Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus

By Mary Shelley

Frankenstein

• This is a literary translation of the original public domain text
• The language has been updated from the 19th century English of the original to contemporary American English.
• The text has been edited to remove to make it more concise and accessible to a wider audience.

The essence of the story remains the same. Frankenstein has thrilled and engrossed readers for two centuries. Written by Mary Shelley, it is a story that she intended would 'curdle the blood and quicken the beatings of the heart.' The tale is a superb blend of science fiction, mystery, and thriller. Victor Frankenstein, driven by the mad dream of creating his own creature, experiments with alchemy and science to build a monster stitched together from dead remains. Once the creature becomes a living, breathing, articulate entity, it turns on its maker, and the novel darkens into tragedy. The force of the elegant prose, the grotesque, surreal imagery, and the multi-layered themes in the novel quickly sweep the reader along. Although first published in 1818, Shelley's masterpiece still maintains a strong grip on the imagination and has inspired numerous horror movies, television, and stage adaptations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Parts Per Million Limited
• Release date: Apr 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224053759

Mary Shelley

Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was born in 1797, the daughter of two of the leading radical writers of the age. Her mother died just days after her birth and she was educated at home by her father and encouraged in literary pursuits. She eloped with and subsequently married the Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, but their life together was full of hardship. The couple were ruined by disapproving parents and Mary lost three of her four children. Although its subject matter was extremely dark, her first novel Frankenstein (1818) was an instant sensation. Subsequent works such as Mathilda (1819), Valperga (1823) and The Last Man (1826) were less successful but are now finally receiving the critical acclaim that they deserve.

Book preview

Frankenstein

or, the Modern Prometheus

by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley

Edited and updated by Peter Rudin-Burgess

Credits

This book started out as the public domain text of Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. It has been edited to update the language from the 1818 original to modern-day international English.

You can download and read the original version in several formats, including Kindle, from Project Gutenberg, https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/84.

The text in this book is copyright ©2024 Parts Per Million Limited.

Edited by Peter Rudin-Burgess

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

Dear Mrs. Saville,

I hope this letter finds you well. As I write from St. Petersburg, I’m filled with excitement and trepidation. The journey ahead promises wonders beyond imagination—a land untouched by human footprints, bathed in eternal light.

Picture this: sailing across calm seas, leaving snow and frost behind, we venture toward uncharted territories. The celestial bodies themselves perform their enigmatic dance in these undiscovered solitudes. And there lies my quest—to unravel the mysteries of the needle’s attraction and decode the secrets of the magnet.

Yes, there are risks—dangers lurking in the unknown. But the allure is irresistible. I embrace this laborious voyage like a child embarking on a river expedition with holiday companions. Even if my conjectures prove false, the potential benefits are immeasurable. A passage near the pole, shorter than the arduous months currently required, could revolutionize travel. And perhaps, just perhaps, the magnet’s secret will yield to our relentless pursuit.

These reflections have eased the initial turmoil with which I began this letter. Now, my heart brims with enthusiasm, lifting me toward the heavens. There’s nothing quite like a steadfast purpose—a focal point for the soul’s intellectual gaze—to bring tranquility to the mind.

This expedition has been my cherished dream since my youth. I’ve devoured accounts of daring voyages to reach the North Pacific Ocean via the polar seas. Perhaps you recall that our dear Uncle Thomas’ library consisted entirely of histories chronicling such explorations. My formal education may have been lacking, but my love for reading burned fiercely. Those volumes became my constant companions, intensifying the regret I felt as a child when I learned My father’s final wish forbade my uncle from allowing me to pursue a life at sea.

As I immersed myself in poets' verses, their words wove enchantment around my soul, lifting it toward the heavens. I, too, became a poet, dwelling in a paradise of my own making for a year. In that trance, I dared dream of a place alongside Homer and Shakespeare, etched into the temple of literary immortality.

You know the weight of my past failures—the disappointment I carried. But fate intervened. Just then, I inherited my cousin’s fortune, redirecting my thoughts along their original course.

Six years have flown since I committed to this grand endeavor. I vividly recall the moment when I dedicated myself to this path. I toughened my body, joining the whale-fishers on North Sea expeditions. Cold, hunger, thirst, and sleep deprivation became my companions. By day, I toiled harder than the average sailor; by night, I delved into mathematics, medical theory, and other sciences crucial for a seafaring adventurer.

Twice, I served as an undermate on a Greenland whaler, earning admiration. I confess that pride swelled when my captain offered me a higher rank and urged me to stay—a testament to my invaluable contributions.

Isn’t it fitting that I strive for a grand purpose? While a life of ease and luxury beckoned, I chose glory over wealth’s allure. If only an encouraging voice would echo my sentiments! My courage stands unwavering, yet my hopes waver, and my spirits occasionally falter. Soon, I embark on a daunting voyage—one that demands fortitude not only to uplift others but also to sustain myself when their spirits wane.

