Chapter 11

von Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

I struggle to remember the early days of my existence; everything from that time feels jumbled and hazy. A whirlwind of sensations overwhelmed me, and I experienced sight, sound, touch, and smell all at once. It took me a long time to learn how to separate these different senses. Gradually, I became aware of a bright light that pressed against my eyes, forcing me to shut them. Darkness enveloped me, causing a sense of unease, but as soon as I opened my eyes again, the light flooded back in.

I moved, and I think I descended, but I soon noticed a significant change in how I felt. Before, I had been surrounded by dark, solid shapes that I couldn't touch or see clearly. Now, I discovered that I could wander freely, with no barriers that I couldn't either climb over or avoid. The light grew increasingly intense, and the heat began to wear me down, so I sought a place to escape the sun's rays. I found a forest near Ingolstadt, where I lay beside a brook, resting until hunger and thirst tormented me. This drove me from my near-slumber, and I picked some berries from the trees or the ground. I quenched my thirst at the brook and then lay down, quickly succumbing to sleep.

When I awoke, it was dark. I felt cold and instinctively frightened, realizing how alone I was. Before leaving your room, I had wrapped myself in some clothes, but they offered little protection against the night’s chill. I was a wretched, helpless being; I couldn’t understand anything around me. Pain invaded my senses from all sides, and I sat down and wept.

Soon, a gentle light began to spread across the sky, bringing me a sense of comfort. I jumped up and saw a radiant figure rising among the trees. It was the moon. I gazed at it in awe. It moved slowly, illuminating my path, and I ventured out again in search of berries. I was still cold, but beneath one of the trees, I found a large cloak. I wrapped myself in it and sat on the ground. My thoughts were a jumble; everything felt chaotic. I experienced light, hunger, thirst, and darkness; countless sounds filled my ears, and various scents greeted me. The only clear object in my mind was the bright moon, and I focused on it with delight.

Days and nights passed, and as the moon waned, I began to differentiate my sensations. I could clearly see the stream that quenched my thirst and the trees that provided shade. I was thrilled when I realized that the pleasant sounds I often heard came from the little birds that had previously blocked my view of the light. I started to notice the shapes around me more clearly and recognized the boundaries of the bright canopy above. Sometimes, I attempted to mimic the birds' sweet songs, but my efforts resulted in strange, inarticulate sounds that frightened me into silence.

The moon vanished from the night sky, only to reappear, smaller than before, while I remained in the forest. By this time, my senses had sharpened, and each day, my mind absorbed new ideas. My eyes adjusted to the light, allowing me to see objects clearly; I could tell an insect from a plant, and gradually, one plant from another. I discovered that the sparrow made harsh sounds, while the blackbird and thrush sang sweetly.

One day, feeling particularly cold, I stumbled upon a fire left behind by some wandering beggars. The warmth it radiated filled me with joy. In my excitement, I reached out to touch the glowing embers, only to pull my hand back in pain. How strange, I thought, that the same thing could bring such different experiences! I examined the fire's materials and was thrilled to find it made of wood. I quickly gathered some branches, but they were wet and wouldn’t ignite. Frustrated, I sat and watched the fire. The damp wood I had placed near the flames dried out and caught fire. I pondered this, and by touching the various branches, I figured out how it worked. I busied myself collecting a large amount of wood to dry, hoping to have plenty of fuel for the fire. When night fell and sleep beckoned, I was terrified that my fire would go out. I carefully covered it with dry wood and leaves, placed wet branches on top, and then, spreading my cloak, lay down on the ground and drifted into sleep.

I woke up to a bright morning, and my first thought was to check on the fire. I uncovered the ashes, and a gentle breeze quickly brought it back to life. I watched it closely and even made a fan out of branches to stir the embers, which were almost out. When night fell again, I was pleased to find that the fire provided both light and warmth. This discovery proved useful for my meals, as I found some scraps left by travelers that had been roasted and tasted far better than the berries I had been gathering from the trees. Encouraged by this, I decided to cook my food the same way, placing it on the glowing embers. While the berries didn’t fare well with this method, the nuts and roots were much improved.

However, food was becoming scarce, and I often spent entire days searching for acorns to ease my hunger, only to come up empty. Realizing this, I decided it was time to leave the place I had called home and seek out a location where my basic needs could be met more easily. I felt a deep sense of loss for the fire I had managed to create by chance, knowing I had no idea how to start it again. I spent hours pondering this problem but ultimately had to give up. Wrapping myself in my cloak, I set off through the woods toward the setting sun.

I wandered for three days before finally coming upon open land. The night before, a heavy snowfall had blanketed everything in white, creating a desolate scene. My feet grew cold as they sank into the damp snow covering the ground.

It was around seven in the morning, and I desperately craved food and shelter. Eventually, I spotted a small hut on a hill, likely built for a shepherd. It was a new sight for me, and I approached it with curiosity. The door was open, so I stepped inside. An old man sat near a fire, preparing his breakfast. When he heard me, he let out a loud scream and bolted from the hut, running across the fields with surprising speed for someone of his frail appearance. I was taken aback by his sudden flight, but I was equally captivated by the hut itself. Here, the snow and rain couldn’t reach me; the ground was dry, and it felt like a heavenly refuge compared to my previous struggles.

I eagerly devoured the remnants of the shepherd’s breakfast—bread, cheese, milk, and wine, though I found the wine unappealing. Exhausted, I lay down on a pile of straw and fell asleep.

