I wonder what my mother would really think, if she were alive and not just my ghostly confidant. Would she bless or be opposed to my union with Shelley? I don’t know but to be honest, she followed her passion and ended up deeply regretting following her heart and ignoring her head. Even if, as she was dying, she still felt love in her heart for him, she knew that Imlay was unworthy and ill-suited for her. Godwin was my mother’s soul mate, not Imlay. And Shelley is mine. I tried to argue this point to my father but he was not persuaded. He seems to forget what love is because of his convenient marital arrangement with our former next-door-neighbor, Mrs. Clairmont—who is so unlike my mother that it is laughable. He should know that genuine love is an affair of the heart and head, otherwise, it is not love. He may love Mrs. Clairmont’s body, but certainly not her mind.
I fear that Father may lock me in my room to keep me from my destiny. I will not be his prisoner but will exercise my individual freedom, a freedom for which he and my mother long advocated.
27 July 1814
Shelley forced his way into our home today. He pushed aside our maid and barged into the parlor. He told Mrs. Clairmont that he had to see me. She said that I was resting and not to be disturbed. She asked him to leave, but then he suddenly pulled out a pistol and put the gun up to his head, screaming “Mary, I need you.” In the presence of Jane, Fanny, and Mrs. Clairmont, Shelley threatened to shoot himself, if I did not run away with him. Father heard the commotion and rushed in and shouted at Shelley that, if he didn’t leave immediately, he would send for the constable.
I heard and saw all of this from the top of the stairs. I fear that my father is right, that Shelley is a tad mad, but what can I do? I adore him. I idolize him; I have no choice.
Later, when Fanny and I were alone, I told her that I feared that Shelley would harm himself, if I did not elope with him. Fanny tried to convince me that I was acting childishly, and that in the end I would regret my actions. Maybe so, I told her, but he needs me. I am his true wife, his child of light.
I knew that no one had ever held her close and whispered into her ear. How could she know how it felt to be loved? How could she know how it felt to be someone’s ideal mate? How could she know what it felt like to have true affinity with someone? I felt sorry for poor Fanny but didn’t say so.
I also felt a surge of love for her and, without thinking, urged her to come with me. But she declined, saying “My place is here with Father and Mamma; I am the eldest daughter and they need me.”
I did not argue with her, because I knew that she was right.
She watched me as I quickly packed a satchel. Then I went straight to Jane’s room. She was waiting for me with bag in hand. “He is terribly romantic, Mary,” she said. “When do we leave?”
28 July 1814
Today, I broke out from my captivity. At dawn, I left a note for Fanny reminding her that I was Shelley’s ideal, that he loved me and I him, and that she should not worry. Then, Jane and I stole out of the house and rendezvoused with Shelley in front of the Mermaid Pub on Fleet Street. Shelley had a carriage waiting for us, which took us to Dover. I was thrilled, but so nervous that I felt ill with fear. Even though it was early in the morning, I worried that one of my father’s friends would see us with Shelley so I pulled my hood close around my head and Jane and I both wore face paint to disguise ourselves. I didn’t care if the poison seeped into my blood or if I looked a zombie. Nothing was going to stop me from running away with my love.
We are making a tour of the continent, which is truly exciting. However, the crossing from Dover to Calais was exceedingly rough. Our boat’s captain promised that the crossing would take only two hours, but a violent storm arose which tossed our vessel about. A squall nearly sank the boat as waves swamped it. I was terrified and clung to Shelley as lightning shot through the heavens and thunder roared above us. Eventually the storm subsided and the clouds dissipated revealing a blue sky, but being tossed about had made me gravely ill. I spent considerable time in the privy, while Shelley and Jane sat on the deck and continued to watch the waves batter the ship. I do wish that Shelley had stayed with me and held me close. A kind old woman helped in the privy and held my hair back when I became sick. She told me that such crossings are not bearable for many and that I should not be ashamed of my weak stomach. For a second, she seemed to resemble my dear mother, whose lock of auburn hair lies in the locket that I wear around my throat as a charm and remembrance.
