Frankenstein

Letter IV

Letter IVTo Mrs. Saville, England

August 5th, 17-

So strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear

recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me

before these papers can come into your possession.

Last Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which

closed in the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room

in which she floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous,

especially as we were compassed round by a very thick fog. We

accordingly lay to, hoping that some change would take place in the

atmosphere and weather.

About two o'clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld,

stretched out in every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice,

which seemed to have no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my

own mind began to grow watchful with anxious thoughts, when a

strange sight suddenly attracted our attention and diverted our

solicitude from our own situation. We perceived a low carriage,

fixed on a sledge and drawn by dogs, pass on towards the north, at

the distance of half a mile; a being which had the shape of a man,

but apparently of gigantic stature, sat in the sledge and guided

the dogs. We watched the rapid progress of the traveller with our

telescopes until he was lost among the distant inequalities of the

ice. This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we

believed, many hundred miles from any land; but this apparition

seemed to denote that it was not, in reality, so distant as we had

supposed. Shut in, however, by ice, it was impossible to follow his

track, which we had observed with the greatest attention. About two

hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea, and before

night the ice broke and freed our ship. We, however, lay to until

the morning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large loose

masses which float about after the breaking up of the ice. I

profited of this time to rest for a few hours.

In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon

deck and found all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel,

apparently talking to someone in the sea. It was, in fact, a

sledge, like that we had seen before, which had drifted towards us

in the night on a large fragment of ice. Only one dog remained

alive; but there was a human being within it whom the sailors were

persuading to enter the vessel. He was not, as the other traveller

seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of some undiscovered island, but

a European. When I appeared on deck the master said, "Here is our

captain, and he will not allow you to perish on the open sea."

On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although

with a foreign accent. "Before I come on board your vessel," said

he, "will you have the kindness to inform me whither you are

bound?"

You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question

addressed to me from a man on the brink of destruction and to whom

I should have supposed that my vessel would have been a resource

which he would not have exchanged for the most precious wealth the

earth can afford. I replied, however, that we were on a voyage of

discovery towards the northern pole.

Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on

board. Good God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus

capitulated for his safety, your surprise would have been

boundless. His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully

emaciated by fatigue and suffering. I never saw a man in so

wretched a condition. We attempted to carry him into the cabin, but

as soon as he had quitted the fresh air he fainted. We accordingly

brought him back to the deck and restored him to animation by

rubbing him with brandy and forcing him to swallow a small

quantity. As soon as he showed signs of life we wrapped him up in

blankets and placed him near the chimney of the kitchen stove. By

slow degrees he recovered and ate a little soup, which restored him

wonderfully.

Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak, and

I often feared that his sufferings had deprived him of

understanding. When he had in some measure recovered, I removed him

to my own cabin and attended on him as much as my duty would

permit. I never saw a more interesting creature: his eyes have

generally an expression of wildness, and even madness, but there

are moments when, if anyone performs an act of kindness towards him

or does him the most trifling service, his whole countenance is

lighted up, as it were, with a beam of benevolence and sweetness

that I never saw equalled. But he is generally melancholy and

despairing, and sometimes he gnashes his teeth, as if impatient of

the weight of woes that oppresses him.

When my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep

off the men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I

would not allow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a

state of body and mind whose restoration evidently depended upon

entire repose. Once, however, the lieutenant asked why he had come

so far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle.

His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest

gloom, and he replied, "To seek one who fled from me."

"And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same

fashion?"

"Yes."

"Then I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you

up we saw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the

ice."

This aroused the stranger's attention, and he asked a multitude

of questions concerning the route which the demon, as he called

him, had pursued. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said,

"I have, doubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of

these good people; but you are too considerate to make

inquiries."

"Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in

me to trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine."

"And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation;

you have benevolently restored me to life."

Soon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of

the ice had destroyed the other sledge. I replied that I could not

answer with any degree of certainty, for the ice had not broken

until near midnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a

place of safety before that time; but of this I could not judge.

From this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of

the stranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck

to watch for the sledge which had before appeared; but I have

persuaded him to remain in the cabin, for he is far too weak to

sustain the rawness of the atmosphere. I have promised that someone

should watch for him and give him instant notice if any new object

should appear in sight.

Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up

to the present day. The stranger has gradually improved in health

but is very silent and appears uneasy when anyone except myself

enters his cabin. Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle

that the sailors are all interested in him, although they have had

very little communication with him. For my own part, I begin to

love him as a brother, and his constant and deep grief fills me

with sympathy and compassion. He must have been a noble creature in

his better days, being even now in wreck so attractive and amiable.

I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find

no friend on the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his

spirit had been broken by misery, I should have been happy to have

possessed as the brother of my heart.

I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at

intervals, should I have any fresh incidents to record.

