Chapter 12

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

I lay on my straw, unable to sleep. My mind was racing with thoughts of the day’s events. What struck me most was the kindness of the people I had been watching, and I felt a strong desire to join them, though fear held me back. The memory of how the villagers had treated me the night before was still fresh, and I decided that, for now, it was best to stay hidden in my little hovel, observing them and trying to understand what motivated their actions.

The next morning, the cottagers rose before dawn. The young woman tidied up the cottage and prepared their meal, while the young man left after breakfast.

The day unfolded in a familiar routine. The young man spent most of his time outdoors, while the girl engaged in various tasks inside. I soon realized that the old man was blind. He spent his free time playing his instrument or lost in thought. The love and respect the younger cottagers showed him were heartwarming. They attended to him with gentle care, and he rewarded them with warm smiles.

Yet, they weren’t entirely happy. The young man and woman often slipped away from each other, appearing to cry. I couldn’t understand the source of their sorrow, but it affected me deeply. If such beautiful souls could be unhappy, it made sense that I, an imperfect and lonely creature, felt wretched too. But why were they sad? They had a lovely home, in my eyes, filled with comforts. They had warmth from a fire and delicious food to eat. They wore nice clothes and, most importantly, they had each other’s company, sharing looks of affection and kindness every day. What did their tears mean? Did they truly feel pain? At first, I couldn’t answer these questions, but with time and careful observation, many of their mysteries began to unravel.

It took me a while to uncover one of the reasons for this family’s distress: poverty. They were suffering from it in a very real way. Their food came solely from the vegetables they grew and the milk of a single cow, which produced very little in winter when they struggled to feed it. I sensed that they often experienced the sharp pangs of hunger, especially the younger cottagers, who sometimes set food in front of the old man while keeping none for themselves.

This act of kindness touched me deeply. I had been sneaking food from their supplies at night, but when I realized that my actions caused them pain, I stopped. Instead, I foraged for berries, nuts, and roots in the nearby woods to satisfy my hunger.

I also discovered another way to help them. I noticed that the young man spent a lot of his days gathering wood for their fire. So, at night, I would take his tools, which I quickly learned to use, and gather enough firewood to last them several days.

I remember the first time I did this. When the young woman opened the door in the morning, she was astonished to find a large pile of wood outside. She exclaimed something loudly, and the young man joined her, equally surprised. I felt a sense of joy watching him decide not to go to the forest that day, instead spending it repairing the cottage and tending to the garden.

Gradually, I stumbled upon a discovery that was even more significant. I realized that these people had a way of sharing their experiences and emotions through spoken words. I noticed that the sounds they made could evoke pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in those who listened. This was truly a remarkable skill, and I desperately wanted to learn it. Yet, every attempt I made to grasp this language left me frustrated. Their speech was rapid, and the words they used didn’t seem to connect with the things around me, making it impossible for me to decipher their meaning.

However, after spending several months in my secluded hideaway, I managed to learn the names of some familiar objects. I grasped the words for fire, milk, bread, and wood. I also learned the names of the cottagers. The young man and his companion had several names, but the old man was simply called “father.” The girl was referred to as “sister” or “Agatha,” while the young man was known as “Felix,” “brother,” or “son.” The joy I felt upon learning these words and being able to pronounce them was indescribable. I also picked up a few other words, like “good,” “dearest,” and “unhappy,” though I couldn’t yet fully understand or use them.

I spent the winter in this way. The gentle nature and beauty of the cottagers endeared them to me. When they were sad, I felt a heaviness in my heart; when they were happy, I shared in their joy. I rarely saw anyone else, and when others did enter the cottage, their harsh demeanor only highlighted the kindness of my friends. I noticed that the old man often tried to lift his children’s spirits, speaking to them in a cheerful tone that radiated warmth, even to me. Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes glistening with tears that she tried to hide. Yet, after hearing her father’s encouraging words, her expression often brightened. Felix, on the other hand, seemed to carry a deeper sadness than the rest. Even to my untrained eyes, it was clear he had endured more suffering. Yet, despite his sorrowful expression, his voice was often more upbeat than Agatha’s, especially when he spoke to their father.