Although I always suffer from sea-sickness, this physical disturbance was worse than anything that I have ever experienced. I do wonder why I was so ill while Jane withstood the storm and chortled in reaction to what appeared to be Shelley’s amusing sea-faring tales.
2 August 1814
Once we reached Calais, we were delayed by the fact that somehow Jane’s mother followed us and demanded that Jane return home to London. I felt sad, knowing that Fanny had probably betrayed us or that Father forced her to confess where we had gone. I was surprised to learn that Mrs. Clairmont didn’t care that I had eloped with Shelley. Apparently, she was not speaking on my father’s behalf, but purely on her own. She did say, with a good deal of satisfaction, that my father is appalled by my actions and that he no longer wishes to see me. He has disowned me. Her words shocked me and I wondered how he could react in such a wretched manner. He and my mother did not live conventional lives; they did not conform. I reminded myself of this and told myself that I can win back my father’s affection once we return to England. After all, I am his love child.
After Shelley spoke privately with Jane, she told her mother that she is a free agent and that she would stay with Shelley (and me). I can only wonder what Shelley said to convince her and what her true motivation is. If this is my “honeymoon” tour, what can she gain from it? I don’t relish having a jealous heart but Jane does spend too much time trying to beguile Shelley. She’s a natural flirt and tries to capture every man’s affection. It is obvious that she is half in love with him. I have nothing to fear though because Shelley chose and loves me; I am his ideal mate, not Jane, who does not possess any intellectual or creative acumen whatsoever. She is a replica of her mother, an empty but pretty shell.
Shelley and I have started a joint diary, but I will keep this one as well, in order to fully express my thoughts and record impressions and experiences. I have to retain my individual self despite my soul bond with Shelley. I must continue to own myself, as my mother advises.
I should note something truly bizarre that Mrs. Clairmont related to us. Someone is claiming that Godwin sold Jane and me to Shelley for £700 and £800 respectively! I know that Father has money problems but surely no one can possibly think that he would sell us like we are his horses, can they? We are not his property to sell nor does he believe us to be. How odd the rumor mill is. I am glad that we have fled stifling England for the continent and its freedoms.
10 August 1814
We arrived in Paris and have found accommodations that are quite meager, a small room at the top of the Hôtel de Vienne on rue de Malte. I find it charming, but Jane complains incessantly. I opened the window on the City of Lights and could see the Place de la Bastille in the distance. Shelley and I are eager to explore the city, but for now we are confined (like prisoners in the Bastille) not because we broke the law but because we do not possess letters of introduction and recommendation to accompany our passports. Shelley assures me that this will get sorted out but he also tells me that once we are able to move about the city that we must be frugal. Because his father does not approve of Shelley and his lifestyle, his father punishes him by withholding funds. Shelley has little in the way of silver for us, but expects to receive some soon through a very modest allowance and through a loan from his friend Thomas Peacock. In the meantime, we live on love, as long as Jane gives us the privacy that we need. I sometimes fear that she hopes to climb in bed with us. I also fear that Shelley would find that exciting and accept
able; after all he admired the idea of a threesome, but I have no wish to share my love with my stepsister who continually desires everything that I have. And I do not crave intimacy with Jane.
15 August 1814
Happily our letters of introduction and passports were sorted out so that we were free to explore the city. Today we visited Notre Dame de Paris and Le Louvre. We could only do so after Shelley sold his watch and chain that his father gave him when he left for Oxford. He briefly regretted selling them because they reminded him of a happier time with his father; however, it was necessary since the money that he expected to receive did not come through as promised. Shelley tells me not to fret about money. Ever since he was expelled from Oxford, he’s always found a way to provide what he needs for himself, even when his father punishes him for not acting as the future baronet as he should. We don’t abide by titles, especially now that we are in Paris, where titles and class distinctions have dissolved and rightly so.