August 13th, 17-

My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at

once my admiration and my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I

see so noble a creature destroyed by misery without feeling the

most poignant grief? He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so

cultivated, and when he speaks, although his words are culled with

the choicest art, yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled

eloquence. He is now much recovered from his illness and is

continually on the deck, apparently watching for the sledge that

preceded his own. Yet, although unhappy, he is not so utterly

occupied by his own misery but that he interests himself deeply in

the projects of others. He has frequently conversed with me on

mine, which I have communicated to him without disguise. He entered

attentively into all my arguments in favour of my eventual success

and into every minute detail of the measures I had taken to secure

it. I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced to use the

language of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my

soul and to say, with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I

would sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the

furtherance of my enterprise. One man's life or death were but a

small price to pay for the acquirement of the knowledge which I

sought, for the dominion I should acquire and transmit over the

elemental foes of our race. As I spoke, a dark gloom spread over my

listener's countenance. At first I perceived that he tried to

suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before his eyes, and my

voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears trickle fast from

between his fingers; a groan burst from his heaving breast. I

paused; at length he spoke, in broken accents: "Unhappy man! Do you

share my madness? Have you drunk also of the intoxicating draught?

Hear me; let me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your

lips!"

Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but

the paroxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his

weakened powers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation

were necessary to restore his composure. Having conquered the

violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise himself for being

the slave of passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of despair, he

led me again to converse concerning myself personally. He asked me

the history of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it

awakened various trains of reflection. I spoke of my desire of

finding a friend, of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a

fellow mind than had ever fallen to my lot, and expressed my

conviction that a man could boast of little happiness who did not

enjoy this blessing. "I agree with you," replied the stranger; "we

are unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better,

dearer than ourselves—such a friend ought to be—do not lend his aid

to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend,

the most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to

judge respecting friendship. You have hope, and the world before

you, and have no cause for despair. But I—I have lost everything

and cannot begin life anew."

As he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm,

settled grief that touched me to the heart. But he was silent and

presently retired to his cabin.

Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than

he does the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every

sight afforded by these wonderful regions seem still to have the

power of elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double

existence: he may suffer misery and be overwhelmed by

disappointments, yet when he has retired into himself, he will be

like a celestial spirit that has a halo around him, within whose

circle no grief or folly ventures.

Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this

divine wanderer? You would not if you saw him. You have been

tutored and refined by books and retirement from the world, and you

are therefore somewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the

more fit to appreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful

man. Sometimes I have endeavoured to discover what quality it is

which he possesses that elevates him so immeasurably above any

other person I ever knew. I believe it to be an intuitive

discernment, a quick but never-failing power of judgment, a

penetration into the causes of things, unequalled for clearness and

precision; add to this a facility of expression and a voice whose

varied intonations are soul-subduing music.

August 19, 17-

Yesterday the stranger said to me, "You may easily perceive,

Captain Walton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled

misfortunes. I had determined at one time that the memory of these

evils should die with me, but you have won me to alter my

determination. You seek for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did;

and I ardently hope that the gratification of your wishes may not

be a serpent to sting you, as mine has been. I do not know that the

relation of my disasters will be useful to you; yet, when I reflect

that you are pursuing the same course, exposing yourself to the

same dangers which have rendered me what I am, I imagine that you

may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one that may direct you if

you succeed in your undertaking and console you in case of failure.

Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually deemed marvellous.

Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might fear to encounter

your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things will appear

possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would provoke

the laughter of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers of

nature; nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series

internal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is

composed."

You may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered

communication, yet I could not endure that he should renew his

grief by a recital of his misfortunes. I felt the greatest

eagerness to hear the promised narrative, partly from curiosity and

partly from a strong desire to ameliorate his fate if it were in my

power. I expressed these feelings in my answer.

"I thank you," he replied, "for your sympathy, but it is

useless; my fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and

then I shall repose in peace. I understand your feeling," continued

he, perceiving that I wished to interrupt him; "but you are

mistaken, my friend, if thus you will allow me to name you; nothing

can alter my destiny; listen to my history, and you will perceive

how irrevocably it is determined."

He then told me that he would commence his narrative the next

day when I should be at leisure. This promise drew from me the

warmest thanks. I have resolved every night, when I am not

imperatively occupied by my duties, to record, as nearly as

possible in his own words, what he has related during the day. If I

should be engaged, I will at least make notes. This manuscript will

doubtless afford you the greatest pleasure; but to me, who know

him, and who hear it from his own lips—with what interest and

sympathy shall I read it in some future day! Even now, as I

commence my task, his full-toned voice swells in my ears; his

lustrous eyes dwell on me with all their melancholy sweetness; I

see his thin hand raised in animation, while the lineaments of his

face are irradiated by the soul within.

Strange and harrowing must be his story, frightful the storm

which embraced the gallant vessel on its course and wrecked

it—thus!

Part 2

Story