in whale-hunting. I won't set sail until June. And when will I come back? Ah, dear sister, how can I answer that? If I succeed, many months — maybe years — will pass before we see each other again. If I fail, you'll either see me again soon, or never.

Goodbye, my dear, wonderful Margaret. May heaven bless you and keep me safe, so that I can keep thanking you again and again for all your love and kindness.

Your loving brother,

R. Walton

Letter 2

To Mrs. Saville, England.

Archangel, 28th March, 17—.

Time passes so slowly here, surrounded by frost and snow! Still, I've taken another step toward my goal. I've rented a ship and am busy hiring sailors. The ones I've hired so far seem like men I can trust, and they clearly have great courage.

But there's one thing I still don't have, and not having it feels like a real problem: I have no friend, Margaret. When I'm excited about success, there will be no one to share my joy with. If something disappoints me, no one will be there to comfort me. I know I'll write down my thoughts on paper, but that's a poor substitute for sharing feelings with a real person. I wish I had someone who understood me — someone whose eyes could answer mine with understanding. You might think I'm being silly, dear sister, but I truly feel the lack of a friend. There is no one near me who is both kind and brave, who has a mind that is both well-trained and open, with interests like mine, who could check my plans and help fix my mistakes. Such a friend could help correct your poor brother's faults! I tend to rush into things and get impatient with problems.

But an even bigger issue is that I taught myself most of what I know. For the first fourteen years of my life, I ran around freely and only read our Uncle Thomas's travel books. At that age, I discovered famous poets from my own country, but by the time I realized how important it was to learn other languages too, it was already too late to get the full benefit. Now I'm twenty-eight, and I actually know less than many fifteen-year-old schoolboys. It's true I've thought more deeply, and my dreams are bigger, but (as painters would say) they lack "balance." I really need a friend who is smart enough not to laugh at my big dreams, but who cares about me enough to help keep my mind steady.

Well, these are just useless complaints. I certainly won't find a friend out on the open ocean, or even here in Archangel, among merchants and sailors. And yet, even in these rough, hardened men, some better feelings still exist. My lieutenant, for example, is amazingly brave and bold. He desperately wants glory — or really, to describe him more accurately, he wants to move up in his career. He's English, and even though he has some of the usual national pride and rough manners of an uneducated sailor, he still holds onto some truly noble qualities. I first met him on a whaling ship, and when I found out he had no job here in this city, I quickly hired him to help with my voyage.

The ship's captain is a man with an excellent character, known on the ship for being gentle and fair with the crew. Along with his honesty and fearless courage, this made me very eager to hire him. I spent my youth alone, and my best years were shaped by your gentle care, which has made me dislike the usual harsh treatment sailors often get on ships. I've never believed harshness was necessary. So when I heard about a sailor known both for his kindness and for the genuine respect his crew gives him, I felt very lucky to hire him. I first heard his story in a rather romantic way, from a woman whose whole happiness in life she owes to him. Here, briefly, is his story:

Some years ago, he loved a young Russian woman who had a modest amount of money. He had saved up a good sum from his sea voyages, and the young woman's father agreed to let them marry. He saw his bride-to-be once before the wedding — but she was in tears. She threw herself at his feet and begged him to release her from the engagement, admitting that she loved someone else, a poor man her father would never approve of. My generous friend comforted her right away, and once he learned who she truly loved, he immediately gave up his claim to her. He had already bought a farm with his savings, planning to settle down there for the rest of his life. But instead, he gave the whole farm to his rival, along with the rest of his savings to help the young man start a business. Then he personally asked the young woman's father to allow her to marry the man she truly loved. But the old man firmly refused, believing he owed loyalty to my friend, who — when he realized the father...