The Louvre was extraordinary and Shelley and I admired Poussin’s “Deluge,” even as it horrifically portrays the Biblical flood. The painting was so realistic that we could almost see ourselves among the drowned and dying. One figure even looked like my Shelley. I noticed it first that and said, “Shelley, Poussin has captured your likeness,” and Shelley remarked, “That is uncanny. Perhaps I lived in an earlier time.”
Even so, we greatly preferred the non-Christian art. We relished observing the Greek statues, especially the Winged Victory of Samothrace and Aphrodite of Milos, better known as the Venus de Milo. Shelley served as my guide, teaching me about Greek form and how superior Greek sculpture is to anything that came before it. Overall, he seeks to understand how Greek art affected Greek literature. The community of artists, scholars, playwrights, and philosophers must have been astounding to behold. We hope someday to visit Athens and the Agora marketplace there in order to walk where Plato once walked and taught. We are, after all, not just Godwin’s adepts, but we are also Plato’s disciples.
Now, because of the art that inspires us, Shelley spends more time thinking about Hellenistic ideas, which he hopes to carry over into his writing. He is a true Renaissance man reviving Greek influence for our century. I intend to continue to study Greek so that I can participate in his intellectual activities but also to embolden my own intellect and writing. It is not lost to me that both my father and mother studied the Greek language. Father even made a daily two-hour habit of reading Greek and Latin classics. If I want to supersede their contributions to culture with Shelley, I must be as learned as my parents.
16 August 1814
We still have not received any funds and are essentially Parisian prisoners. Fortunately, there are no “Poor Law Bastilles” or work houses here and no creditors hunt for Shelley.
18 August 1814
Somehow Shelley procured a bag of silver, 60 pounds sterling, and we are now able to travel. We are on our way to Switzerland. He would not convey how he acquired the money, but he says that he came by it honestly. Perhaps Peacock came through with his loan, which Shelley will repay when he sells some of his poems. We have decided to walk to Switzerland, much to our hotelier’s dismay, who warned us that there are dissolute soldiers wandering the countryside. She worried about our safety. We were not dissuaded. To help us carry our portmanteau, Shelley purchased an ass, which Jane and I take turns riding, with Shelley leading the creature, even though the poor beast has difficulty carrying one of us and our luggage. Jane insists that she should ride the beast more frequently than me, since she claims to be more delicate. She certainly affects more delicacy than me. Truly, she should read my mother’s Vindication. I often suggest it, but she is not a scholar and has little interest in women’s rights or fostering women’s abilities. I don’t mind walking, since walking builds strength and perseverance. The hills are sometimes difficult to traverse though and we have to rest frequently. I have felt ill of late, and have continued to feel queasy since the crossing, so Shelley refused Jane’s monopoly of the ass. He told her to get down and let me ride.
If I were more of a believer, I would feel like we are akin to Mary and Joseph seeking a place to reside. Fortunately, we have not been turned away from the inn. Somehow, Shelley has sufficient funds to pay the proprietors.
We make our way to Switzerland at a snail’s pace; I do hope we reach there before the snow covers the mountains passes.
Along the way, we have seen some appalling sights as we make our way through France. We witnessed burned-out villages, destitute and starving, gaunt people. The children were deformed, crippled, and diseased. Unfortunately, we had little to give them. They hungered for bread and stretched their hands out to us, imploring us for mercy, but all we could offer were a few napoleons.
We spent a wretched night sleeping on the ground because we failed to make it to our destination before night fell. Jane complained bitterly and claimed that rats were crawling all over her all night. I feared that there were bandits or unruly soldiers about but Shelley held me tightly, telling me that he would protect me from harm. I should not worry. That night I dreamt about the starving, dying children that we encountered. Their hollowed out faces looked cadaverous and I awoke with a fright.
We arrived at Gros Bois and had a delightful time resting in the shade of a large oak and eating our baguettes, cheese, and strawberries, and drinking Burgundy wine that we brought with us from Paris. The whole time Shelley and I said that we felt like Don Quixote and Sancho. Jane ignored us and droned on about her discomfort in Paris and the way that we neglected her. I was surprised that she didn’t ask who Sancho was.
