Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the second two letters of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

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Today we'll be continuing Frankenstein by Mary Shelley letter to Mrs.

Seville, England, July 1700.

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 merchant man 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 breath, 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 a springing of a leak are accidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record, and I shall be well content if nothing worse happened to us during our voyage.

And you, 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 endeavors 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 untamed 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 four to Mrs.

Seville, England, August 5, 1700.

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 31, 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 02:00 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 a gigantic stature, sat in the sledge 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 were, as we believed, many hundreds of 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 2 hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea and before night the ice broke and freed our ship.

We, however, lay too until the morning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large loose masses which float about the breaking up of 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 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 traveler seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of some undiscoverable 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 whether 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 wells 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 any of the most trifling service.

His whole countenance has 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 oppress 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 and 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 surrounds 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 of me to trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine, and yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation.

You have inevitably 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 traveler 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 as 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.

His manners are so concilitating 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 13170.

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 cold 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 favor 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 events to use the language of my heart, to give utterance to the burning Arduin of my soul, and to say, with all the fervor 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 tail, 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 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 perfection at 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 site 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've been tutored and refined by books and retired 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 endeavored 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 unequal for clearness and precision.

Add to this a facility of expression and a voice whose varied intonations are soul subduing music.

August 19, 1700.

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 for 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 marvelous.

Were we among the tamer scenes of nature, I might fear to encounter your unbelief.

Perhaps you're ridicule, but many things will appear possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would provoke the laughter of those unacquainted with the evervaried powers of nature.

Nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series internal evidence of the truth of the events 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 wish 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 things I've resolved every night when I'm not imperatively, occupied by my duties, to record as nearly as possible his 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.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time Books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle, and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of Frankenstein.

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