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MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY

Frankenstein

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, the daughter of William Godwin (see Vol.  IV) and Mary Wollstonecraft, was born in London, August 30, 1797, and married to the poet Shelley in 1816, on the death of his first wife Harriet.  Two years previous to this she had eloped with Shelley (see Vol.  XVIII) to Switzerland, and they lived together in Italy till his death in 1823, when Mrs. Shelley returned to England, and continued her literary work.  “Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus,” the first of Mary Shelley’s books, was published in 1818, and owed its origin to the summer spent by the Shelleys on the shores of Geneva when Byron was their neighbour.  It was “a wet, ungenial summer,” according to the account Mary Shelley has left.  “Some volumes of ghost stories, translated from the German into French, fell into our hands.”  Then one evening Byron said, “we will each write a ghost story,” and the proposition was agreed to, and Mary Shelley’s contribution was developed till at length “Frankenstein” was written.  The story is at once a remarkable and impressive performance.  The influence of Mrs. Shelley’s father is apparent throughout, but probably the authoress was most influenced by the old German tales of the supernatural.  The theme of a mortal creating, by the aid of natural science, a being in the shape of man, was at the time a bold and daring innovation in English literature.  Mrs. Shelley died February 21, 1851.

I.—­Robert Walton’s Letter

August 5, 17—­

My Dear Sister.—­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.  We have already reached a very high latitude, and it is the height of summer; but last Monday, July 31, we were nearly surrounded by ice which closed in the ship on all sides.  Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we were compassed round by a very thick fog.  About two o’clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld in every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice.  A strange sight suddenly attracted our attention.  We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by dogs, pass on towards the North:  a being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature, sat in the sledge and guided the dogs.  We watched the rapid progress of the traveller until he was lost among the distant inequalities of the ice.  Before night the ice broke and freed our ship.

In the morning, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck, and found all the sailors 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 whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel.