Letter 4

von Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

To Mrs. Saville, England.

August 5th, 17—.

Something incredibly strange has happened to us, and I feel compelled to write it down, even though it’s likely I’ll see you before you get this letter.

Last Monday, July 31st, we found ourselves nearly surrounded by ice, the ship trapped on all sides with barely enough room to float. Our situation was precarious, especially with a thick fog enveloping us. We decided to stay put, hoping for a change in the weather.

Around two o’clock, the mist lifted, revealing vast, irregular plains of ice stretching endlessly in every direction. Some of my fellow crew members groaned, and I felt a growing sense of unease when something unusual caught our attention, pulling our focus away from our own predicament. We spotted a low carriage on a sledge, pulled by dogs, moving northward about half a mile away. In the sledge sat a figure that resembled a man but appeared to be of gigantic proportions, guiding the dogs. We watched him through our telescopes until he disappeared into the distant ice.

This sight filled us with wonder. We believed we were hundreds of miles from land, yet this figure suggested otherwise. However, trapped by ice, we couldn’t follow his path, which we had observed closely.

About two hours later, we heard the sea moving beneath us, and by nightfall, the ice broke apart, freeing our ship. Still, we chose to remain stationary until morning, wary of the large, loose chunks of ice that drifted around after the breakup. I took this opportunity to rest for a few hours.

When morning came and the light returned, I went on deck to find all the sailors gathered on one side of the ship, seemingly speaking to someone in the water. It turned out to be another sledge, similar to the one we had seen earlier, which had drifted toward us on a large piece of ice during the night. Only one dog was still alive, but there was a human being inside whom the sailors were urging to come aboard. Unlike the other traveler, this man was not a savage from an undiscovered land; he was European. When I appeared, the captain said, “Here’s our captain, and he won’t let you perish out here.”

Upon seeing me, the stranger spoke in English, though with a foreign accent. “Before I come on board your vessel,” he said, “could you please tell me where you’re headed?”

You can imagine my shock at such a question from a man on the brink of death, someone I thought would see my ship as a lifeline more valuable than any treasure. I replied that we were on a voyage of discovery toward the North Pole.

His expression changed, and he seemed satisfied, agreeing to come aboard. Good God, Margaret, if you had seen the man who was bargaining for his life, your astonishment would have been immense. His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body was horrifically emaciated from fatigue and suffering. I had never seen anyone in such a pitiful state. We tried to carry him into the cabin, but as soon as he left the fresh air, he fainted. We quickly brought him back on deck and revived him with brandy, forcing him to swallow a little. Once he showed signs of life, we wrapped him in blankets and placed him near the kitchen stove. Gradually, he recovered and managed to eat some soup, which helped him immensely.

Two days passed before he was able to speak, and I often worried that his suffering had robbed him of his sanity. When he was somewhat better, I moved him to my cabin and cared for him as much as my duties allowed. I had never encountered someone so fascinating: his eyes often held a wild, almost mad expression, but there were moments when, if someone showed him kindness or performed even the smallest favor, his entire face would light up with a warmth and sweetness I had never seen before. Yet, he generally remained melancholic and despairing, sometimes gnashing his teeth as if overwhelmed by the weight of his sorrows.

Once my guest began to recover, I found it difficult to keep the others at bay. They were eager to bombard him with questions, but I wouldn’t let them torment him with their idle curiosity. He needed complete rest to regain his strength, both physically and mentally.

One day, however, the lieutenant couldn’t help himself and asked why he had ventured so far onto the ice in such an unusual vehicle.

The stranger’s expression darkened immediately. “I came to find someone who ran away from me,” he replied.

“Did the man you were chasing travel the same way?” the lieutenant pressed.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Then I think we might have seen him. The day before we found you, we spotted some dogs pulling a sled with a man in it crossing the ice.”

This piqued the stranger’s interest, and he bombarded me with questions about the route the man—whom he referred to as a demon—had taken. Later, when we were alone, he said, “I must have stirred your curiosity, as well as that of these kind people, but you’re too considerate to pry.”

“Of course,” I replied. “It would be rude and inhumane of me to trouble you with my questions.”

“And yet, you saved me from a perilous situation. You have kindly brought me back to life.”

He then asked if I thought the breaking ice had destroyed the other sled. I told him I couldn’t say for sure; the ice hadn’t cracked until nearly midnight, and the traveler might have reached safety before then, but I couldn’t be certain.

From that moment on, a new vitality seemed to animate the stranger’s frail body. He was eager to be on deck, watching for the sled that had passed before. I convinced him to stay in the cabin, though, as he was far too weak to handle the harsh atmosphere. I promised to have someone keep an eye out for him and let him know if anything appeared on the horizon.

This is my account of the strange events up to now. The stranger’s health has gradually improved, but he remains quiet and uneasy whenever anyone besides me enters his cabin. Still, his demeanor is so gentle and kind that the sailors have taken an interest in him, despite their limited interaction. Personally, I’ve begun to feel a brotherly affection for him, and his deep, constant sorrow stirs my sympathy and compassion. He must have been a remarkable person in better days; even in his current state, he remains captivating and kind.

I wrote in one of my letters, dear Margaret, that I wouldn’t find a friend on this vast ocean, yet I have discovered a man whom, in happier times, I would have been proud to call my brother.

I will continue to document my experiences with the stranger whenever there are new developments.

