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Hideous Love

Page 9

by Stephanie Hemphill


  landscape the lawn

  so thick the sun cannot penetrate them.

  We enjoy watching the fireflies

  pattern the night sky

  like little explosions

  of electricity.

  I receive a copy of Sir Walter Scott’s

  kind review of Frankenstein.

  He praises the book

  but believes Shelley to be the author.

  This somewhat disturbs me,

  a tiny splinter under my skin.

  So I send him a letter of appreciation

  and I inform him

  that it was not my husband’s,

  but my juvenile effort.

  I immerse myself

  in reading and studying

  English and Italian

  poetry and history here.

  Shelley struggles a bit,

  restless as one confined

  to bed. He wanders

  the woods and pools, looking for escape.

  He cannot find inspiration

  to compose anything original here,

  but instead beautifully translates Plato’s Symposium.

  We receive word from Peacock

  that Shelley’s name has been

  linked to Leigh Hunt’s in an unflattering

  review of Hunt’s book Foliage.

  Shelley becomes desolate

  as driftwood

  and misses his friends.

  He and Claire grow ever close,

  and there is little I can do

  to halt it.

  Now that Allegra is away

  all of Claire’s attention

  focuses entirely upon my Shelley.

  It is as though

  her telescopic eyes

  see nothing but him.

  THIEF

  Summer 1818

  If Claire falls into

  the ocean and calls

  for my rescue,

  I dive into the cold

  and pull her to shore.

  And yet my stepsister

  sees nothing wrong

  with stealing from me

  the lifeboat

  that keeps me adrift,

  my Shelley’s time

  and affection.

  She acts as if

  I cry no tears,

  feel no loss.

  When she sees

  my wet handkerchief

  for whom does

  she believe I mourn?

  ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE

  Summer 1818

  Shelley strokes my head

  as we lie in the grass of the arbor.

  “If as in the myth of Orpheus

  and Eurydice you were

  bit by vipers and called

  to your death, I would

  use all my powers of music

  and poetry to get you back.”

  “You would no doubt

  charm the gods

  with your voice.”

  I clutch my love’s hand

  with authority.

  “The way the story

  would change is that

  when I retrieved you

  from the underworld

  I would not look behind me

  to check if you were there.

  I would know for certain

  that you would follow me.

  And thereby I should

  never lose you, my dear.”

  I look closely into

  the soft blue of his eyes.

  “You are right;

  you shall not lose me.

  I should likely follow

  you anywhere.”

  NEWS FROM BYRON

  August 1818

  We receive two letters

  from our former nursemaid Elise

  about Allegra. The most

  alarming information

  is that Allegra has been

  moved out of Byron’s home and Elise’s care

  and sent to live with the British consul,

  Mr. Richard Hoppner.

  Elise rumors also that Byron

  intends to debauch his own

  daughter when she becomes

  old enough and make her

  his mistress, but this cannot,

  of course, be substantiated.

  Claire breaks dishes

  and screams vengeance

  like a madwoman. She vows

  to leave immediately for Venice

  to reclaim her daughter.

  Shelley makes her calm

  and will intercede on her behalf

  and visit Byron instead.

  Claire of course listens

  to my Shelley

  as he is once again

  the god in her life.

  But she must accompany

  him on his trip.

  Claire and Shelley

  depart on the seventeenth

  for the Hoppners’ to assess

  Allegra’s condition.

  I write to the Gisbornes

  to beg them come and visit

  as I will be desolate here

  without my Shelley

  with just the servants and children.

  TRAVELING TOWARD BYRON

  August 1818

  Shelley writes that Allegra

  remains as beautiful as ever

  only taller and more pale,

  but in all ways fine like porcelain.

  Consul Hoppner advises Shelley

  not to tell Byron

  that Claire stays in Venice

  as Byron often expresses

  his extreme terror

  of meeting her again.

  For seeing Claire

  might send Byron

  into convulsions and panic

  as though Byron suffered heart pains.

  Shelley alone visits Byron

  at three in the afternoon

  as Byron should have risen by then.

  Shelley shudders and shocks

  that Byron looks older and fatter

  and that he is involved in all

  forms of debauchery.

  This explains why

  Byron does not want to see

  old friends or former lovers.

  Still Byron and Shelley

  get on famously, riding

  along the beach discussing

  literature and life.

  Shelley lies and says

  that Claire and the children

  and I are all in Padua.

