Part 1, Chapter 1

Having little knowledge of rhetorical art, and possessing but a limited imagination, it is only a strong sense of the duty I owe to Science and the progressive minds of the age, that induces me to come before the public in the character of an author. True, I have only a simple narration of facts to deal with, and am, therefore, not expected to present artistic effects, and poetical imagery, nor any of those flights of imagination that are the trial and test of genius.

I know little about the art of writing, and I have only a limited imagination. I write for the public only because I feel a strong duty to Science and the progressive minds of the age. It is true that I have only a simple account of facts to give. So I am not expected to offer artistic effects, poetic imagery, or flights of imagination that test a writer's genius.

Yet my task is not a light one. I may fail to satisfy my own mind that the true merits of the wonderful and mysterious people I discovered, have been justly described. I may fail to interest the public; which is the one difficulty most likely to occur, and most to be regretted—not for my own sake, but theirs. It is so hard to get human nature out of the ruts it has moved in for ages. To tear away their present faith, is like undermining their existence. Yet others who come after me will be more aggressive than I. I have this consolation: whatever reception may be given my narrative by the public, I know that it has been written solely for its good. That wonderful civilization I met with in Mizora, I may not be able to more than faintly shadow forth here, yet from it, the present age may form some idea of that grand, that ideal life that is possible for our remote posterity. Again and again has religious enthusiasm pictured a life to be eliminated from the grossness and imperfections of our material existence. The Spirit—the Mind—that mental gift, by or through which we think, reason, and suffer, is by one tragic and awful struggle to free itself from temporal blemishes and difficulties, and become spiritual and perfect. Yet, who, sweeping the limitless fields of space with a telescope, glancing at myriads of worlds that a lifetime could not count, or gazing through a microscope at a tiny world in a drop of water, has dreamed that patient Science and practice could evolve for the living human race, the ideal life of exalted knowledge: the life that I found in Mizora; that Science had made real and practicable. The duty that I owe to truth compels me to acknowledge that I have not been solicited to write this narrative by my friends; nor has it been the pastime of my leisure hours; nor written to amuse an invalid; nor, in fact, for any of those reasons which have prompted so many men and women to write a book. It is, on the contrary, the result of hours of laborious work, undertaken for the sole purpose of benefiting Science and giving encouragement to those progressive minds who have already added their mite of knowledge to the coming future of the race. "We owe a duty to posterity," says Junius in his famous letter to the king. A declaration that ought to be a motto for every schoolroom, and graven above every legislative hall in the world. It should be taught to the child as soon as reason has begun to dawn, and be its guide until age has become its master.

Yet my task is not an easy one. I may not feel that I have done justice to the true merits of the wonderful, mysterious people I discovered. I may fail to interest the public. That is the most likely difficulty, and the one I would regret most, not for my sake, but for theirs. It is so hard to draw human nature out of patterns it has followed for ages. To tear away people’s present faith is like undermining their very existence. Yet others who come after me will be more aggressive than I am. I have this consolation: whatever reception the public gives my account, I know I wrote it solely for the public’s good. I may only be able to give a faint picture of the wonderful civilization I found in Mizora. Yet even from that picture, people today may form some idea of the grand, ideal life possible for our distant descendants. Again and again, religious enthusiasm has imagined a life freed from the coarseness and imperfections of our material existence. The Spirit, or Mind, is the mental gift by which or through which we think, reason, and suffer. In one tragic and terrible struggle, it is to free itself from earthly flaws and difficulties and become spiritual and perfect. Yet who has dreamed that patient Science and practice could create an ideal life of exalted knowledge for the living human race? Who has dreamed this while scanning the limitless reaches of space through a telescope, glimpsing countless worlds that a lifetime could not count? Or while looking through a microscope at the tiny world in a drop of water? This was the life I found in Mizora, a life that Science had made real and practical. My duty to truth compels me to admit that my friends did not ask me to write this account. Nor did I write it to pass my leisure hours or to amuse an invalid. In fact, I wrote it for none of the reasons that have prompted so many men and women to write a book. On the contrary, it is the result of hours of hard work. I undertook it solely to benefit Science and encourage progressive minds who have already contributed their small share of knowledge to the race’s future. "We owe a duty to posterity," says Junius in his famous letter to the king. That declaration ought to be a motto in every schoolroom and carved above every legislative hall in the world. It should be taught to children as soon as they begin to reason. It should guide them until old age has mastered them.

