Chapter 13

von Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

I’m now ready to dive into the more emotional part of my story. I’ll share events that left a deep impression on me, shaping who I am today.

Spring was in full swing; the weather turned pleasant, and the skies were clear. It amazed me how the once barren and dreary landscape had transformed into a vibrant tapestry of flowers and greenery. My senses were overwhelmed by a thousand delightful scents and breathtaking sights.

On one of those beautiful days, when my cottagers took a break from their work—the old man strumming his guitar while the children listened—I noticed that Felix wore an expression of profound sadness. He sighed often, and at one point, his father paused in his playing, seemingly asking Felix what troubled him. Felix responded with a cheerful tone, but just as his father was about to resume, someone knocked at the door.

It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a local man as her guide. She wore a dark outfit and was hidden behind a thick black veil. Agatha asked her a question, but the stranger only replied, sweetly calling out Felix’s name. Her voice was melodic, yet different from that of my friends. Upon hearing his name, Felix rushed toward her. When she saw him, she lifted her veil, revealing a face of angelic beauty. Her hair was a glossy raven black, intricately braided, and her dark eyes sparkled with a gentle yet animated light. Her features were perfectly proportioned, and her complexion was strikingly fair, with a lovely pink hue on her cheeks.

Felix was instantly transformed; the sorrow vanished from his face, replaced by an ecstatic joy that I could hardly believe. His eyes shone, and his cheeks flushed with pleasure. In that moment, I thought he was as beautiful as the stranger before him. She seemed to be experiencing a mix of emotions, wiping away a few tears from her lovely eyes as she reached out her hand to Felix. He kissed it with rapture, calling her, as best as I could tell, his sweet Arabian. She didn’t seem to understand him but smiled in response. He helped her dismount, sent her guide away, and led her into the cottage.

Some conversation took place between him and his father, and the young lady knelt at the old man’s feet, attempting to kiss his hand. Instead, he lifted her up and embraced her warmly.

I quickly realized that although the stranger spoke clearly and seemed to have her own language, she and the cottagers didn’t understand each other. They communicated through gestures I couldn’t grasp, but her presence brought a wave of happiness into the cottage, chasing away their sadness like the sun dispersing morning fog. Felix was particularly joyful, welcoming his Arabian with bright smiles. Agatha, ever gentle, kissed the hands of the lovely stranger and pointed to her brother, making gestures that seemed to convey that Felix had been sad until she arrived.

Hours passed as they expressed their joy, the reason for which I couldn’t quite understand. I soon noticed that the stranger was trying to learn their language, repeating sounds they made. An idea struck me: I could use the same method to learn as well. The stranger picked up about twenty words during her first lesson; most were ones I already knew, but I benefited from the new ones.

As night fell, Agatha and the Arabian retired early. When they parted, Felix kissed the stranger’s hand and said, “Good night, sweet Safie.” He stayed up much longer, talking with his father, and from the frequent mention of her name, I guessed that their lovely guest was the focus of their conversation. I desperately wanted to understand them, pouring all my energy into that goal, but it was utterly impossible.

The next morning, Felix went off to work, and after Agatha finished her usual tasks, the Arabian sat at the old man’s feet. She took his guitar and played some melodies so beautifully enchanting that they brought tears of both sorrow and joy to my eyes. She sang, her voice flowing like a rich melody, rising and falling like a nightingale in the woods.

When she finished, she handed the guitar to Agatha, who hesitated at first. Agatha played a simple tune, her voice accompanying it in sweet notes, though it lacked the extraordinary quality of the stranger’s song. The old man appeared entranced, saying something that Agatha tried to explain to Safie, expressing that her music brought him immense joy.

The days passed peacefully, just as they always had, but now joy had replaced the sadness on my friends' faces. Safie was always cheerful, and together we quickly improved our language skills. Within two months, I started to understand most of the words spoken by my protectors.

Meanwhile, the dark ground was transformed, covered in lush grass, and the green banks were dotted with countless flowers, sweet to the senses and bright against the moonlit woods. The sun grew warmer, the nights became clear and pleasant, and my nighttime walks brought me immense joy, even though they were cut short by the sun setting later and rising earlier. I never dared to venture out during the day, afraid of facing the same hostility I had encountered in the first village I entered.