  Byron then invites us

  to stay in Este at his summer home.

  Shelley desires that I bring

  the children and his servant, Paolo,

  to Este in an arduous manner

  and make the trip in only five days.

  The visiting Gisbornes see that

  Clara suffers from the heat

  and is not well enough to make

  the journey right now.

  Only one, she cuts

  her teeth with the turmoil

  of one growing a horn

  out of her head.

  Still, we do as my Shelley bids.

  The day after my twenty-first birthday

  we set out for Este.

  Clara never ceases crying,

  and she contracts dysentery.

  When we arrive in Este,

  she spasms and convulses

  like the monster

  awaking in my book.

  Claire is also mysteriously

  unwell, and Shelley seems

  more concerned about Claire

  than his daughter. He tells

  me to take Clara to Claire’s

  doctor’s appointment in Padua

  and he returns to Venice.

  We set out at half

  past three in the morning,

  Shelley meets us in Padua

  and finally recognizes how

  ill little Clara has become.

  He rushes Clara and me

  back to Venice and leaves

  us
at an inn while he searches

  out a good doctor. The baby

  shakes and cries in my arms.

  She boils with a temperature

  hotter than the molten core of the earth.

  I can do nothing to calm her

  until she finally calms herself

  and breathes no more.

  MELANCHOLIA

  Autumn 1818

  Sadness a choke hold

  around the throat,

  everything fails,

  tastes bitter.

  I try to dismiss the blame

  I feel well up inside of me,

  but sometimes

  I am a pot of anger

  boiling over the rim.

  Mostly I feel tired.

  I have not the energy

  to smile or frown or speak.

  I bury my head in books

  but want little to do

  with company.

  I sometimes even despair

  staying too close to my son,

  that he too might be snatched

  soon from me.

  DISTRACTION

  Autumn 1818

  Lord Byron gives me

  some of his poems to transcribe.

  He attempts to take

  my mind off the loss

  of my daughter.

  Mrs. Hoppner and I

  visit the library

  and an art gallery and go shopping.

  Shelley begins a new

  poetic drama, Prometheus Unbound.

  I find little distraction

  in every day; even my reading

  suffers attention.

  I watch Claire delight

  in Allegra these two months

  in Este, and my heart

  aches for my baby Clara

  like a thousand knives

  have been thrust upon me.

  I cannot be intimate

  with Shelley right now,

  but then fear he seeks out Claire.

  I do not know where

  to shelter my grief.

  THEN THERE ARE DAYS

  Autumn 1818

  A glance from Shelley

  across the supper table

  expresses not only concern,

  but adoration—

  a cherished look I remember

  from our first meeting.

  Claire, William, and I

  collect flowers in the garden

  and I witness my child’s

  amazement at

  simple color and fragrance.

  And there is the sustenance

  of my books

  and my journals

  and my letters to friends,

  the warm candlelight

  of these witching hours.

  THE BABY OF NAPLES

  November 1818–February 1819

  We decide to travel

  to Naples by way of Rome.

  Claire, Shelley, William,

  Elise, our nursemaid, another nanny,

  and Paolo, Shelley’s manservant,

  and I reach Rome on November 21.

  We find the city casual

  and under excavation;

  still it enchants us

  like a love story.

  Shelley travels ahead of us

  through the dangerous Appian Way

  so that he can locate a house

  for us in Naples on the Riviera di Chiaia,

  the most expensive street of villas

  in all of Europe.

  We manage a frightful crossing,

  but arrive in Naples safely.

  I fill with excitement

  for Naples is the home of Virgil,

  and the birthplace of Latin literature.

  We luxuriate in Naples,

  a city of Goodness

  until we find out

  that Paolo has been

  cheating us out of money

  and impregnated Elise

  our nursemaid.

  They get married

  and are dismissed

  from our service.

  The drama leaves me sleepless

  and angry as a tiger

  with a toothache.

  Then to add to the madness,

  Shelley presents me

  with a two-month-old child

  named Elena Adelaide

  whom we must register

  as being born to me and him

  on December 27 of last year.

  I have never seen nor heard

  a whimper from this baby’s mouth.

  Percy brought me this baby

  as a replacement

  for my dear Clara Everina,

  saying that Elena was a foundling

  that he wanted to adopt.

  But I somehow wonder

  if perhaps Elena is not

  really Shelley’s child

  by another woman.

  Either way, she cannot

  replace my little girl.

