Frankenstein;

or, the Modern Prometheus

by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley

CONTENTS

Letter 1 · Letter 2 · Letter 3 · Letter 4 · Chapters 1–24

Letter 1

To Mrs. Saville, England.

St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—.

You'll be glad to know that nothing bad has happened so far, even though you worried so much about this journey. I arrived here yesterday, and the first thing I want to do is let my dear sister know I'm safe and feeling more and more confident that my plan will succeed.

I'm already far north of London. As I walk through the streets of Petersburgh, I can feel a cold northern wind on my cheeks. It wakes up my whole body and fills me with joy. Can you understand that feeling? This wind has traveled all the way from the icy lands I'm heading toward, so it gives me a small taste of what's coming. Excited by this "wind of promise," my daydreams grow even bigger and more vivid. I try to remind myself that the North Pole is really just a place of ice and emptiness, but in my imagination it always looks like a beautiful, wonderful place instead. I picture it, Margaret, as a land where the sun never sets — just glowing forever along the edge of the sky. I picture calm seas carrying us to a land more amazing than any place ever discovered on Earth. Maybe such a place would have plants and animals unlike anything ever seen, just as the stars and lights in the sky there are probably unlike anything seen elsewhere. What might we find in a land of constant daylight? Perhaps I'll finally understand the mysterious force that pulls a compass needle north — a discovery that could make sense of many strange patterns scientists have noticed in the sky, if only someone made this voyage to check. I long to explore a part of the world no one has ever seen, and to walk on ground no human has ever touched. These dreams are exciting enough to make me forget any fear of danger or death. I feel as eager as a child setting off on a river adventure with friends during a school holiday. But even if none of my guesses turn out to be true, you can't deny how much good it would do for everyone if I found a passage near the pole that led to lands people currently need many months to reach — or if I solved the mystery of the magnetic compass. Both are things only a voyage like mine could achieve.

Thinking about all this has calmed the nervous feeling I had when I started writing this letter, and now my heart feels full of excitement, almost as if it's lifting me up toward the sky. Nothing calms the mind like having a clear goal to aim for. This journey has been my favorite dream since I was young. I've eagerly read about earlier voyages that tried to reach the North Pacific Ocean by sailing through the seas around the North Pole. You probably remember that our good Uncle Thomas's whole bookshelf was full of stories about voyages of discovery. I never had much formal schooling, but I loved reading. I studied those books day and night, and the more I read them, the more I wished I could go to sea myself — something my father's dying wish had asked my uncle to prevent.

Those dreams faded a bit when I first read great poets whose beautiful writing amazed me and lifted my spirits. For a while, I even tried to become a poet myself, imagining I might become as famous as Homer or Shakespeare. You already know how badly that attempt failed, and how hard I took the disappointment. But right around that time, I inherited money from my cousin, and my thoughts returned to my old dream of exploration.

It's been six years since I decided to pursue this expedition. I still remember the exact moment I committed myself to this great goal. I began by training my body to handle hardship. I joined whale-hunting trips to the North Sea and willingly put up with cold, hunger, thirst, and lack of sleep. I often worked harder during the day than the regular sailors, and at night I studied math, medicine, and other sciences that could be useful to someone exploring by sea. Twice I even took a job as an assistant officer on a whaling ship in Greenland, and I did the work so well that my captain offered me the second-highest position on the ship and begged me to stay — he valued my work that much.

So, dear Margaret, don't I deserve to achieve something great? I could have lived an easy, comfortable life, but I chose the pursuit of glory over every comfort wealth could offer. I wish someone would tell me, with confidence, that I will succeed! My determination is strong, but my hopes rise and fall, and sometimes I feel discouraged. I'm about to begin a long and difficult journey, one that will test my strength in every way. I'll need to keep others' spirits up — and sometimes my own, when theirs start to fail.

Right now is the best time to travel through Russia. Sledges glide quickly over the snow, and I find the ride smoother and more pleasant than riding in an English stagecoach. The cold isn't too harsh as long as you're wrapped in furs, which I've already started wearing — there's a big difference between moving around on a ship's deck and sitting still for hours, when nothing keeps your blood from nearly freezing in your veins. I have no wish to die 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 — easy enough to do if I pay the owner's insurance — and hire sailors experienced in whale-hunting. I won't set sail until June. And when will I return? Ah, dear sister, I can't answer that yet. If I succeed, it may be many months — even years — before we see each other again. If I fail, you'll either see me again soon, or not at all.

Goodbye, my dear, wonderful Margaret. May heaven bless you and keep me safe, so that I can keep showing you how grateful I am for 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 men I've hired so far seem trustworthy and brave.

But there's one thing I still lack, and not having it feels like a real hardship: I have no close friend, Margaret. When I'm filled with excitement over some success, there will be no one to share my joy. If disappointment strikes, no one will be there to comfort me. I'll write down my thoughts, yes, but words on paper are a poor substitute for real conversation. I wish I had someone who could understand me — someone whose eyes could answer mine with feeling. You might think this sounds overly emotional, but I truly feel the lack of a friend deeply. I have no one nearby who is both kind and brave, both thoughtful and open-minded, someone who shares my interests and could help shape or correct my plans. Such a friend could fix the flaws in your poor brother — I tend to act too eagerly and grow impatient when facing difficulties. Worse, I mostly taught myself: for the first fourteen years of my life, I ran wild and read nothing but Uncle Thomas's travel books. I didn't discover great poetry until later, and by the time I realized how important it was to learn other languages, it was already too late to fully take advantage of that knowledge. Now, at twenty-eight, I actually know less than many fifteen-year-old schoolboys. It's true I've thought more deeply, and my imagination reaches further and grander places — but, as painters would say, my ideas lack "keeping," meaning they aren't balanced or well put together. I really need a friend wise enough not to think less of me for being such a dreamer, but caring enough to help guide my mind.

Well, these complaints don't help much. I certainly won't find a true friend out at sea, or even here in Archangel among merchants and sailors. And yet, even in these rough men, some finer feelings still exist beneath the surface. My lieutenant, for example, is remarkably brave and ambitious — hungry for glory, or really, for career advancement. He's English, and despite the usual national and professional biases (uncorrected by much education), he still holds onto some truly admirable human qualities. I met him aboard a whaling ship, and when I learned he was currently without work here in the city, I quickly hired him to help with my expedition.

The ship's captain is an excellent man, known for his gentleness and calm way of running the ship. Along with his well-known honesty and fearless courage, this made me eager to bring him aboard. Having spent my childhood in solitude, and my most important years under your gentle care, I've grown a strong dislike for the harsh treatment sailors are usually given aboard ships. I never believed such cruelty was necessary, so when I heard about a captain known both for his kindness and for the respect and obedience of his crew, I felt lucky to secure his help. I first heard about him in a rather romantic story, from a woman who says she owes her happiness in life to him. Here, briefly, is that story.

Some years ago, this captain loved a young Russian woman of modest wealth. Having saved a good amount of prize money (money earned from capturing enemy ships), he won her father's approval for marriage. But before the wedding, when he saw his bride-to-be, she was in tears. She fell at his feet and begged him to release her from the engagement, admitting that she actually loved someone else — a man too poor for her father to approve of. My generous friend, upon hearing this, 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. Instead, he gave the farm, along with the rest of his prize money, to the poor young man she truly loved, so he could start a life with her. The captain then personally asked her father to allow the marriage. But the old man refused, feeling that he was bound by honor to keep his promise to my friend instead. When the captain realized the father...