As I write from St. Petersburg, I find the snow-covered landscape ideal for travel. Our sleds glide swiftly, far more pleasant than an English stagecoach. Wrapped in furs, the cold remains bearable. Yet, I harbor no desire to risk my life on the post-road between St. Petersburg and Archangel.

In a fortnight or so, I’ll journey to the latter town. I plan to secure a ship by covering the owner’s insurance and enlist experienced sailors well-versed in whale-fishing. June will mark my departure, but when shall I return? That question hangs like a distant star. If I succeed, months, perhaps years, may pass before our reunion. If I fail, you’ll either see me soon or never.

Farewell, dear Margaret. May heaven bless you abundantly. May it guide me and allow me to express my gratitude for your unwavering love and kindness.

With affection,

R. Walton

Letter 2

Dear Mrs. Saville,

Archangel, 28th March, 17—.

As I write from Archangel, time crawls by, and frost and snow are my constant companions. Yet, I’ve taken a second step toward my grand enterprise—I’ve secured a vessel and assembled a crew. These sailors, resolute and dauntless, inspire confidence.

But there’s an ache within me—a void I’ve never filled. I lack a friend, Margaret. When success ignites my spirit, no one shares my joy. And in moments of despair, no one offers solace. True, I pour my thoughts onto paper, but it’s a feeble conduit for emotions. I crave a companion whose eyes mirror mine, whose understanding transcends words. Perhaps you’ll call me romantic, but the absence of such a friend weighs heavily. I stand alone, passionate yet impulsive, yearning for guidance.

And here’s my confession: I’m self-taught. For fourteen years, I roamed wild, devouring Uncle Thomas’ voyages. Later, I discovered our country’s celebrated poets. But now, as I embark on this difficult journey, I realize the need to master languages beyond my native tongue. Now, at twenty-eight, I am less educated than many fifteen-year-old schoolboys. My daydreams stretch far and wide, grand and magnificent, but they lack cohesion—what painters might term keeping. I crave a friend who won’t dismiss me as overly romantic yet cares enough to help steady my thoughts.

I recognize the futility of my complaints. The vast ocean won’t yield a friend, nor will Archangel’s merchants and seamen. Yet, within these rugged souls, feelings—untainted by human pettiness—persist.

Allow me to introduce my lieutenant—a man of remarkable courage and ambition. His hunger for glory (or, more aptly, professional advancement) burns fiercely. An Englishman, he clings to noble qualities despite national and professional biases. We crossed paths aboard a whaling vessel, and now, in this city, I’ve enlisted him for our shared enterprise.

The master is of excellent character, remarkable for his gentleness and mild discipline aboard the ship. His integrity and unwavering courage caught my attention, and I eagerly secured his services. However, my upbringing—years spent under your gentle guidance—has left me averse to the typical harshness found at sea. I’ve always believed it unnecessary.

Now, let me share a romantic tale: The master’s kindness won my respect and changed the course of a young Russian lady’s life. She loved him, but her father opposed their union due to his modest means. Fate intervened, and the master’s actions brought happiness to her heart. My generous friend reassured the suppliant and, upon learning her lover’s name, instantly abandoned his pursuit. Despite purchasing a farm with his money, he bestowed it upon his rival. Then, he sought the young woman’s father, urging him to consent to her marriage with her lover. The father remained resolute, believing himself bound by honor. My friend, undeterred, left the country until he heard that his former mistress had married according to her heart’s desire. You’ll exclaim, What a noble fellow! And indeed, he is. Yet, he lacks formal education, remains silent as a Turk, and carries an ignorant carelessness that both astonishes and diminishes the sympathy he might otherwise command.

Yet, do not think that my resolutions waver because I express some complaints or envision consolations I may never experience. They are as unyielding as fate itself. My voyage merely awaits favorable weather. The winter’s harshness has tested us, but spring’s arrival bodes well. It’s an early season; perhaps I’ll sail sooner than anticipated. Rest assured, I won’t act rashly. You know me well enough to trust my prudence and thoughtfulness, especially when others’ safety lies in my hands.

Words fail to capture the tumult within me as I stand on the precipice of my daring undertaking. Imagine a trembling sensation—part pleasure, part fear—as I prepare to depart. My destination: uncharted realms, the land of mist and snow. Fear not; I won’t repeat the albatross’s fate, nor shall I return to you like the woeful Ancient Mariner.

Now, for a secret: My attachment to—and passionate enthusiasm for—the ocean’s perilous mysteries finds its roots in the imaginative verses of a modern poet. There’s something at work in my soul, inexplicable yet undeniable. Yes, I’m practical, industrious—a tireless workman. But woven into my very being is a love for the extraordinary, a belief in the miraculous. It propels me beyond common paths toward wild seas and uncharted territories.

Your affectionate brother,

Robert Walton

Letter 3

To Mrs. Saville, England.

July 7th, 17—.

