He gathers his things together.
Writing today, Mary?
MARY. Yes, Papa.
GODWIN. Very good.
He leaves. FANNY watches MARY for a moment. MARY is looking shocked and flushed.
FANNY. So... That is Mr Shelley.
MARY. Yes.
I need some paper.
MARY goes to the desk and finds the paper.
FANNY. Is something wrong?
MARY. No. Not at all.
FANNY. What did you think of him?
MARY. I thought he was... Yes. He’s very pleasant.
FANNY. ‘Pleasant’? What do you mean? That’s the most... pale... the most insipid word I ever heard fall from your lips.
MARY. He’s beautiful. There must be angels who command less light.
Looking at MARY’s impassioned face, FANNY is suddenly filled with disquiet. MARY sees it.
You looked after him last night?
FANNY. Yes. We had a long talk.
MARY. I’m glad. Well. I’ll let you get on. Tell me if I can be of any help.
FANNY. Yes. Thank you.
MARY leaves.
Scene Seven
The sisters’ bedroom. MARY rushes in. She is full of the most staggering emotions – literally lovestruck. She feels as though the room is too small to contain her. She throws the pieces of paper up into the air.
She sits down suddenly, hugging her knees and covering her mouth. Then she laughs.
MARY. Madness.
She stands again. She has to move, to release the feeling.
I wonder if you would read my poem? Would you?
Yes. Of course. Of course. Of course. Of course.
I will come back as soon as I can.
Come back. Come back to me. Mr Shelley. Shelley. Like the name of a rose. Or something fragile from the sea.
Scene Eight
Night. The sisters’ bedroom. MARY, in her nightgown, pulls all the blankets and quilts from the beds into the middle of the floor. She lights candles and places them around. She takes the books she has borrowed from her father, and places them on the covers.
She goes to the window and opens it, letting the moonlight in.
MARY. Come, gentle night; come, loving black-brow’d night.
FANNY enters. She is in her nightgown and carries a candle. She stops in astonishment – a little thrilled by the sight.
FANNY. Mary? What...?
MARY takes FANNY’s hand and sits her on the covers.
MARY. I have more books. Love letters. More beautiful than you can imagine. Papa gave them to me, so you need not fear.
FANNY (looking at the little book of letters). I don’t know if I can.
MARY. We have to. Mother may not be here, but she can still teach us what it is to love.
She takes the book and goes to a marked page.
Look – read this page.
FANNY takes it and reads.
Read it aloud.
FANNY (reading). ‘I have been playing and laughing with the little girl so long, that I cannot take up my pen to address you without emotion.’
MARY. It is written to your father – do you see?
FANNY (reading). ‘Pressing her to my bosom, she looked so like you, every nerve seemed to vibrate to the touch, and you seemed to pervade my whole frame, quickening the beat of my heart.’ The child is me.
MARY. Yes.
JANE enters, also dressed for bed and carrying a candle.
JANE. What are you doing?
MARY. Hush, Jane. Come away from the door.
JANE. What are you doing? Can I join in?
She sits with them on the floor. She picks up a book.
Ah! Is this it? Is this the Memoir?
MARY (reading). ‘Recollection now makes my heart bound to thee; I have thy honest countenance before me, relaxed by tenderness. Thy lips then feel softer than soft, and I rest my cheek on thine, forgetting all the world.’
JANE. But that is too gorgeous!
FANNY. Is that written to my father too?
MARY. She must have loved him deeply. I’m sure, when we were younger, we were made to think it was no more than a passing fancy.
JANE. Listen to this. (Reading from the Memoirs.) ‘Mary rested her head upon my shoulder – the shoulder of her lover...’ This is Papa speaking!
FANNY. Papa?
JANE (reading). ‘...I had never loved till now; or, at least, had never nourished a passion to the same growth, or met with an object so consummately worthy.’ Is that not the funniest thing?
MARY. That is Papa’s way of saying that he was overwhelmed with passion!
She throws herself onto JANE, who laughs.