It is my desire not to make this story a personal matter; and for that unavoidable prominence which is given one's own identity in relating personal experiences, an indulgence is craved from whomsoever may peruse these pages.

I do not want to make this story about myself. But personal experiences inevitably bring attention to the person telling them. I ask readers to excuse that.

In order to explain how and why I came to venture upon a journey no other of my sex has ever attempted, I am compelled to make a slight mention of my family and nationality.

To explain how and why I dared to make a journey no other woman has ever attempted, I must briefly mention my family and nationality.

I am a Russian: born to a family of nobility, wealth, and political power. Had the natural expectations for my birth and condition been fulfilled, I should have lived, loved, married and died a Russian aristocrat, and been unknown to the next generation—and this narrative would not have been written.

I am Russian, born into a family of nobility, wealth, and political power. If my life had followed the expected path for someone of my birth and station, I would have lived, loved, married, and died a Russian aristocrat. The next generation would never have known me, and this story would never have been written.

There are some people who seem to have been born for the sole purpose of becoming the playthings of Fate—who are tossed from one condition of life to another without wish or will of their own. Of this class I am an illustration. Had I started out with a resolve to discover the North Pole, I should never have succeeded. But all my hopes, affections, thoughts, and desires were centered in another direction, hence—but my narrative will explain the rest.

Some people seem born solely to be Fate’s playthings. They are tossed from one way of life to another, regardless of their own wishes or will. I am one of them. If I had set out to discover the North Pole, I would never have succeeded. But all my hopes, affections, thoughts, and desires were focused elsewhere, so... but my story will explain the rest.

The tongue of woman has long been celebrated as an unruly member, and perhaps, in some of the domestic affairs of life, it has been unnecessarily active; yet no one who gives this narrative a perusal, can justly deny that it was the primal cause of the grandest discovery of the age.

Women’s tongues have long been known for running wild. Perhaps they have been unnecessarily busy in some domestic matters. Yet no one who reads this story can fairly deny that a woman’s tongue was the original cause of the greatest discovery of the age.

I was educated in Paris, where my vacations were frequently spent with an American family who resided there, and with whom my father had formed an intimate friendship. Their house, being in a fashionable quarter of the city and patriotically hospitable, was the frequent resort of many of their countrymen. I unconsciously acquired a knowledge and admiration for their form of government, and some revolutionary opinions in regard to my own.

I was educated in Paris, where I often spent my vacations with an American family. They lived there and were close friends of my father. Their house was in a fashionable part of the city. They welcomed their fellow Americans in a patriotic spirit, and many visited often. Without realizing it, I learned about and came to admire the American form of government. I also developed some revolutionary opinions about my own.

Had I been guided by policy, I should have kept the latter a secret, but on returning home, at the expiration of my school days, I imprudently gave expression to them in connection with some of the political movements of the Russian Government—and secured its suspicion at once, which, like the virus of some fatal disease, once in the system, would lose its vitality only with my destruction.

If I had been prudent, I would have kept the latter secret. But when I returned home after finishing school, I unwisely expressed them in connection with some political actions of the Russian Government. I immediately aroused the government’s suspicion. Like the virus of a fatal disease, that suspicion would remain alive until it destroyed me.

While at school, I had become attached to a young and lovely Polish orphan, whose father had been killed at the battle of Grochow when she was an infant in her mother's arms. My love for my friend, and sympathy for her oppressed people, finally drew me into serious trouble and caused my exile from my native land.

At school, I grew close to a young and lovely Polish orphan. Her father had been killed at the battle of Grochow when she was an infant in her mother's arms. My love for my friend and my sympathy for her oppressed people eventually led me into serious trouble. As a result, I was exiled from my homeland.

