The winter deepened. Since he had first opened his eyes, the seasons had turned a full circle.
He thought of only one thing now. How could he find a way into the cottage of his protectors?
He made plan after plan and threw each away. In the end he settled on entering the cottage when the blind old man was alone.
A Voice Is Not Frightening
He had his reasons. What had frightened everyone who saw him was, above all, his hideous form. He was clever enough to grasp that.
His voice was another matter. It was harsh, but there was nothing terrible in it.
So he reasoned that if he could win the old man’s goodwill while the children were away, and if De Lacey would speak for him, the younger cottagers might tolerate him for their father’s sake.
A Day of Red Leaves
One day the sun shone on the red leaves that covered the ground. It gave no warmth, but it lifted the heart. Safie, Agatha and Felix set out on a long walk through the countryside, and the old man, by his own wish, stayed behind alone.
When his children had gone, the old man took up his guitar. The tunes were sadder and sweeter than any the listener had heard him play. At first the old man’s face shone with pleasure, but as he played on he grew thoughtful and sad. At last he set the instrument aside and sat lost in thought.
His heart beat fast. This was the hour of trial, the moment that would fulfil his hopes or make his fears come true. The servants had gone to a fair in a nearby village.
All was quiet inside and around the cottage. It was the perfect chance, yet when he tried to act, his legs gave way and he sank to the ground.
He rose again. Gathering every scrap of resolve he had, he moved the planks that hid his hovel. The fresh air revived him, and with new determination he went up to the cottage door.
A Knock at the Door
He knocked. From inside, the old man asked who was there and told him to come in.
He stepped inside and spoke. “Forgive me for coming in like this. I am a traveller who needs a little rest. If you would let me stay by your fire for a few minutes, I would be most grateful.”
The old man answered. “Come in, and I will help however I can. But my children are away, and I am blind, so I fear it will be hard to find you anything to eat.”
“Please do not trouble yourself. I have food. All I need is warmth and rest.”
He sat down, and there was a silence. He knew every minute was precious, yet he did not know how to begin. Then the old man spoke first.
From his way of speaking, the old man said, he guessed the stranger was a countryman of his. Was he French? He said no. He had been raised by a French family and understood only that language. He was on his way, he said, to ask the protection of friends he truly loved.
The Prejudice of Beloved Friends
When the old man asked whether these friends were German, he answered that they were French. Then he turned the conversation.
“I am an unhappy creature, abandoned by everyone. When I look around, I have no family and no friend in the world. The kind people I am going to have never seen me and know almost nothing about me. If I fail with them, I will be an outcast for ever. That is why I am afraid.”
The old man told him not to despair. To have no friends was a real misfortune, he said, but human hearts not clouded by self-interest are full of brotherly love and kindness. If these friends were good people, he should keep hoping.
He said they were the finest people in the world. The trouble was that, where he was concerned, prejudice blinded them.
“I mean no harm. I have hurt no one in my life, and I have even done a little good. Yet because of that prejudice, where they should see a warm and loyal friend, they see only a hateful monster.”
The old man asked whether, if he was truly blameless, he could not clear up their mistake.
That was exactly what he meant to do, he said, and that was why he was so afraid. For months he had shown them small kindnesses every day without their knowing. Yet they believed he wished to harm them.
The First Kind Voice
The old man asked where these friends lived. He said only that it was near here.
The old man fell silent for a moment, then went on. If the stranger would tell him the whole story openly, he might be of use in setting things right. Then he said this.
“I am blind and cannot judge of your countenance, but there is something in your words which persuades me that you are sincere.” (Chapter 15)
He was poor and an exile, the old man said, but it would give him real joy to be of help to another human being in any way.
Calling him an excellent man, he accepted the generous offer. This kindness, he said, lifted him up out of the dust.
The old man said that even if he really had done wrong, being cast out would only drive him to despair and would never make him good. He added that he too was unfortunate, that he and his family had been punished though innocent. How then could he not feel for the stranger’s troubles?
He called the old man his best and only benefactor. Those lips were the first from which he had ever heard a kind voice turned towards him. He would be grateful for ever, he said, and such kindness gave him hope of success with the friends he was about to meet.
The Moment of the Names
The old man asked whether he might know the names of these friends and where they lived.
He stopped. This, he thought, was the moment that would give him happiness or take it from him for ever. He fought to find the strength to answer, but the struggle used up all the strength he had left. He sank onto the chair and sobbed aloud.
Just then he heard the footsteps of his younger protectors. He seized the old man’s hand and cried out.
“Now! Save me, protect me! You and your family are the friends I am seeking. Do not abandon me in my hour of trial!”
The old man cried out to God in alarm and demanded to know who he was.
The Door Opens
At that moment the cottage door opened, and Felix, Safie and Agatha came in. Who could describe their horror and shock at the sight of him?
Agatha fainted. Safie, too frightened even to help her friend, rushed out of the cottage. Felix sprang forward and, with a strength that hardly seemed human, wrenched him away from the old man, whose knees he had been clinging to.
In a burst of rage, Felix hurled him to the floor and beat him hard with a stick.
He tells Victor that he could have torn Felix limb from limb, as a lion tears an antelope. But his heart sank with a bitter sickness, and he held back.
As Felix raised the stick to strike again, he could bear the pain and anguish no longer and left the cottage. In the uproar, unseen by anyone, he fled back to his hovel.
The Only One Who Could Not See
In his whole story, the old man is the only person who listens to what he says. And the old man is the one person who cannot see him.
The old man heard words instead of a face. Those words were what he had spent a year learning through a chink in the wall, and they won him a kind answer for the first time. What he had hoped for almost came true.
Yet even his words stopped at the very last step. When the moment came to name his friends, he could offer nothing but tears.
Victor is hearing this story in a hut high on the mountain. On the night he first opened his eyes, it was Victor who fled from him as he drew back the curtain and reached out a hand. This chapter only sets the two side by side.
Has anyone ever listened to what I had to say before judging me by my looks or by what others said?