Abandoned to a desire that changed him utterly, that pushed him to the ground, that launched him to the winds!
FANNY (reading from the Memoirs). ‘We did not marry.’ I thought they did.
MARY. Eventually. But I was conceived in the first throes of their passion.
JANE. Oh, Mary!
FANNY. You don’t mind, do you?
MARY. Of course not. Marriage is a nonsense. You were conceived at a tollgate, Fanny.
JANE. A tollgate?
MARY (taking up the Letters). Look here – let me see... here. She calls you her ‘barrier-girl’. She would meet your father at one of the barriers into Paris.
FANNY. ‘Barrier-girl’? Papa used to call me the barrier-child sometimes. Do you remember? I always thought it meant something bad. That I had been in the way somehow.
MARY. Oh, Fanny. They would spend nights together in a room in the tollgate.
JANE. How romantic!
FANNY. Is that really true?
MARY. A child of the Revolution.
JANE. And outside, all around, people were having their heads chopped off!
MARY. Look here – (Reading.) ‘...my imagination then rather chooses to ramble back to the barrier with you, to see you coming to meet me, and my basket of grapes and wine, and with the blissful hours to come.’
JANE. I never heard of anything so romantic.
They lie back and grow quieter. FANNY reads to the end of the letter.
FANNY. ‘My little barrier-girl...’
JANE. I wish she was my mother. Oh, I wish she was.
I am going to change my name to hers. Jane is such a dull name. And really I was christened Mary-Jane, so...
FANNY (laughing). But you can’t take ‘Mary’.
JANE. Oh, yes! Oh, no. Then I shall take her birthday! When was her birthday?
FANNY. April the twenty-seventh.
JANE. Then from now on that will be my birthday. Will you let me? And you must mark it.
You will, won’t you?
MARY. All right.
JANE. But don’t tell Mama, or she will laugh and think me stupid.
FANNY. Let’s blow out the candles now.
They do so, and settle down.
MARY. We cannot let our lives be small. There is no life but loving.
Gradually, they begin to drift into sleep. In MARY’s mind, SHELLEY enters the room. The energy between them draws them together. They do not touch, but seem to lean and brush against each other.
When she awakens, FANNY is standing by the window, gazing out at the night sky.
(Whispering.) Are you all right, Fanny?
FANNY. It is too much to bear.
MARY (hesitantly). What do you mean?
But FANNY only goes back to her bed and closes her eyes.
End of Act One.
ACT TWO
Scene One
St Pancras Churchyard. Bright sunshine filtered through trees. One large tomb – that of Mary Wollstonecraft – dominates the space. JANE runs up to it, and sits upon it, arranging her skirts and hair to their full advantage.
MARY and SHELLEY appear from the same direction. They are deep in discussion.
SHELLEY. All established religions work hand in hand with tyranny. They dull men’s minds. They stop us from thinking we can make our
own moral choices.
MARY. That I do agree with. It’s what my father always taught us.
SHELLEY. By fixing men’s minds on the idea of an afterlife, they make them wary – terrified even – of all forms of dissent.
MARY. Yes.
SHELLEY. And a crowd of privileged gentlemen called parsons get very well paid to convince their congregations that ‘sinning’ includes any kind of opposition to governments, or kings or landowners or the waging of wars.
JANE. I hope the vicar isn’t listening to this!
MARY. But if you take faith away from people, what do you replace it with? Faith can make people feel stronger. United. And the poor must have more need of it than the rich.
SHELLEY. Because we are human, we have doubts and fears – yes. And we look for something to reassure us.
MARY. And to empower us.
SHELLEY. But imagine how much stronger we could become if we looked only to ourselves and our fellow human beings for the comfort and... philosophy we need.
They have reached the tomb.
Is this it?
MARY. Yes. This is it.
SHELLEY stares at the tomb. He runs his hands over the stone.
JANE. Is it how you imagined it would be?
SHELLEY. It’s strong. And honest. That seems right.
MARY. This side’s usually shady. This is where I sit and read.