I married at the age of twenty the son of my father's dearest friend. Alexis and I were truly attached to each other, and when I gave to my infant the name of my father and witnessed his pride and delight, I thought to my cup of earthly happiness, not one more drop could be added.

At twenty, I married the son of my father’s dearest friend. Alexis and I truly loved each other. I named my baby after my father and saw his pride and delight. I thought my cup of earthly happiness could not hold another drop.

A desire to feel the cheering air of a milder climate induced me to pay my Polish friend a visit. During my sojourn with her occurred the anniversary of the tragedy of Grochow, when, according to custom, all who had lost friends in the two dreadful battles that had been fought there, met to offer prayers for their souls. At her request, I accompanied my friend to witness the ceremonies. To me, a silent and sympathizing spectator, they were impressive and solemn in the extreme. Not less than thirty thousand people were there, weeping and praying on ground hallowed by patriot blood. After the prayers were said, the voice of the multitude rose in a mournful and pathetic chant. It was rudely broken by the appearance of the Russian soldiers.

I wanted to feel the refreshing air of a milder climate, so I visited my Polish friend. During my stay, the anniversary of the tragedy of Grochow came around. As was customary, all who had lost friends in the two terrible battles fought there gathered to pray for their souls. At my friend’s request, I went with her to witness the ceremonies. I watched in silence and sympathy, deeply moved by their solemnity. At least thirty thousand people were there, weeping and praying on ground made sacred by the blood of patriots. After the prayers, the crowd raised its voice in a mournful, sorrowful chant. The Russian soldiers appeared and abruptly interrupted it.

A scene ensued which memory refuses to forget, and justice forbids me to deny. I saw my friend, with the song of sorrow still trembling on her innocent lips, fall bleeding, dying from the bayonet thrust of a Russian soldier. I clasped the lifeless body in my arms, and in my grief and excitement, poured forth upbraidings against the government of my country which it would never forgive nor condone. I was arrested, tried, and condemned to the mines of Siberia for life.

What happened next is something I cannot forget, and justice forbids me to deny it. I saw a Russian soldier stab my friend with his bayonet. The song of sorrow was still trembling on her innocent lips as she fell, bleeding and dying. I held her lifeless body in my arms. In my grief and distress, I poured out accusations against my country’s government. The government would never forgive or pardon me for them. I was arrested, tried, and sentenced to life in the Siberian mines.

My father's ancient and princely lineage, my husband's rank, the wealth of both families, all were unavailing in procuring a commutation of my sentence to some less severe punishment. Through bribery, however, the co-operation of one of my jailors was secured, and I escaped in disguise to the frontier.

My father's ancient royal lineage, my husband's rank, and the wealth of both families could not secure a lighter sentence for me. However, a bribe secured the cooperation of one of my jailers, and I escaped in disguise to the frontier.

It was my husband's desire that I proceed immediately to France, where he would soon join me. But we were compelled to accept whatever means chance offered for my escape, and a whaling vessel bound for the Northern Seas was the only thing I could secure passage upon with safety. The captain promised to transfer me to the first southward bound vessel we should meet.

My husband wanted me to go straight to France, where he would soon join me. But we had to take whatever chance offered for my escape. The only ship I could safely get passage on was a whaling vessel bound for the Northern Seas. The captain promised to transfer me to the first southbound ship we met.

But none came. The slow, monotonous days found me gliding farther and farther from home and love. In the seclusion of my little cabin, my fate was more endurable than the horrors of Siberia could have been, but it was inexpressibly lonesome. On shipboard I sustained the character of a youth, exiled for a political offense, and of a delicate constitution.

But none came. As the slow, monotonous days passed, I drifted farther and farther from home and love. Alone in my little cabin, I found my fate more bearable than the horrors of Siberia would have been. But I was unbearably lonely. On the ship, I posed as a frail young man exiled for a political offense.