19 August 1814
Last evening, in Guignes, we slept in beds that were once used by Napoleon and his generals. We certainly are not trying to follow in Napoleon’s footsteps, but one can’t help it, since he laid siege to this land. Fortunately, Shelley doesn’t in the least resemble the short emperor and he certainly has no imperial ambitions, but rather has anti-imperial ones.
Shelley admitted the folly of buying the ass; he thought it a romantic way to travel. Besides he sprained his ankle and could not lead the beast. He managed to easily sell the ass of whom I had grown fond. I named it George after Lord Byron whom Shelley sometimes labels an ass, even though he greatly esteems his work. George the ass is now owned by the hotelier in Basel. We now possess a hardy mule that carries our portmanteau and one of us easily.
23 August 1814
Shelley’s ankle continues to distress him, so we sold the mule and spent several napoleons on a voiture and accompanying horses and driver. The driver, Charles Du Champs, is surly and rather odiferous and when we stopped for the night, the landlord insisted that he sleep in the same room with us. I was not pleased and neither was Jane, since Monsieur Du Champs leered at us and sometimes at Shelley. I had to place a pillow over my head because of his stench and his incessant snoring.
In the meantime, Shelley and I continue to read together, even during our sojourn through the Alps. We have read my mother’s Mary: A Fiction; Shelley thinks it a flawed work yet delights in its overall critique of the aristocracy. He is not afraid to criticize himself and his own social class.
29 August 1814
After a short stay in Geneva, we passed through the valley adjacent to Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in the range. Its magnificence astounds us. We have nothing like it in England or Scotland, where the fells present hiking challenges and great beauty but nothing as monumental as this. Of course, Scotland’s landscape is in places mountainous but these mountains are unlike anything that I have ever seen or experienced. Mont Blanc juts into the heavens and the lower realms are covered in majestic forests of pines, oaks, and beeches. As we traveled, we heard a great rumbling and watched as snow fell in an enormous avalanche burying the glacier that lay at its base. Shelley quietly remarked, “This mountain is magnificent, like a great, breathing animal. It is best left undisturbed.” We also heard wolves in the darkness. W
e were grateful that their howls seemed distant, although they may have been closer since we may only have heard the echoes of their cries off canyon walls. Fortunately, we observed no wolves or bears. Even so, Jane and I both huddled around Shelley in the night, as he kept his watch. All of us were frightened to hear the wolves bellowing in the night, but Shelley told us that we were safe. Our cabin was secure and he would always protect us. After a short time, I heard Jane gently snoring and I cuddled closer to Shelley whose body kept me warm.
Shelley has begun to take notes as he intends to write about Mont Blanc’s terrifying and awe-inspiring sublimity. The gods, not just wolves and bears, surely dwell in its lofty peaks.
2 September 1814
We safely arrived in Lucerne, after spending the previous evening along the lake shore during a tempest. Winds battered the water and we had to seek shelter under the towering pines. Unfortunately, due to the inclement weather, Shelley has developed a hacking cough that worries me. We need to find a way to get to a warmer clime to help my dear Shelley. But I fear that this will not happen on this particular excursion.
We gladly parted ways with Monsieur Du Champs who was as eager to leave us as we were to be done with him. At one point, he nearly abandoned us, but luckily we caught up with him and we arrived at our destination.
After much searching, we rented two rooms in an utterly ugly house. The rooms are cold and inhospitable and we find it difficult to communicate with the Swiss because few of them speak French; instead they speak a corrupt version of German that we cannot comprehend. It was nearly impossible to obtain food and other necessities. Added to that is the burden of our precarious financial circumstances. We only possess £28 currently and have little hope of procuring more. Shelley has exhausted his requests for loans and gifts from friends. He must return to London to obtain more funds. After much discussion and contention, we decided that it is wise for all of us to do so. Thus our plans to complete our Grand Tour are unfortunately thwarted. The prodigals must return home. I wonder how we will be received.
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