JANE. Sometimes I even lie back, like this. (Lies on top of the tomb.) But last time I did it, one of the gravediggers came past and stared at me as though I were a lunatic.
SHELLEY (reading the lettering on the tomb). ‘Mary. Wollstonecraft.’
MARY. My mother believed in God. Her own sense of God.
SHELLEY. Perhaps that’s why you want to believe.
MARY. But that’s just it – I don’t want to believe. I know you’re right. Logically. You and my father. But then I look at the world about me, and I think – mankind did not create this. We couldn’t create it. And perhaps it is only a form of weakness – arrogance, not to believe in God. Some of the greatest people have turned to God when they are really desperate and afraid. And I can’t be entirely sure that I wouldn’t.
SHELLEY. But we should never give in to fear.
MARY. Do you not think it would be a comfort – to know that you could one day lie down in a place like this? Safe in the shadow of the church?
SHELLEY. I think I would be happy in some woodland glade. Safe in the shadow of the trees.
Or in a giant mausoleum, on the top of a dusty hill in some Latin land.
JANE. You two are too gloomy! And on such a heavenly day.
SHELLEY. I do believe in the human spirit. Profoundly. I believe we are more than we seem to be.
MARY. Yes.
They are staring at each other – truly connected. JANE gets up.
JANE. I’m going to take a turn around the churchyard. All this talk of death is making me want to run about. I suppose neither of you will come?
SHELLEY. I think we might sit here for a while. But call out if you have need of us.
JANE. I shan’t be long.
She goes. MARY and SHELLEY are quiet for a few moments.
MARY. Your poem... Queen Mab... When I was reading it...
SHELLEY. What?
MARY. It’s so honest. Savagely honest. And so right about the state of the world. And yet you... You seem to contain so much... joy...
SHELLEY. Because I have hope. And belief in what can be achieved. I was fourteen when I first read Political Justice. I wept. I suppose it was a sort of relief. To have found that there was someone with the vision and clarity of mind to be able to strip away all that is wrong and useless and present a way of living which would allow mankind to achieve its potential. To achieve perfection. I will never stop striving for that world.
Did you like it – my poem?
MARY. I loved it.
SHELLEY. Do I come close to Byron? Can I?
MARY. I think you are every bit as talented.
He touches her face, momentarily. Then they sit quietly for a moment.
SHELLEY. Thank you for bringing me here.
MARY. It’s so peaceful here. Yet we’re only a few yards from the streets. The river is just beyond those willows.
Sometimes I come here to write. My thoughts seem to flow more easily when I’m here.
SHELLEY. I like to walk when I’m working, and I always try to memorise – exactly – the lines that come to me. Because I know that when I get back inside, with paper and pen, I will never find the freshness I found in the field or by the stream.
MARY. Yes. Have you started another poem?
SHELLEY. I’ve tried to. It’s been a difficult few days.
MARY. Has it?
SHELLEY. Distracting. Harriet has come. With her sister and the baby. At first it was only to buy a new bonnet – and apparently there are only a handful of London shops that are good enough for bonnets – but now it seems she has decided to stay longer. And she says my lodgings aren’t suitable, so I’ve been running around trying to find somewhere better.
MARY. That is difficult.
SHELLEY. Yes. Not that I’m complaining. It’s only that... these domestic things... they seem so trivial sometimes. And...
MARY. I love you.
He stops. Their hearts leap.
SHELLEY. When I get the money I’m expecting, perhaps I will buy a house. Close to here...
He kisses her – suddenly and passionately.
Oh, Mary. Mary. I love you. I love you. From the very first moment I saw you. Can it be true? Oh, no – no – don’t cry.
MARY. I can’t help it.
SHELLEY. Beautiful. You are so beautiful.
They kiss.
MARY. What are we going to do?
SHELLEY. I...
He can’t answer. After a moment, they hear JANE approaching. MARY dries her eyes.
JANE. Two rabbits and a jay. Such a dandy in his pink and blue.
Ah. You know it’s completely obvious.