August 13th, 17—.

My feelings for my guest grow stronger every day. He inspires both admiration and pity in me to an incredible degree. How can I witness such a noble soul being crushed by despair without feeling profound sorrow? He is gentle yet wise, his mind is refined, and when he speaks, his words, though carefully chosen, flow with remarkable eloquence.

He has recovered significantly and spends much of his time on deck, seemingly waiting for the sled that came before his. Yet, despite his unhappiness, he isn’t so consumed by his own misery that he doesn’t take an interest in the ambitions of others. He often engages with me about my own goals, which I share with him openly.

He listens intently to my arguments in favor of my eventual success and every detail of my plans to achieve it. His empathy encourages me to express the passion of my heart, to voice the burning desire of my soul, and to declare, with all the fervor I possess, how willingly I would sacrifice my fortune, my life, and every hope I have for the sake of my quest. The life or death of one man seems a small price to pay for the knowledge I seek, for the power I would gain over the elemental forces that threaten our existence.

As I spoke, a shadow fell over his face. At first, he seemed to struggle to contain his emotions, covering his eyes with his hands. My voice faltered as I watched tears slip through his fingers, and a groan escaped his chest. I paused, and eventually, he spoke in a broken voice: “Unfortunate man! Do you share my madness? Have you also drunk from this intoxicating cup? Listen to me; let me tell you my story, and you will cast it aside!”

You can imagine how curious I was after hearing those words. But the stranger was overwhelmed by his grief, and it took him hours of rest and calm conversation to regain his composure.

Once he managed to control his emotions, he seemed to scorn himself for being a prisoner to his feelings. He pushed aside the heavy weight of despair and turned the conversation back to me. He asked about my early years. I shared my story, which was brief but sparked a lot of thoughts. I talked about my longing for a friend, my desire for a deeper connection with someone who could truly understand me. I expressed my belief that a person can’t be truly happy without that kind of bond.

“I agree,” the stranger said. “We’re like unfinished beings, only half-formed, unless someone wiser, better, and dearer than ourselves helps us complete our flawed natures. I once had a friend, the noblest person I’ve ever known, so I feel qualified to speak on friendship. You have hope and a future ahead of you; you have no reason to despair. But I—I’ve lost everything and can’t start over.”

As he spoke, his face reflected a deep, settled sorrow that moved me profoundly. But he fell silent and soon retreated to his cabin.

Even in his broken state, he feels the beauty of nature more deeply than anyone. The starry sky, the sea, and every breathtaking sight in this incredible place still have the power to lift his spirit. A man like him lives a double life: he may suffer and be weighed down by disappointments, yet when he turns inward, he becomes like a celestial being, surrounded by a halo that keeps grief and folly at bay.

Will you laugh at my enthusiasm for this extraordinary wanderer? You wouldn’t if you met him. You’ve been shaped and refined by books and solitude, making you a bit hard to please. But that only makes you better equipped to appreciate the remarkable qualities of this man. Sometimes, I’ve tried to pinpoint what it is about him that sets him so far above anyone else I’ve known. I think it’s his intuitive insight, a sharp and unfailing judgment, a clarity and precision in understanding the causes of things. On top of that, he has a way with words and a voice that resonates like soul-stirring music.

August 19th, 17—.

Yesterday, the stranger said to me, “You can easily see, Captain Walton, that I’ve endured great and unparalleled misfortunes. At one time, I decided that the memory of these hardships would die with me, but you’ve persuaded me to change my mind. You seek knowledge and wisdom, just as I once did, and I sincerely hope that the fulfillment of your desires doesn’t become a source of pain for you, as it has for me. I’m not sure if sharing my story will be useful to you, but knowing you’re on a similar path and facing the same dangers that have shaped me, I think you might find a valuable lesson in my tale—one that could guide you if you succeed and comfort you if you fail. Be prepared to hear about events that are often considered extraordinary. If we were in a more mundane setting, I might worry about your disbelief or even ridicule. But in these wild and mysterious regions, many things that would provoke laughter from those unfamiliar with nature’s endless wonders will seem possible. I have no doubt that my story carries its own proof of the truth behind the events I will recount.”

You can imagine how pleased I was by his willingness to share, but I couldn’t bear the thought of him reliving his pain through recounting his misfortunes. I was eager to hear his story, driven by curiosity and a strong desire to help him if I could. I expressed these feelings in my response.

“Thank you,” he said, “for your sympathy, but it’s of no use; my fate is nearly sealed. I await just one final event, and then I will find peace. I understand your concern,” he continued, noticing my urge to interrupt him, “but you’re mistaken, my friend—if I may call you that—nothing can change my destiny. Listen to my story, and you’ll see how irrevocably it is set.”

He told me he would start his story the next day when I had some free time. I couldn't thank him enough for that. I've decided that every night, when my responsibilities allow, I will write down as closely as possible what he shares with me each day. If I get busy, I'll at least jot down some notes. This manuscript will surely bring you great joy, but for me, who knows him and hears it straight from his lips, I can only imagine how much interest and sympathy I will feel when I read it someday in the future.

Even now, as I begin this task, I can hear his deep voice echoing in my mind; his bright eyes gaze at me with a bittersweet sadness. I picture his slender hand moving expressively, his face illuminated by the passion within him. His story must be strange and haunting, and the storm that engulfed his brave ship on its journey must have been terrifying—just like that.