When I awoke around noon, the sun was shining brightly on the white landscape, and I decided to continue my journey. I packed up the leftover food in a small bag I found and spent several hours crossing the fields. By sunset, I arrived at a village that seemed almost magical. The huts, tidy cottages, and grand houses alternated in capturing my admiration. The gardens were filled with vegetables, and I saw milk and cheese displayed at the windows of some cottages, which made my stomach growl.

I entered one of the nicer cottages, but as soon as I stepped inside, the children screamed, and one of the women fainted. The entire village erupted in chaos; some people ran away, while others attacked me. I barely managed to escape, bruised and battered by stones and other projectiles, and fled to the open countryside, seeking refuge in a low, rundown hovel that looked pitiful compared to the beautiful homes I had just seen.

This hovel was made of wood and so low that I could barely sit up straight inside. The floor was just bare earth, but it was dry, and despite the wind seeping through the cracks, it offered some shelter from the snow and rain.

Here, I found a moment of happiness, grateful for any kind of refuge from the harsh weather and even harsher treatment from people. As dawn broke, I cautiously emerged from my makeshift shelter to inspect the nearby cottage and see if I could stay in the area. The cottage was positioned at the back of the hovel, surrounded by a pigsty and a clear pool of water. One side was open, which was how I had entered, but now I carefully blocked every gap with stones and wood, ensuring I could still move them if I needed to escape. The only light I had came through the sty, but it was enough for me.

After setting up my little home and covering the floor with fresh straw, I decided to stay put. I spotted a man in the distance, and the memory of how I had been treated the night before made me wary of stepping outside. Before settling in, I had made sure to secure some food for the day—a loaf of coarse bread I had taken and a cup for drinking the clear water that flowed nearby. My floor was slightly elevated, keeping it dry, and its proximity to the cottage chimney made it reasonably warm.

With everything arranged, I resolved to stay in this hovel until something prompted me to change my mind. Compared to the bleak forest where I had lived before, with its rain-soaked branches and damp ground, this place felt like paradise. I enjoyed my breakfast and was about to move a plank to get some water when I heard footsteps. Peering through a small crack, I saw a young girl walking by with a pail balanced on her head.

She was young and had a gentle demeanor, unlike the rough cottagers and farm workers I had encountered since. Her clothes were simple—a coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket. Her fair hair was braided but unadorned, and her expression was a mix of patience and sadness. She disappeared from view, but about fifteen minutes later, she returned, the pail now partially filled with milk.

As she walked, clearly struggling with the weight, a young man approached her. His face showed a deeper sadness. He spoke a few words in a melancholic tone, took the pail from her, and carried it to the cottage himself. She followed him inside, and they both vanished from sight. A little while later, I saw the young man again, this time with some tools in hand, crossing the field behind the cottage. The girl was busy too, moving between the house and the yard.

As I examined my shelter, I noticed that one of the cottage's windows had once been part of it, but the glass had been replaced with wood. In one of the wooden panels, I found a tiny crack through which I could just make out a small room. It was clean and whitewashed but sparsely furnished. In one corner, near a small fire, sat an old man, his head resting on his hands, looking utterly forlorn. The young girl was busy tidying up the cottage, but soon she pulled something from a drawer and sat beside the old man. He picked up an instrument and began to play, producing sounds more beautiful than any songbird.

It was a lovely sight, even for me, a poor wretch who had never seen anything beautiful before. The old man's silver hair and kind face filled me with respect, while the girl's gentle nature stirred something deep within me. He played a sweet, mournful tune that brought tears to her eyes, which she tried to hide. When she finally sobbed, he noticed and spoke softly to her. She knelt at his feet, and he smiled at her with such warmth and affection that I felt an overwhelming mix of emotions—pain and pleasure unlike anything I had ever known, whether from hunger, cold, warmth, or food. I had to pull away from the window, unable to handle the intensity of what I was feeling.

Not long after, the young man returned, carrying a load of wood on his shoulders. The girl rushed to meet him at the door, helping him unload his burden. She took some of the wood inside and placed it on the fire, then the two of them moved to a corner of the cottage where he showed her a large loaf of bread and a piece of cheese. She looked pleased and went into the garden to gather some roots and plants, which she soaked in water before placing them on the fire. She continued her work while the young man busied himself in the garden, digging and pulling up roots. After about an hour, the girl joined him, and they entered the cottage together.

Meanwhile, the old man had been lost in thought, but when his companions appeared, he brightened up. They all sat down to eat, and the meal was quickly finished. The young woman resumed her tasks around the cottage, while the old man took a stroll in the sun, leaning on the young man's arm. The contrast between these two remarkable individuals was striking. The old man, with his silver hair and a face radiating kindness, stood beside the younger man, who was slender and graceful, his features perfectly symmetrical but his eyes and posture heavy with sadness. After a while, the old man returned to the cottage, and the young man, with a different set of tools, headed across the fields.

Night fell quickly, but to my surprise, I discovered that the cottagers had a way to extend the light using candles. I was thrilled to realize that the sunset didn’t end my enjoyment of watching my human neighbors.

In the evening, the young girl and her companion were busy with various tasks that I couldn’t quite understand. The old man picked up the instrument again, producing the beautiful sounds that had captivated me in the morning. Once he finished, the young man began to make sounds that were dull and repetitive, not at all like the old man’s music or the songs of the birds. I later learned he was reading aloud, but at that moment, I had no knowledge of words or letters.

After a while, the family turned off their lights and, as I guessed, went to bed.