I spent my days focused intently on mastering the language, and I can proudly say that I progressed faster than the Arabian, who understood little and spoke in broken phrases. I, on the other hand, grasped and could mimic almost every word I heard.

As I improved my speech, I also learned the art of writing as it was taught to the stranger, opening up a vast world of wonder and delight.

Felix used Volney’s _Ruins of Empires_ to teach Safie. I wouldn’t have understood the book’s meaning without Felix’s detailed explanations. He chose it because its eloquent style resembled that of Eastern authors. Through this book, I gained a basic understanding of history and a glimpse into the various empires that existed in the world. It offered insights into the customs, governments, and religions of different nations. I learned about the lazy Asiatics, the remarkable intellect and creativity of the Greeks, the wars and virtues of the early Romans, their eventual decline, and the rise of chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I even learned about the discovery of the Americas and wept with Safie over the tragic fate of its original inhabitants.

These incredible stories stirred strange feelings within me. Was humanity truly so powerful, virtuous, and magnificent, yet also so corrupt and base? At times, man seemed like a mere extension of evil, while at others, he embodied all that was noble and godlike. To be a great and virtuous person seemed the highest honor for a sensitive being, while to be base and wicked, as many had been, felt like the lowest degradation, a condition more wretched than that of a blind mole or a harmless worm. For a long time, I struggled to understand how one person could kill another or why laws and governments existed. But when I heard the details of vice and bloodshed, my wonder faded, replaced by disgust and loathing.

Every conversation among the cottagers revealed new wonders to me. As I listened to Felix instructing the Arabian, I began to grasp the strange structure of human society. I learned about the division of property, immense wealth alongside squalid poverty, and the significance of rank, lineage, and noble blood.

These words prompted me to reflect on my own situation. I discovered that the most valued possessions among people were a noble lineage combined with wealth. A man could earn respect with either of these traits, but without both, he was often seen, except in rare cases, as a vagabond and a slave, destined to labor for the benefit of a privileged few. And what was I? I knew nothing of my creation or creator, but I realized I had no money, no friends, and no possessions. I was also hideously deformed and repulsive; I was not even of the same nature as humans. I was more agile than they were and could survive on coarser food; I could endure extremes of heat and cold better than they could, and my stature far exceeded theirs. When I looked around, I saw no one like me. Was I, then, a monster, a blot on the earth, from whom all men recoiled and whom all men rejected?

I cannot express the agony these thoughts inflicted upon me. I tried to push them away, but sorrow only deepened with knowledge. Oh, how I wished I had remained in my native woods, never knowing or feeling anything beyond the basic sensations of hunger, thirst, and heat!

Knowledge is such a strange thing. Once it takes hold of your mind, it sticks like lichen to a rock. There were times I wished I could just shake off all thoughts and feelings, but I learned that the only way to escape pain was through death—a state that terrified me, yet I couldn’t fully grasp.

I admired the goodness and kindness of the cottagers. I loved their gentle manners and warm qualities, but I was completely shut out from interacting with them. My only glimpses of their lives came when I watched them in secret, unseen and unknown, which only intensified my longing to be part of their world. The soft words of Agatha and the bright smiles of the lovely Arabian girl were not meant for me. The old man’s gentle advice and Felix’s lively conversations were beyond my reach. I was a miserable, unhappy wretch.

Other lessons struck me even harder. I learned about the differences between the sexes, the birth and growth of children. I saw how fathers cherished the smiles of their infants and how mothers devoted their lives to their precious children. I understood how youth blossoms with knowledge and how the bonds of brotherhood and sisterhood tie people together in deep connections.

But where were my friends and family? No father had watched over my early days, no mother had smiled at me or held me close. If they had existed, my past was now just a dark void, a blank space where I could remember nothing. From my earliest memories, I had always looked like I did then, and I had never encountered anyone who resembled me or who wanted to connect with me. What was I? The question haunted me, answered only by my own groans.

I’ll explain where these feelings led me soon, but first, let me return to the cottagers. Their story stirred up a whirlwind of emotions in me—indignation, delight, and wonder—all of which ultimately deepened my love and respect for my protectors (for that’s how I innocently and painfully chose to think of them).