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"Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to `
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trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine." `
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"And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you have `
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benevolently restored me to life." `
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Soon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of the `
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ice had destroyed the other sledge. I replied that I could not answer `
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with any degree of certainty, for the ice had not broken until near `
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midnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place of safety `
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before that time; but of this I could not judge. From this time a new `
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spirit of life animated the decaying frame of the stranger. He `
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manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck to watch for the `
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sledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in `
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the cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness of the `
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atmosphere. I have promised that someone should watch for him and give `
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him instant notice if any new object should appear in sight. `
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Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the `
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present day. The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very `
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silent and appears uneasy when anyone except myself enters his cabin. `
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Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle that the sailors are all `
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interested in him, although they have had very little communication `
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with him. For my own part, I begin to love him as a brother, and his `
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constant and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion. He must `
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have been a noble creature in his better days, being even now in wreck `
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so attractive and amiable. I said in one of my letters, my dear `
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Margaret, that I should find no friend on the wide ocean; yet I have `
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found a man who, before his spirit had been broken by misery, I should `
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have been happy to have possessed as the brother of my heart. `
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I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals, `
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should I have any fresh incidents to record. `
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August 13th, 17-- `
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My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at once my `
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admiration and my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I see so `
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noble a creature destroyed by misery without feeling the most poignant `
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grief? He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and `
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when he speaks, although his words are culled with the choicest art, `
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yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence. He is now much `
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recovered from his illness and is continually on the deck, apparently `
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watching for the sledge that preceded his own. Yet, although unhappy, `
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he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery but that he interests `
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himself deeply in the projects of others. He has frequently conversed `
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with me on mine, which I have communicated to him without disguise. He `
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entered attentively into all my arguments in favour of my eventual `
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success and into every minute detail of the measures I had taken to `
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secure it. I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced to use `
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the language of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my `
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soul and to say, with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I `
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would sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the `
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furtherance of my enterprise. One man's life or death were but a small `
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price to pay for the acquirement of the knowledge which I sought, for `
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the dominion I should acquire and transmit over the elemental foes of `
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our race. As I spoke, a dark gloom spread over my listener's `
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countenance. At first I perceived that he tried to suppress his `
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emotion; he placed his hands before his eyes, and my voice quivered and `
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failed me as I beheld tears trickle fast from between his fingers; a `
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groan burst from his heaving breast. I paused; at length he spoke, in `
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broken accents: "Unhappy man! Do you share my madness? Have you `
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drunk also of the intoxicating draught? Hear me; let me reveal my `
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tale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!" `
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Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the `
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paroxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened `
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powers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation were `
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necessary to restore his composure. Having conquered the violence of `
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his feelings, he appeared to despise himself for being the slave of `
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passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of despair, he led me again to `
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converse concerning myself personally. He asked me the history of my `
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earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it awakened various `
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trains of reflection. I spoke of my desire of finding a friend, of my `
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thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than had ever `
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fallen to my lot, and expressed my conviction that a man could boast of `
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little happiness who did not enjoy this blessing. "I agree with you," `
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replied the stranger; "we are unfashioned creatures, but half made up, `
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if one wiser, better, dearer than ourselves--such a friend ought to `
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be--do not lend his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I `
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once had a friend, the most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, `
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therefore, to judge respecting friendship. You have hope, and the `
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world before you, and have no cause for despair. But I--I have lost `
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everything and cannot begin life anew." `
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As he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm, settled `
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grief that touched me to the heart. But he was silent and presently `
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retired to his cabin. `
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Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he `
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does the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight `
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afforded by these wonderful regions seem still to have the power of `
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elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he `
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may suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments, yet when he `
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has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has a `
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halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures. `
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Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine `
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wanderer? You would not if you saw him. You have been tutored and `
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refined by books and retirement from the world, and you are therefore `
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somewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit to `
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appreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man. Sometimes I `
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have endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he possesses that `
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elevates him so immeasurably above any other person I ever knew. I `
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believe it to be an intuitive discernment, a quick but never-failing `
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power of judgment, a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled `
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for clearness and precision; add to this a facility of expression and a `
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voice whose varied intonations are soul-subduing music. `
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August 19, 17-- `
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Yesterday the stranger said to me, "You may easily perceive, Captain `
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Walton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes. I had `
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determined at one time that the memory of these evils should die with `
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me, but you have won me to alter my determination. You seek for `
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knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the `
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gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine `
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has been. I do not know that the relation of my disasters will be `
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useful to you; yet, when I reflect that you are pursuing the same `
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course, exposing yourself to the same dangers which have rendered me `
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what I am, I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one `
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that may direct you if you succeed in your undertaking and console you `
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in case of failure. Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually `
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deemed marvellous. Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might `
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fear to encounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things `
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will appear possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would `
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provoke the laughter of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers `
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of nature; nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series `
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internal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is composed." `
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You may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered `
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communication, yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by `
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a recital of his misfortunes. I felt the greatest eagerness to hear `
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the promised narrative, partly from curiosity and partly from a strong `
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desire to ameliorate his fate if it were in my power. I expressed `
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these feelings in my answer. `
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"I thank you," he replied, "for your sympathy, but it is useless; my `
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fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and then I shall `
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repose in peace. I understand your feeling," continued he, perceiving `
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that I wished to interrupt him; "but you are mistaken, my friend, if `
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thus you will allow me to name you; nothing can alter my destiny; `
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listen to my history, and you will perceive how irrevocably it is `
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determined." `
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He then told me that he would commence his narrative the next day when `
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I should be at leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest thanks. `
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I have resolved every night, when I am not imperatively occupied by my `
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duties, to record, as nearly as possible in his own words, what he has `
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related during the day. If I should be engaged, I will at least make `
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notes. This manuscript will doubtless afford you the greatest `
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pleasure; but to me, who know him, and who hear it from his own `
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lips--with what interest and sympathy shall I read it in some future `
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day! Even now, as I commence my task, his full-toned voice swells in `
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my ears; his lustrous eyes dwell on me with all their melancholy `
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sweetness; I see his thin hand raised in animation, while the `
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lineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul within. `
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Strange and harrowing must be his story, frightful the storm which `
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embraced the gallant vessel on its course and wrecked it--thus! `
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Chapter 1 `
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I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most `
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distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years `
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counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public `
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situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who `
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knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public `
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business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the `
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affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his `
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marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a `
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husband and the father of a family. `
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As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot `
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refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a `
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merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous `
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mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a `
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proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty `
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and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been `
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distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts, `
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therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his `
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daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in `
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wretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and `
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was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. `
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He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct `
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so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in `
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endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin `
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the world again through his credit and assistance. Beaufort had taken `
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effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten months before my `
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father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened `
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to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the Reuss. But `
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when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had `
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saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but `
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it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and `
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in the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a `
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merchant's house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; `
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his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for `
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