THE event on which this fiction
is founded has been supposed,
by Dr. Darwin, and some of the
physiological writers of Germany,
as not of impossible occurrence.
I shall not be supposed as according
the remotest degree of serious
faith to such an imagination;
yet, in assuming it as the basis
of a work of fancy, I have not
considered myself as merely weaving
a series of supernatural terrors.
The event on which the interest
of the story depends is exempt
from the disadvantages of a mere
tale of spectres or enchantment.
It was recommended by the novelty
of the situations which it developes;
and, however impossible as a
physical fact, affords a point
of view to the imagination for
the delineating of human passions
more comprehensive and commanding
than any which the ordinary relations
of existing events can yield.
I have thus endeavoured to
preserve the truth of the elementary
principles of human nature, while
I have not scrupled to innovate
upon their combinations. The Iliad,
the tragic poetry of Greece--
Shakspeare,
in the Tempest and Midsummer
Night's Dream --and most
especially Milton,
in Paradise
Lost, conform to this rule;
and the most humble novelist,
who seeks to confer or receive
amusement from his labours, may,
without presumption, apply to
prose fiction a licence, or rather
a rule, from the adoption of
which so many exquisite combinations
of human feeling have resulted
in the highest specimens of poetry.
The circumstance on which my
story rests was suggested in
casual conversation. It was commenced
partly as a source of amusement,
and partly as an expedient for
exercising any untried resources
of mind. Other motives were mingled
with these as the work proceeded.
I am by no means indifferent
to the manner in which whatever
moral tendencies exist in the
sentiments or characters it contains
shall affect the reader; yet
my chief concern in this respect
has been limited to the avoiding
the enervating effects of the
novels of the present day and
to the exhibition of the amiableness
of domestic affection, and the
excellence of universal virtue.
The opinions which naturally
spring from the character and
situation of the hero are by
no means to be conceived as existing
always in my own conviction;
nor is any inference justly to
be drawn from the following pages
as prejudicing any philosophical
doctrine of whatever kind.
It is a subject also of additional
interest to the author that this
story was begun in the majestic
region where the scene is principally
laid, and in society which cannot
cease to be regretted. I passed
the summer of 1816 in the environs
of Geneva. The season was cold
and rainy, and in the evenings
we crowded around a blazing wood
fire, and occasionally amused
ourselves with some German stories
of ghosts, which happened to
fall into our hands. These tales
excited in us a playful desire
of imitation. Two other friends
(a tale from the pen of one of
whom would be far more acceptable
to the public than anything I
can ever hope to produce) and
myself agreed to write each a
story founded on some supernatural
occurrence.
The weather, however, suddenly
became serene; and my two friends
left me on a journey among the
Alps, and lost, in the magnificent
scenes which they present, all
memory of their ghostly visions.
The following tale is the only
one which has been completed.
MARLOW, September 1817.
LETTER I
To Mrs. Saville, England
ST. PETERSBURGH, Dec. 11,
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 day
dreams 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. 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 tranquillise
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's 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 Shakspeare 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 stage-coach. 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.
LETTER II
To Mrs. Saville, England
ARCHANGEL, March 28th, 17--.
How slowly the time passes
here, encompassed as I am by
frost and snow! yet a second
step is taken towards my enterprise.
I have hired a vessel, and am
occupied in collecting my sailors;
those whom I have already engaged
appear to be men on whom I can
depend, and are certainly possessed
of dauntless courage.
But I have one want which I
have never yet been able to satisfy;
and the absence of the object
of which I now feel as a most
severe evil. I have no friend,
Margaret: when I am glowing with
the enthusiasm of success, there
will be none to participate my
joy; if I am assailed by disappointment,
no one will endeavour to sustain
me in dejection. I shall commit
my thoughts to paper, it is true;
but that is a poor medium for
the communication of feeling.
I desire the company of a man
who could sympathise with me;
whose eyes would reply to mine.
You may deem me romantic, my
dear sister, but I bitterly feel
the want of a friend. I have
no one near me, gentle yet courageous,
possessed of a cultivated as
well as of a capacious mind,
whose tastes are like my own,
to approve or amend my plans.
How would such a friend repair
the faults of your poor brother!
I am too ardent in execution,
and too impatient of difficulties.
But it is a still greater evil
to me that I am self-educated:
for the first fourteen years
of my life I ran wild on a common,
and read nothing but our uncle
Thomas's books of voyages. At
that age I became acquainted
with the celebrated poets of
our own country; but it was only
when it had ceased to be in my
power to derive its most important
benefits from such a conviction
that I perceived the necessity
of becoming acquainted with more
languages than that of my native
country. Now I am twenty-eight,
and am in reality more illiterate
than many schoolboys of fifteen.
It is true that I have thought
more, and that my day dreams
are more extended and magnificent;
but they want (as the painters
call it) keeping; and
I greatly need a friend who would
have sense enough not to despise
me as romantic, and affection
enough for me to endeavour to
regulate my mind.
Well, these are useless complaints;
I shall certainly find no friend
on the wide ocean, nor even here
in Archangel, among merchants
and seamen. Yet some feelings,
unallied to the dross of human
nature, beat even in these rugged
bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance,
is a man of wonderful courage
and enterprise; he is madly desirous
of glory: or rather, to word
my phrase more characteristically,
of advancement in his profession.
He is an Englishman, and in the
midst of national and professional
prejudices, unsoftened by cultivation,
retains some of the noblest endowments
of humanity. I first became acquainted
with him on board a whale vessel:
finding that he was unemployed
in this city, I easily engaged
him to assist in my enterprise.