Dear Margaret,

I write to assure you of my safety and progress on my voyage. This letter will reach England via a merchantman returning from Archangel—a stroke of luck for them, unlike me, who may not glimpse my native land for many years. Yet my spirits remain high. My crew is resolute, undeterred by the floating ice sheets that signal the perils of our course. We’ve already reached a high latitude, and though the summer warmth here doesn’t match England’s, the southern gales propel us toward the shores I ardently seek.

No noteworthy incidents have occurred—just a few stiff gales and a minor leak. Experienced sailors scarcely bother recording such trifles. I’ll be content if nothing worse befalls us during our voyage.

Farewell, dear Margaret. Rest assured; I won’t recklessly court danger. I’ll remain cool, persevering, and prudent.

But success shall crown my efforts. Why not? I’ve come this far, charting a secure course across pathless seas—the stars themselves bearing witness to my triumph. Why not continue across this wild yet obedient element? What can halt the determined heart and stubborn will of man?

My swelling heart pours forth involuntarily. But I must conclude. May heaven bless you, my beloved sister!

R.W.

Letter 4

To Mrs. Saville, England.

August 5th, 17—.

Dear Margaret,

It is so strange that an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear recording it, although it is probable that you will see me before these papers 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 where she floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as a thick fog surrounded us. We accordingly lay to, hoping that some change would occur in the atmosphere and weather.

About two o’clock, the mist cleared away, and we beheld vast and irregular plains of ice stretched out in every direction, which seemed to have no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my mind grew watchful with anxious thoughts when a strange sight suddenly attracted our attention and diverted our solicitude from our situation. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sled and drawn by dogs, pass on towards the north, at a distance of half a mile; a being with the shape of a man but apparently of gigantic stature sat in the sled and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid progress of the traveler with our telescopes until he was lost among the distant inequalities of the ice.

This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We believed we were many hundred miles from any land, but this apparition seemed to denote that it was not, in reality, as 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.

After the ice surrounded us, we heard the ground sea—a deep, resonant rumble from within the Earth. Before nightfall, the ice broke, freeing our ship. We lay still until morning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large, loose masses that float about after the ice breaks up. I took advantage of this time to rest for a few hours.

At dawn, I went on deck as soon as it was light. I found all the sailors gathered on one side of the vessel, apparently talking to someone in the sea. To our astonishment, it was a sled—a familiar sight—drifting toward us on a sizable ice fragment. Only one dog survived, but within the sled sat a human being. Unlike the previous traveler, this was no savage inhabitant of an undiscovered island; he was European. When I appeared on deck, the master declared, Here is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish on the open sea.

As soon as he laid eyes on me, the stranger switched to English, though his accent hinted at a far-off place. Before I step aboard your ship, he said, mind telling me where you’re headed?

You can imagine my shock. Here was a man teetering on the edge of disaster, yet he asked about our destination. I’d assumed our vessel was a lifeline he wouldn’t trade for all the riches on Earth. But no, he wanted to know our course. So, I replied, We’re on a wild voyage toward the northern pole.

His face relaxed, and he agreed to come aboard. Margaret, if you’d seen him—the man who bargained for his survival—you’d be speechless. His limbs were nearly frozen, his body a canvas of suffering. I’d never witnessed such wretchedness. We tried to carry him below deck, but he keeled over when he left the crisp air. So, back to the open deck, revive him with brandy, and coax him to sip a bit. Wrapped in blankets, he huddled near the kitchen stove’s chimney. He slowly returned to life, sipping warm soup that worked wonders.

Two days dragged by before he could utter a word, and I often wondered if his sufferings had robbed him of reason. Once he regained strength, I moved him to my cabin, tending to him as best I could. I’ve never encountered a more intriguing soul: his eyes usually hold a hint of wildness, perhaps even madness. But there are moments—oh, those moments—when a simple act of kindness or the smallest service lights up his entire face. It’s like a beam of benevolence and sweetness unmatched by anything I’ve seen. Yet, most of the time, he wears a cloak of melancholy and despair. Sometimes, he clenches his teeth as if his woes threaten to consume him.

As my guest regained strength, I faced a constant battle with the crew. They were itching to bombard him with a thousand questions, their curiosity like a swarm of gnats. But I stood firm—I wouldn’t subject him to their idle prying. His body and mind needed rest, and that was non-negotiable.

Yet, one day, the lieutenant couldn’t resist. He leaned in and asked, Why venture so far across the ice in such an odd contraption?

The stranger’s face darkened instantly. To find someone who fled from me, he replied.

And did this man you pursued travel in the same peculiar manner?

Yes.

Well, the lieutenant mused, the day before we rescued you, we spotted a team of dogs pulling a sled across the ice—with a man aboard.

The stranger’s eyes flickered, and I wondered what secrets lay buried in the frozen expanse. Little did we know, our icy encounter was a prelude to a tale far stranger than any frostbitten journey across the Arctic.

The stranger’s curiosity flared when I mentioned the daemon—the term he used for the elusive figure he pursued. Later, when we were alone, he leaned in and said, "I’ve no doubt piqued your interest, as well as that of our good crew. But you, sir,