The Illustrated Frankenstein - Letter 1

by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley

Letter 1

To 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 for ever 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 for ever.

a thousand celestial observations

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 forbidden 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.

St. Petersburgh Russia, 1780’s

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

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Comments from an English Lit teacher, and award winning writer, Jim Geschke who Writes Quoth the Maven:

Hey Paul, as a Lit teacher I taught many of these novels ... Huck Finn, Frankenstein, Gatsby, Tale of Two Cities, etc. In so doing, I've read them multiple times ... I think I've read Gatsby 15 times. And I always seem to find something I'd missed before. Twain, Fitzgerald ... beautiful writing and writing to emulate. Anyway, cool resource. -- Jim

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Her writing is a bit tedious. But remember her parents were both intellectuals and she was only 18 at the time. But well worth it. Focus on themes: Man playing God, Isolation (not just the creature, but Victor himself), Ambition vs. fallibility, Revenge, etc. It is gothic romance, but also considered the first science fiction novel. Pretty amazing for a teenage girl.

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Mary Shelley's mother was Mary Wollstonecraft, commonly thought of as the first true feminist poet. Unfortunately, Mary Wollstonecraft died while giving birth to Mary Shelley. Apparently, Mary Shelley spent many of her early days all day in the cemetery with her mother. So you kind of see where she got some of her ideas for Frankenstein.

There's a great story behind how she came to write Frankenstein. She did it on a dare from Lord Byron at Byron's chateau in Geneva in 1816.

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Yeah. It is amazing, really. Byron and his doctor John Polidori were hosting Percy and Mary Shelley during the coldest, most miserable summer in Europe in centuries. Percy and Mary had just run off from England. (Percy left behind his pregnant wife ... nice guy, eh?).

Anyway, nobody could go out, so Byron and Polidori got really drunk (laudanum was supposedly involved, too) and told the guests to come up with a scary story. Mary took it seriously. '

Yes, Lord Byron. Quite a character. Look him up ... "mad, bad and dangerous to know."

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How clever was Mary Shelley to tell Victor's story using epistolary framing through Capt. Walton? It is a brilliant literary device, as Walton can both relate to Victor while lamenting his fate.

By the way, the subtitle of the novel is "The Modern Prometheus" ... after the Greek Titan who stole fire from the Gods for mankind, then was punished by Zeus for his transgression. Prometheus was bound to a rock, and an eagle—the emblem of Zeus—was sent to eat his liver. His liver would then grow back overnight, only to be eaten again the next day in an ongoing cycle ... thus was symbolic of Victor's eternal punishment.

Another note: Walton's ship was called Prometheus.

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Jim

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Read this book online and free - legal download: Frankenstein

From Sparknotes

Frankenstein Characters: Robert Walton

Walton’s letters to his sister form a frame around the main narrative, Victor Frankenstein’s tragic story. Walton captains a North Pole–bound ship that gets trapped between sheets of ice. While waiting for the ice to thaw, he and his crew pick up Victor, weak and emaciated from his long chase after the monster. Victor recovers somewhat, tells Walton the story of his life, and then dies. Walton laments the death of a man with whom he felt a strong, meaningful friendship beginning to form.

Walton functions as the conduit through which the reader hears the story of Victor and his monster. However, he also plays a role that parallels Victor’s in many ways. Like Victor, Walton is an explorer, chasing after that “country of eternal light”—unpossessed knowledge. Victor’s influence on him is paradoxical: one moment he exhorts Walton’s almost-mutinous men to stay the path courageously, regardless of danger; the next, he serves as an abject example of the dangers of heedless scientific ambition. In his ultimate decision to terminate his treacherous pursuit, Walton serves as a foil (someone whose traits or actions contrast with, and thereby highlight, those of another character) to Victor, either not obsessive enough to risk almost-certain death or not courageous enough to allow his passion to drive him.

Read about the book and author in this New Yorker article: “The Strange and Twisted Life of Frankenstein”.

The Last Man, Another Novel by Mary Shelly

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