The master
is a person of an excellent
disposition, and is
remarkable in the ship for his
gentleness and the mildness of
his discipline. This circumstance,
added to his well known integrity
and dauntless courage, made me
very desirous to engage him.
A youth passed in solitude, my
best years spent under your gentle
and feminine fosterage, has so
refined the groundwork of my
character that I cannot overcome
an intense distaste to the usual
brutality exercised on board
ship: I have never believed it
to be necessary; and when I heard
of a mariner equally noted for
his kindliness of heart, and
the respect and obedience paid
to him by his crew, I felt myself
peculiarly fortunate in being
able to secure his services.
I heard of him first in rather
a romantic manner, from a lady
who owes to him the happiness
of her life. This, briefly, is
his story. Some years ago he
loved a young Russian lady of
moderate fortune; and having
amassed a considerable sum in
prize-money, the father of the
girl consented to the match.
He saw his mistress once before
the destined ceremony; but she
was bathed in tears, and, throwing
herself at his feet, entreated
him to spare her, confessing
at the same time that she loved
another, but that he was poor,
and that her father would never
consent to the union. My generous
friend reassured the suppliant,
and on being informed of the
name of her lover, instantly
abandoned his pursuit. He had
already bought a farm with his
money, on which he had desired
to pass the remainder of his
life; but he bestowed the whole
on his rival, together with the
remains of his prize-money to
purchase stock, and then himself
solicited the young woman's father
to consent to her marriage with
her lover. But the old man decidedly
refused, thinking himself bound
in honour to my friend; who,
when he found the father inexorable,
quitted his country, nor returned
until he heard that his former
mistress was married according
to her inclinations. "What a
noble fellow!" you will exclaim.
He is so; but then he is wholly
uneducated: he is as silent as
a Turk, and a kind of ignorant
carelessness attends him, which,
while it renders his conduct
the more astonishing, detracts
from the interest and sympathy
which otherwise he would command.
Yet do not suppose, because
I complain a little, or because
I can conceive a consolation
for my toils which I may never
know, that I am wavering in my
resolutions. Those are as fixed
as fate; and my voyage is only
now delayed until the weather
shall permit my embarkation.
The winter has been dreadfully
severe; but the spring promises
well, and it is considered as
a remarkably early season; so
that perhaps I may sail sooner
than I expected. I shall do nothing
rashly: you know me sufficiently
to confide in my prudence and
considerateness whenever the
safety of others is committed
to my care.
I cannot describe
to you my sensations on the
near prospect
of my undertaking. It is impossible
to communicate to you a conception
of the trembling sensation, half
pleasurable and half fearful,
with which I am preparing to
depart. I am going to unexplored
regions, to "the land of mist
and snow;" but I shall kill no
albatross, therefore do not be
alarmed for my safety, or if
I should come back to you as
worn and woeful as the "Ancient
Mariner?" You will smile at my
allusion; but I will disclose
a secret. I have often attributed
my attachment to, my passionate
enthusiasm for, the dangerous
mysteries of ocean, to that production
of the most imaginative of modern
poets. There is something at
work in my soul which I do not
understand. I am practically
industrious--painstaking;--a
workman to execute with perseverance
and labour:--but besides this,
there is a love for the marvellous,
a belief in the marvellous, intertwined
in all my projects, which hurries
me out of the common pathways
of men, even to the wild sea
and unvisited regions I am about
to explore.
But to return to dearer considerations.
Shall I meet you again, after
having traversed immense seas,
and returned by the most southern
cape of Africa or America? I
dare not expect such success,
yet I cannot bear to look on
the reverse of the picture. Continue
for the present to write to me
by every opportunity: I may receive
your letters on some occasions
when I need them most to support
my spirits. I love you very tenderly.
Remember me with affection, should
you never hear from me again.--Your
affectionate brother,
ROBERT WALTON.
LETTER III
To Mrs. Saville, England July
7th, 17--.
MY DEAR SISTER,--I write a
few lines in haste, to say that
I am safe, and well advanced
on my voyage. This letter will
reach England by a merchantman
now on its homeward voyage from
Archangel; more fortunate than
I, who may not see my native
land, perhaps, for many years.
I am, however, in good spirits:
my men are bold, and apparently
firm of purpose; nor do the floating
sheets of ice that continually
pass us, indicating the dangers
of the region towards which we
are advancing, appear to dismay
them. We have already reached
a very high latitude; but it
is the height of summer, and
although not so warm as in England,
the southern gales, which blow
us speedily towards those shores
which I so ardently desire to
attain, breathe a degree of renovating
warmth which I had not expected.
No incidents have hitherto
befallen us that would make a
figure in a letter. One or two
stiff gales, and the springing
of a leak, are accidents which
experienced navigators scarcely
remember to record; and I shall
be well content if nothing worse
happen to us during our voyage.
Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be
assured that for my own sake,
as well as yours, I will not
rashly encounter danger. I will
be cool, persevering, and prudent.
But success shall crown
my endeavours. Wherefore not?
Thus far I have gone, tracing
a secure way over the pathless
seas: the very stars themselves
being witnesses and testimonies
of my triumph. Why not still
proceed over the united yet obedient
element? What can stop the determined
heart and resolved will of man?
My swelling heart involuntarily
pours itself out thus. But I
must finish. Heaven bless my
beloved sister! R. W.
LETTER IV
To 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 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
some one 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
an 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
any one performs an act of kindness
towards him, or does him any
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 daemon, 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 some one 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 any one 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 drank 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, seems 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 19th, 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! |