Frankenstein

Letter I

Letter ITO Mrs. Saville, England

St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17-

You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the

commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such

evil forebodings. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to

assure my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in

the success of my undertaking.

I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets

of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks,

which braces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand

this feeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions

towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy

climes. Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become

more fervent and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole

is the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my

imagination as the region of beauty and delight. There, Margaret,

the sun is forever visible, its broad disk just skirting the

horizon and diffusing a perpetual splendour. There—for with your

leave, my sister, I will put some trust in preceding

navigators—there snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a

calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in

beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable globe. Its

productions and features may be without example, as the phenomena

of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered

solitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternal light?

I may there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle

and may regulate a thousand celestial observations that require

only this voyage to render their seeming eccentricities consistent

forever. I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a

part of the world never before visited, and may tread a land never

before imprinted by the foot of man. These are my enticements, and

they are sufficient to conquer all fear of danger or death and to

induce me to commence this laborious voyage with the joy a child

feels when he embarks in a little boat, with his holiday mates, on

an expedition of discovery up his native river. But supposing all

these conjectures to be false, you cannot contest the inestimable

benefit which I shall confer on all mankind, to the last

generation, by discovering a passage near the pole to those

countries, to reach which at present so many months are requisite;

or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at all

possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine.

These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I

began my letter, and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which

elevates me to heaven, for nothing contributes so much to

tranquillize the mind as a steady purpose—a point on which the soul

may fix its intellectual eye. This expedition has been the

favourite dream of my early years. I have read with ardour the

accounts of the various voyages which have been made in the

prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean through the seas

which surround the pole. You may remember that a history of all the

voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the whole of our

good Uncle Thomas' library. My education was neglected, yet I was

passionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study day and

night, and my familiarity with them increased that regret which I

had felt, as a child, on learning that my father's dying injunction

had f*******n my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring

life.

These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those

poets whose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I

also became a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own

creation; I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple

where the names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated. You are

well acquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the

disappointment. But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my

cousin, and my thoughts were turned into the channel of their

earlier bent.

Six years have passed since I resolved on my present

undertaking. I can, even now, remember the hour from which I

dedicated myself to this great enterprise. I commenced by inuring

my body to hardship. I accompanied the whale-fishers on several

expeditions to the North Sea; I voluntarily endured cold, famine,

thirst, and want of sleep; I often worked harder than the common

sailors during the day and devoted my nights to the study of

mathematics, the theory of medicine, and those branches of physical

science from which a naval adventurer might derive the greatest

practical advantage. Twice I actually hired myself as an under-mate

in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I must

own I felt a little proud when my captain offered me the second

dignity in the vessel and entreated me to remain with the greatest

earnestness, so valuable did he consider my services. And now, dear

Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose? My

life might have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred

glory to every enticement that wealth placed in my path. Oh, that

some encouraging voice would answer in the affirmative! My courage

and my resolution is firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits

are often depressed. I am about to proceed on a long and difficult

voyage, the emergencies of which will demand all my fortitude: I am

required not only to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to

sustain my own, when theirs are failing.

This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia.

They fly quickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is

pleasant, and, in my opinion, far more agreeable than that of an

English stagecoach. The cold is not excessive, if you are wrapped

in furs—a dress which I have already adopted, for there is a great

difference between walking the deck and remaining seated motionless

for hours, when no exercise prevents the blood from actually

freezing in your veins. I have no ambition to lose my life on the

post-road between St. Petersburgh and Archangel. I shall depart for

the latter town in a fortnight or three weeks; and my intention is

to hire a ship there, which can easily be done by paying the

insurance for the owner, and to engage as many sailors as I think

necessary among those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing. I do

not intend to sail until the month of June; and when shall I

return? Ah, dear sister, how can I answer this question? If I

succeed, many, many months, perhaps years, will pass before you and

I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon, or never.

Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down blessings

on you, and save me, that I may again and again testify my

gratitude for all your love and kindness.

Your affectionate brother,

R. Walton