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. Petersburg, December 11th, 17—.

You'll be glad to know that nothing has gone wrong at the start of this venture you worried about so much. I arrived here yesterday, and my first order of business is to tell my dear sister that I'm well and growing more confident that this journey will succeed.

I'm already far north of London, and as I walk the streets of Petersburg, a cold northern wind brushes my cheeks—it energizes me and fills me with joy. Do you know that feeling? This wind, blowing down from the very regions I'm heading toward, gives me a preview of those icy lands. Charged up by this promising breeze, my daydreams grow even more intense and vivid. I try to convince myself that the North Pole must be a place of frost and emptiness, but in my imagination it always appears as a land of beauty and wonder. There, Margaret, the sun never sets—its wide disk just grazes the horizon, spreading endless light. There, if I may trust the explorers who came before me, snow and frost don't exist; sailing across calm waters, we might reach a land more wonderful and beautiful than any place ever discovered on Earth. Its plants and landscapes could be beyond anything known, just as the sky's phenomena there are surely unlike anything seen elsewhere. What might I find in a land of endless daylight? Perhaps I'll discover the mysterious force that pulls a compass needle north, or solve puzzles about the stars that only this voyage could untangle. I'll satisfy my burning curiosity by seeing a part of the world no one has ever visited, and maybe walk on ground no human has ever touched. These are the things that draw me forward—powerful enough to erase any fear of danger or death, and to make me begin this difficult voyage with the same joy a child feels setting off in a small boat with friends to explore a river near home. But even if all these guesses turn out wrong, you can't deny the enormous benefit I'd give all humanity, for generations to come, by finding a passage near the pole to places that currently take many months to reach—or by figuring out the secret of magnetism, which an expedition like mine might be the only way to discover.

These thoughts have calmed the nervous energy I felt when I started this letter, and now my heart burns with an excitement that lifts me up, because nothing settles the mind like having a clear goal—something for the soul to focus on. This expedition has been my favorite dream since childhood. I've eagerly read accounts of voyages attempting to reach the North Pacific Ocean by sailing through the seas around the pole. You'll remember that our good Uncle Thomas's entire library consisted of books about exploration. My schooling was neglected, but I loved reading passionately. I studied these books day and night, and the more I knew them, the more I regretted—even as a child—that my father's dying wish had stopped my uncle from letting me become a sailor.

These dreams faded once I first read the poets whose work captured my soul and lifted it to the heavens. I became a poet myself and spent a year living in a paradise I'd built in my own mind; I imagined I too might earn a place among the greats, alongside names like Homer and Shakespeare. You know well how I failed at this and how hard I took the disappointment. But right around that time, I inherited my cousin's fortune, and my thoughts turned back to their earlier direction.

Six years have passed since I decided to pursue this current plan. I can still remember the exact hour I committed myself to this great undertaking. I started by toughening my body against hardship. I joined whale-hunters on several trips to the North Sea; I willingly endured cold, hunger, thirst, and sleeplessness. I often worked harder than the regular sailors during the day and spent my nights studying math, medical theory, and other sciences that could give a sea explorer a real practical edge. Twice I actually took a job as an assistant officer on a Greenland whaling ship, and I did remarkably well. I admit I felt a bit of pride when my captain offered me the second-highest position on the ship and begged me to stay, since he valued my work so highly.

And now, dear Margaret, don't I deserve to achieve something great? I could have lived a life of comfort and luxury, but I chose glory over every temptation wealth offered me. If only some encouraging voice would tell me yes! My courage and determination are solid, but my hopes rise and fall, and I often feel discouraged. I'm about to begin a long, difficult voyage that will test everything I have: I'll need not just to keep others' spirits up, but sometimes to hold up my own when theirs fail.

This is the best time of year for traveling in Russia. Sledges fly quickly over the snow—the ride is smooth, and honestly, more pleasant than riding in an English stagecoach. The cold isn't unbearable if you're wrapped in furs, which I've already started wearing, since there's a big difference between moving around on a ship's deck and sitting still for hours, when nothing keeps the blood from nearly freezing in your veins. I have no desire to die on the road between St. Petersburg and Archangel.