It is not necessary to the interest of this narrative to enter into the details of shipwreck and disaster, which befel us in the Northern Seas. Our vessel was caught between ice floes, and we were compelled to abandon her. The small boats were converted into sleds, but in such shape as would make it easy to re-convert them into boats again, should it ever become necessary. We took our march for the nearest Esquimaux settlement, where we were kindly received and tendered the hospitality of their miserable huts. The captain, who had been ill for some time, grew rapidly worse, and in a few days expired. As soon as the approach of death became apparent, he called the crew about him, and requested them to make their way south as soon as possible, and to do all in their power for my health and comfort. He had, he said, been guaranteed a sum of money for my safe conduct to France, sufficient to place his family in independent circumstances, and he desired that his crew should do all in their power to secure it for them.

The details of the shipwreck and disaster we suffered in the Northern Seas are not necessary to this story. Our vessel was caught between ice floes, and we had to abandon her. We turned the small boats into sleds, but made sure we could easily turn them back into boats if necessary. We set out for the nearest Esquimaux settlement, where we were kindly welcomed into their miserable huts. The captain had been ill for some time. He grew worse rapidly and died a few days later. As soon as it became clear he was dying, he called the crew together. He asked them to head south as soon as possible and do all they could for my health and comfort. He said he had been guaranteed a sum of money for taking me safely to France. It was enough to make his family financially independent, and he wanted his crew to do all they could to secure it for them.

The next morning I awoke to find myself deserted, the crew having decamped with nearly everything brought from the ship.

The next morning, I woke to find that I had been abandoned. The crew had left with nearly everything brought from the ship.

Being blessed with strong nerves, I stared my situation bravely in the face, and resolved to make the best of it. I believed it could be only a matter of time when some European or American whaling vessel should rescue me: and I had the resolution to endure, while hope fed the flame.

I had strong nerves, so I faced my situation bravely and resolved to make the best of it. I believed it was only a matter of time before a European or American whaling ship rescued me. And I was determined to endure as long as hope kept me going.

I at once proceeded to inure myself to the life of the Esquimaux. I habited myself in a suit of reindeer fur, and ate, with compulsory appetite, the raw flesh and fat that form their principal food. Acclimated by birth to the coldest region of the temperate zone, and naturally of a hardy constitution, I found it not so difficult to endure the rigors of the Arctic temperature as I had supposed.

I immediately began adapting to the way of life of the Esquimaux. I dressed in a suit of reindeer fur and forced myself to eat raw meat and fat, their main food. I was born accustomed to the coldest part of the temperate zone and was naturally hardy. So I found the harsh Arctic cold easier to endure than I had expected.

I soon discovered the necessity of being an assistance to my new friends in procuring food, as their hospitality depends largely upon the state of their larder. A compass and a small trunk of instruments belonging to the Captain had been either over-looked or rejected by the crew in their flight. I secured the esteem of the Esquimaux by using the compass to conduct a hunting party in the right direction when a sudden snow-storm had obscured the landmarks by which they guide their course. I cheerfully assumed a share of their hardships, for with these poor children of the North life is a continual struggle with cold and starvation. The long, rough journeys which we frequently took over ice and ridges of snow in quest of animal food, I found monotonously destitute of everything I had experienced in former traveling, except fatigue. The wail of the winds, and the desolate landscape of ice and snow, never varied. The coruscations of the Aurora Borealis sometimes lighted up the dreary waste around us, and the myriad eyes of the firmament shone out with a brighter lustre, as twilight shrank before the gloom of the long Arctic night.

I soon realized that I needed to help my new friends find food, because their hospitality depended largely on how much food they had. The crew had either overlooked or left behind a compass and a small trunk of instruments belonging to the Captain. I earned the respect of the Esquimaux by using the compass to guide a hunting party in the right direction. A sudden snowstorm had hidden the landmarks they used to find their way. I gladly shared their hardships, for these poor children of the North face a constant struggle against cold and starvation. We often made long, difficult journeys over ice and ridges of snow in search of animals to eat. I found none of what I had experienced on earlier journeys, except fatigue. The wailing winds and the desolate landscape of ice and snow never changed. The flashes of the Aurora Borealis sometimes lit up the bleak wilderness around us. The countless stars in the sky shone more brightly as twilight gave way to the darkness of the long Arctic night.