  We leave tomorrow for Rome,

  and I insist that we leave

  baby Elena behind

  in the care of foster parents.

  I will not replace

  my child like

  she is a lost garment.

  I cannot easily be warmed

  by a newfound fur.

  SOMEONE ELSE’S BABY

  February 1819

  Sometimes I wonder

  if Shelley would not

  like to father the world.

  His spirit is so generous

  and all encompassing.

  I have lost two little girls

  of my own, the weight

  of those losses heavier

  than Atlas shouldering the earth.

  We see many things

  at eye level, Shelley and me,

  but a new baby not our own

  I cannot bear.

  ROME

  March 1819

  It is difficult to capture

  the exact beauty

  and the rich history

  of this place, Rome.

  It is, as Shelley says,

  “a city of palaces and temples

  more glorious than those which

  any other city contains, and that of

  ruins more glorious than they.”

  Shelley invites both Hunt and Peacock

  to join us in Italy as he is like a knight

  without his steed, so very lonesome

  for his friends.

  I am gladly pregnant

  again and due in November.

  I take drawing lessons

  and write. I practice

  my Italian at evening conversaziones

  and find that Claire, Shelley, and I

  get along with the language

  whereas most other English

  do not even try to speak it.

  Shelley writes The Cenci

  and Prometheus Unbound,

  a work of tremendous effort

  that may be the best thing

  he has ever created.

  Some days darken me still

  like a blindfold knocking

  out all sun. Shelley wishes

  to return to Naples

  to retrieve the baby Elena.

  My father harrows

  in money problems once again

  and sends distressing letters.

  I juggle my moods

  by engaging in projects

  and enjoying the scenery

  stuffed with statues.

  William and I tour

  the sights of Rome by carriage.

  We recline in the gardens

  of the Villa Borghese

  and try just to breathe.

  WILLMOUSE

  May–June 1819

  The artist Amelia Curran

  paints a beautiful portrait

  of my blue-eyed, chubby,

  but serious little William.

  He chatters away now

  in English, Italian, and French.
/>
  We delight to find

  that Amelia has been living

  in Rome the past couple of years.

  She warns us that the Corso,

  where we are living now,

  is no place for a small delicate child

  like Willmouse as malaria season

  approaches, so we move

  into rooms next to Amelia

  on the Trinità dei Monti.

  On the twenty-third of May

  little William falls ill

  with worms,

  according to Dr. Bell’s diagnosis.

  He suggests that we leave Rome

  because the oppressive heat

  could be damaging to William.

  For once Shelley

  is not keen on travel.

  Over a week later

  William feels not better;

  in fact, he shakes

  with a high fever

  that reminds me of his sister, Clara.

  I fear the worst—

  like a prisoner awaiting the guillotine.

  We sit at William’s bedside.

  I cannot sleep.

  The misery of these

  hours is beyond calculation

  as the hopes of my life

  bind up in William.

  He contracts malaria

  and dies at noon on June 7.

  I feel as though

  my happiness ends

  by the ragged edge of a blade.

  I have lost three children now.

  MY SELFISH ILL HUMOR

  Summer 1819

  I feel that I may not be fit

  to live. Had I not

  this baby kicking inside me,

  my grief might throw

  me over a cliff.

  What kind of mother

  sees three children die?

  Father sends me a letter

  expressing that if I do not quit

  my selfishness and ill humor

  my friends and family

  will cease to love me.

  So I have lost my child

  of three. Does that mean

  all that is beautiful

  in the world is now dead,

  that everything else

  which has claim upon my kindness

  ceases to exist? My shoulders

  cave in to read his words.

  SOME SOLACE

  August 1819

  We receive letters from

  the Hunts and Hogg and Peacock

  and Maria Gisborne,

  all with consoling words

  about my little William

  and concern for me.

  I cannot cheer,

  but I do feel cared for,

  and loved even at my lowest.

  Frankenstein, I hear

  through letters, despite

  some less than laudatory

  reviews, is still being read

  and discussed in England

  after it is known that

  I authored it. Discussion

  means that it provokes thought

  and creates some controversy.

  I am fueled now

  by more than

  just my pregnancy to carry on.

  I retreat like a soldier

  without weapons

  to the solace of work.

  I begin a new journal

  on Shelley’s birthday.

  I also start a new novel

  that I finally decide

  to title Mathilda. It centers

  around a relationship

 

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