"Such was the history of my beloved cottagers. It impressed me deeply. I learned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire their virtues and to deprecate the vices of mankind.
As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities were called forth and displayed.
One night during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood, I found on the ground a leathern portmanteau containing several articles of dress and some books. I eagerly seized the prize and returned with it to my hovel. The books were written in the language I had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of _Paradise Lost_, a volume of _Plutarch's Lives_, and the _Sorrows of Werter_. The possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight.
I can hardly describe the effect of these books. They produced in me an infinity of new images and feelings, that sometimes raised me to ecstasy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection. In the _Sorrows of Werter_, besides the interest of its simple and affecting story, so many opinions are canvassed upon what had hitherto been obscure subjects that I found in it a never-ending source of speculation. The gentle and domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments, accorded well with my experience among my protectors. But I thought Werter himself a more divine being than I had ever beheld; his character contained no pretension, but it sank deep. The disquisitions upon death and suicide inclined me towards the opinions of the hero, whose extinction I wept.
As I read, I applied much personally to my own feelings and condition. I found myself similar yet strangely unlike to the beings concerning whom I read. I sympathised with them, but I was unformed in mind; I was dependent on none and related to none. 'The path of my departure was free,' and there was none to lament my annihilation. My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.
The volume of _Plutarch's Lives_ had a far different effect from the _Sorrows of Werter_. Plutarch taught me high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my own reflections, to admire and love the heroes of past ages. I had a confused knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers, and boundless seas; but I was perfectly unacquainted with towns and large assemblages of men. The cottage had been the only school in which I had studied human nature, but this book developed new and mightier scenes of action. I felt the greatest ardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice. Induced by these feelings, I was led to admire peaceable lawgivers, Numa, Solon, and Lycurgus, in preference to Romulus and Theseus. Perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had been made by a young soldier, I should have been imbued with different sensations.
But _Paradise Lost_ excited different and far deeper emotions. I read it as a true history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the picture of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of exciting. I often referred the several situations to my own. Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to any other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine in every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of his Creator; but I was wretched, helpless, and alone. Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, for often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter gall of envy rose within me.
Another circumstance strengthened these feelings. Soon after my arrival in the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of the dress which I had taken from your laboratory. I began to study them with diligence. It was your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You minutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress of your work; the whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances which produced it is set in view; the minutest description of my odious and loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own horrors and rendered mine indelible. I sickened as I read. 'Hateful day when I received life!' I exclaimed in agony. 'Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.'
These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude; but when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should become acquainted with my admiration of their virtues they would compassionate me and overlook my personal deformity. I resolved not to despair, but in every way to fit myself for an interview with them. I postponed this attempt for some months longer, for the importance attached to its success inspired me with dread. Besides, my understanding improved so much with every day's experience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking until a few more months should have added to my sagacity.
Several changes took place in the cottage. The presence of Safie diffused happiness among its inhabitants, and a greater degree of plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha spent more time in amusement and conversation, assisted in their labours by servants. Their feelings were serene and peaceful, while mine became every day more tumultuous. Increase of knowledge only discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. I cherished hope, but it vanished when I beheld my person reflected in water or my shadow in the moonshine.
I endeavoured to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial. Sometimes I allowed my thoughts to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and dared to fancy amiable creatures sympathising with my feelings; but it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam's supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me, and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him.
Autumn passed. I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay and fall, and nature again assume the barren appearance it had worn when I first beheld the woods. My chief delights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay apparel of summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention towards the cottagers. Their happiness was not decreased by the absence of summer. They loved and sympathised with one another. The more I saw of them, the greater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness; my heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures.
The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken place since I awoke into life. My attention was solely directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my protectors. I had sagacity enough to discover that the unnatural hideousness of my person was the chief object of horror. My voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it; I thought, therefore, that if in the absence of his children I could gain the good will of the old De Lacey, I might by his means be tolerated by my younger protectors.
One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground, Safie, Agatha, and Felix departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own desire, was left alone in the cottage. When his children had departed, he took up his guitar and played several mournful but sweet airs. My heart beat quick; this was the hour of trial, which would decide my hopes or realise my fears. The servants were gone to a neighbouring fair. All was silent; it was an excellent opportunity; yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my limbs failed me and I sank to the ground. Again I rose, and exerting all the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had placed before my hovel. The fresh air revived me, and with renewed determination I approached the door.
I knocked. 'Who is there?' said the old man. 'Come in.'
I entered. 'Pardon this intrusion,' said I; 'I am a traveller in want of a little rest; you would greatly oblige me if you would allow me to remain a few minutes before the fire.'
'Enter,' said De Lacey, 'and I will try in what manner I can to relieve your wants; but, unfortunately, my children are from home, and as I am blind, I am afraid I shall find it difficult to procure food for you.'
'Do not trouble yourself, my kind host; I have food; it is warmth and rest only that I need.'
A silence ensued. I remained irresolute in what manner to commence the interview, when the old man addressed me. 'By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman; are you French?'
'No; but I was educated by a French family. I am now going to claim the protection of some friends, whom I sincerely love.'
'Are they Germans?'
'No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an unfortunate and deserted creature; I look around and I have no relation or friend upon earth. These amiable people to whom I go have never seen me. I am full of fears, for if I fail there, I am an outcast in the world for ever.'
'Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate, but the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are full of brotherly love. Rely on your hopes.'
'They are kind—they are the most excellent creatures in the world; but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me. I have good dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they ought to see a feeling friend, they behold only a detestable monster.'
'That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot you undeceive them?'
'I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I feel so many overwhelming terrors. I tenderly love these friends; I have, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily kindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them.'
'Where do these friends reside?'
'Near this spot.'
The old man paused and then continued, 'If you will unreservedly confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in undeceiving them. I am blind and cannot judge of your countenance, but there is something in your words which persuades me that you are sincere. I am poor and an exile, but it will afford me true pleasure to be in any way serviceable to a human creature.'
'Excellent man! I thank you and accept your generous offer. You raise me from the dust by this kindness.'
'Heaven forbid! Even if you were really criminal, for that can only drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I also am unfortunate; I and my family have been condemned, although innocent; judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes.'
'How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor? From your lips first have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me.'
'May I know the names and residence of those friends?'
I paused. This was the moment of decision, which was to rob me of or bestow happiness on me for ever. I struggled vainly for firmness; I sank on the chair and sobbed aloud. At that moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had not a moment to lose, but seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, 'Now is the time! Save and protect me! You and your family are the friends whom I seek. Do not you desert me in the hour of trial!'
'Great God!' exclaimed the old man. 'Who are you?'
At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix, Safie, and Agatha entered. Who can describe their horror and consternation on beholding me? Agatha fainted, and Safie rushed out of the cottage. Felix darted forward, and with supernatural force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung; in a transport of fury, he dashed me to the ground and struck me violently with a stick. I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope. But my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained. I saw him on the point of repeating his blow, when, overcome by pain and anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general tumult escaped unperceived to my hovel.