A description of the winter I spent with the Esquimaux can be of little interest to the readers of this narrative. Language cannot convey to those who have dwelt always in comfort the feeling of isolation, the struggle with despair, that was constantly mine. We were often confined to our ice huts for days while the blinding fury of the wind driven snow without made the earth look like chaos. Sometimes I crept to the narrow entrance and looked toward the South with a feeling of homesickness too intense to describe. Away, over leagues of perilous travel, lay everything that was dear or congenial; and how many dreary months, perhaps years, must pass before I could obtain release from associations more dreadful than solitude. It required all the courage I could command to endure it.

A description of the winter I spent with the Esquimaux would be of little interest to readers of this narrative. I constantly felt isolated and struggled against despair. Words cannot convey those feelings to people who have always lived in comfort. We were often confined to our ice huts for days. Outside, the blinding fury of the windblown snow made the earth look like chaos. Sometimes I crept to the narrow entrance and looked toward the South. My homesickness was too intense to describe. Everything dear or comforting to me lay far away, across leagues of dangerous travel. How many dreary months, perhaps years, would pass before I could escape company more dreadful than solitude? It took all the courage I could summon to endure it.

The whale-fishing opens about the first week in August, and continues throughout September. As it drew near, the settlement prepared to move farther north, to a locality where they claimed whales could be found in abundance. I cheerfully assisted in the preparations, for to meet some whaling vessel was my only hope of rescue from surroundings that made existence a living death.

Whale hunting begins around the first week of August and continues throughout September. As the season approached, the settlement prepared to move farther north. They said whales were plentiful there. I gladly helped with the preparations. Meeting a whaling ship was my only hope of rescue from surroundings that made life a living death.

The dogs were harnessed to sleds heavily laden with the equipments of an Esquimaux hut. The woman, as well as the men, were burdened with immense packs; and our journey begun. We halted only to rest and sleep. A few hours work furnished us a new house out of the ever present ice. We feasted on raw meat—sometimes a freshly killed deer; after which our journey was resumed.

The dogs were harnessed to sleds loaded with the equipment for an Esquimaux hut. The woman and the men carried enormous packs, and we began our journey. We stopped only to rest and sleep. In a few hours, we could build a new house from the ice that was always around us. We feasted on raw meat, sometimes from a freshly killed deer. Then we continued our journey.

As near as I could determine, it was close to the 85° north latitude, where we halted on the shore of an open sea. Wild ducks and game were abundant, also fish of an excellent quality. Here, for the first time in many months, I felt the kindly greeting of a mild breeze as it hailed me from the bosom of the water. Vegetation was not profuse nor brilliant, but to my long famished eyes, its dingy hue was delightfully refreshing.

As best I could tell, we stopped on the shore of an open sea near 85° north latitude. Wild ducks and other game were plentiful, as were excellent fish. For the first time in many months, I felt the welcome touch of a mild breeze blowing across the water. The vegetation was neither abundant nor bright, but its dull color was a delight to my long-starved eyes.

Across this sea I instantly felt a strong desire to sail. I believed it must contain an island of richer vegetation than the shore we occupied. But no one encouraged me or would agree to be my companion. On the contrary, they intimated that I should never return. I believed that they were trying to frighten me into remaining with them, and declared my intention to go alone. Perhaps I might meet in that milder climate some of my own race. My friend smiled, and pointing to the South, said, as he designated an imaginary boundary:

I immediately felt a strong desire to sail across this sea. I believed it must contain an island with richer vegetation than the shore where we were. But no one encouraged me or agreed to come with me. Instead, they hinted that I would never return. I believed they were trying to frighten me into staying with them, so I declared that I would go alone. Perhaps I might meet some of my own race in that milder climate. My friend smiled and pointed south, tracing an imaginary boundary as he said:

"Across that no white man's foot has ever stepped."

"No white man has ever stepped across that."

So I was alone. My resolution, however, was not shaken. A boat was constructed, and bidding adieu to my humble companions, I launched into an unknown sea.

So I was alone. But my determination did not waver. A boat was built, and I said goodbye to my humble companions. Then I set out on an unknown sea.