MARY. What is?
JANE. I’m not such a fool as all that.
SHELLEY. Jane...
JANE. I know. I know. And it’s utterly, unspeakably thrilling.
Scene Two
The parlour. Skinner Street. MARY and JANE enter. JANE rushes straight to the window. Voices can be heard coming from behind the closed door of the study. JANE suddenly waves enthusiastically.
JANE. He turned back to look. You should have waved.
MARY is too overwhelmed with her excitement to respond.
Oh, Mary.
What did he say? I want to know everything.
MARY. It was I who spoke first.
JANE. You?
MARY. But he had already touched my face.
JANE. He touched your face? And did he... I mean, did he kiss you?
MARY. Yes.
JANE. Oh!
MARY. Yes, he did. We mustn’t say anything to Papa.
JANE. No! Or to Mama.
MARY. But will you help me? Help me to meet him again?
JANE. Of course I will. Mary, I must confess, I am the tiniest bit jealous, but you will allow me that, I think?
MARY. Oh, Jane.
JANE. And deep down, I think I always knew. I always knew that he would choose you, because you are her real daughter, and Papa is your real papa. He was bound to be drawn to you.
FANNY enters from the study. We hear the voices of GODWIN and MRS GODWIN, rather heated.
FANNY. Secrets?
MARY. No.
JANE. No. We were just talking.
FANNY. Where have you been?
MARY. We just went for a walk. To the churchyard.
FANNY. Well, I wish you hadn’t been so long.
JANE. Are they arguing?
FANNY. I had to close the shop for an hour. I don’t know why you two think you can go off to the churchyard whenever you like and just leave me to...
JANE. We had promised Mr Shelley.
FANNY. You took Shelley?
MARY. Yes. To show him Mother’s grave. We said we would. Remember?
FANNY. I wish you’d asked me. I would have liked to have come. Very much.
MARY. I’m sorry. I assumed you were busy.
JANE. What are they arguing about?
FANNY. Me. About whether I should go and spend some days with my aunts. They’re in Wales. By the sea. Mama thinks she cannot spare me. Judging by today, I would say she’s right.
JANE. Oh, don’t be so hoity-toity, Fanny.
FANNY decides to try to let the matter rest.
FANNY. How was Shelley?
MARY. Well. Do you want to go to the seaside?
FANNY. Yes. I do. Papa thinks my aunts are going to ask me to go and work at the school in Dublin.
JANE. Really?
MARY. Would you?
FANNY. I think so. I think it would be good for me to have some new society. And proper employment. A little income of my own.
MARY. Yes.
FANNY. If I stay here always... Well... I don’t suppose anything will ever happen.
MRS GODWIN enters, shortly followed by GODWIN.
MRS GODWIN. One day you shall find that I am not here, Mr Godwin. I shall take myself off to the seaside.
GODWIN. We shall very soon have the maid back...
MRS GODWIN. No other woman in her right mind would put up with what I am expected to put up with.
GODWIN. I know. We are all very fortunate to have you.
MRS GODWIN. This is not what I was promised!
(Starts to go then turns on FANNY.) I hope you’re satisfied! Ungrateful girl!
It will kill me. That’s all. Kill me.
She rushes out.
FANNY. Papa, if it’s going to cause such a deal of trouble...
GODWIN. You may write to your aunts and tell them you will accept their kind invitation.
FANNY. Very well. Thank you.
GODWIN. Go after your mother, if you please, Jane. Do something. Tea, perhaps.
JANE. Yes, Papa.
She goes.
MARY. Are you all right, Papa?
GODWIN. Yes. Weathered worse.
He goes back to his study.
MARY. What a performance. She acts as though she never has a holiday. Didn’t she go to Kent last summer?
FANNY. I suppose that seems a long time ago now. She does work hard.
MARY. Yes, but...
FANNY. And there was an incident at lunchtime which upset her. One of Papa’s creditors came to the door. Mama saw him. He was very rude. Threatening almost.
Mary Shelley Page 4