I'll leave for Archangel in two or three weeks. Once there, I plan to rent a ship—easy enough if I pay the owner's insurance—and hire as many sailors as I need from among those experienced with whale-hunting. I won't set sail until June. And when will I return? 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.

Farewell, my dear, wonderful Margaret. May heaven bless you and keep me safe, so I can keep showing my gratitude for all your love and kindness.

Your affectionate brother,

R. Walton

Letter 2

To Mrs. Saville, England.

Archangel, March 28th, 17—.

Time crawls by here, surrounded as I am by frost and snow! Still, I've taken a second step toward my goal. I've rented a ship and am busy gathering my crew; the men I've already hired seem trustworthy and certainly show real courage.

But there's one thing I still lack, and not having it feels like a real hardship: I have no friend, Margaret. When I'm bursting with excitement over some success, no one will be there to share my joy; if disappointment strikes, no one will be there to lift my spirits. I'll write down my thoughts, it's true, but paper is a poor substitute for real connection. I want the company of someone who could understand me, whose eyes would answer mine. You might think I'm being overly sentimental, dear sister, but I truly feel the absence of a friend. I have no one nearby who is both gentle and brave, with a mind that's both open and sharp, whose interests match mine, who could support or improve my plans. How such a friend could help fix your poor brother's flaws! I act too eagerly and lose patience too quickly with obstacles. But an even bigger problem is that I taught myself everything: for the first fourteen years of my life, I ran wild and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas's travel books. At that age, I discovered the great poets of our country, but only after it was too late to fully benefit from that discovery did I realize I needed to learn more languages than just my own. Now I'm twenty-eight, and honestly less educated than many fifteen-year-old schoolboys. It's true I've thought more deeply, and my dreams reach further and grander heights, but they lack—as painters would say—balance and restraint. I badly need a friend wise enough not to dismiss me as overly romantic, but caring enough to help steady my mind.

Well, these complaints don't help anything. I certainly won't find a friend out on the open ocean, or even here in Archangel among merchants and sailors. And yet, some feelings untouched by life's harshness still beat in these rough hearts. My lieutenant, for example, is remarkably brave and driven; he's fiercely hungry for glory—or really, to put it more accurately, for advancement in his career. He's English, and despite the national and professional biases that haven't been softened by education, he still holds onto some of humanity's finest qualities. I first met him aboard a whaling ship; when I found out he was out of work here in this city, I easily convinced him to join my expedition.

The ship's captain is a man of excellent character, known aboard ship for his gentleness and mild approach to discipline. This trait, combined with his well-known honesty and fearless courage, made me very eager to hire him. Having spent my youth in solitude, with my best years shaped under your gentle, feminine care, I've developed a strong distaste for the usual brutality common on ships—I've never believed such harshness was necessary. So when I heard of a sailor known both for his kindness and for the respect and obedience his crew gave him willingly, I felt lucky to secure his help. I first heard about him in a rather romantic way, from a woman who owes her happiness in life to him. Here, briefly, is his story. Some years back, he loved a young Russian woman of modest wealth, and having saved up a good sum in prize money (a sailor's share of captured enemy goods), her father agreed to let them marry. He saw his bride-to-be once before the wedding, but she was in tears, and threw herself at his feet, begging him to release her from the engagement. She admitted she loved someone else—a man who was poor, someone her father would never approve of. My generous friend comforted her, and once he learned who her true love was, immediately gave up his claim to her. He had already bought a farm with his savings, planning to spend the rest of his life there; but he gave the whole farm to his rival, along with the rest of his prize money to help him get started, and then personally asked the young woman's father to allow the marriage to her true love instead. But the old man firmly refused, feeling he owed my friend a debt of honor. My friend, seeing the father would not budge...