I could recount countless small moments that revealed the kind hearts of these cottagers. In the midst of their struggles, Felix would bring his sister the first little white flower that peeked through the snow. Early each morning, before she woke, he would clear the snow from her path to the milk house, fetch water from the well, and gather wood from the shed, where he was always amazed to find his supply mysteriously replenished. During the day, I believed he sometimes worked for a nearby farmer, as he would leave and not return until lunchtime, often without bringing back any wood. Other times, he tended to the garden, but since there was little to do in the cold season, he would read to the old man and Agatha.

At first, I found this reading puzzling, but gradually I realized that he used many of the same sounds while reading as he did when speaking. I guessed that he was reading symbols on the paper that represented speech, and I longed to understand them as well. But how could I do that when I didn’t even grasp the sounds that those symbols represented? I made progress in this endeavor, but not enough to engage in any meaningful conversation. I understood that, while I desperately wanted to reveal myself to the cottagers, I needed to master their language first. That knowledge might help them overlook my hideous appearance, which I had become painfully aware of.

I had admired the perfect forms of my cottagers—their grace, beauty, and delicate features. But when I caught a glimpse of myself in a clear pool, I was horrified. I recoiled, unable to believe the reflection before me was truly mine. Once I accepted the reality that I was indeed the monster I saw, I was overwhelmed with despair and shame. Little did I know the full extent of the tragic consequences of my wretched deformity.

As the sun grew warmer and the days stretched longer, the snow melted away, revealing bare trees and dark earth. During this time, Felix became busier, and the heart-wrenching signs of impending hunger faded. Their food, though rough, was nourishing, and they managed to gather enough. New plants began to sprout in the garden, which they tended to, and each day brought more signs of comfort as the season progressed.

The old man, leaning on his son, took daily walks at noon whenever it wasn’t raining—though I learned that rain meant the heavens pouring down. It rained often, but a strong wind would quickly dry the ground, making the season much more pleasant than it had been.

My life in the hovel followed a steady routine. In the mornings, I watched the cottagers go about their tasks, and when they dispersed, I would sleep. The rest of my day was spent observing my friends. When they retired for the night, if the moon was out or the stars were shining, I ventured into the woods to gather food and fuel for their cottage. Whenever necessary, I cleared their path of snow and performed the tasks I had seen Felix do. I later discovered that these actions, done by an unseen hand, amazed them. A few times, I heard them refer to me as a "good spirit" or "wonderful," but I didn’t grasp the meaning of those words at the time.

My thoughts became more active, and I yearned to understand the motives and feelings of these beautiful people. I was curious about why Felix looked so miserable and Agatha so sad. Foolishly, I believed I could bring happiness back to these deserving souls. When I slept or was away, the images of the venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the admirable Felix danced in my mind. I saw them as superior beings who would determine my future. I imagined countless scenarios of presenting myself to them and how they might receive me. I feared they would be repulsed at first, but I hoped that with my gentle demeanor and kind words, I could win their favor and eventually their love.

These thoughts filled me with excitement and pushed me to pursue the art of language with renewed passion. My voice was rough, but it was flexible; even though it didn’t match the soft melodies of their speech, I managed to pronounce the words I understood with reasonable ease. It was like comparing a donkey to a lapdog; surely the kind-hearted donkey, despite its clumsy manners, deserved better than scorn and punishment.

The pleasant rains and warm spring air transformed the landscape. Men who had seemed to hide away in caves emerged, busying themselves with various forms of cultivation. The birds sang more cheerfully, and leaves began to unfurl on the trees. Oh, happy earth! A fitting home for gods, which not long ago had been bleak, damp, and unwelcoming. My spirits soared with the enchanting beauty of nature; the past faded from my memory, the present felt peaceful, and the future shimmered with bright rays of hope and joyful anticipation.