Jane Williams delights Shelley with her sparkling and lilting singing voice. Her singing rivals Claire’s. She could be an opera star, but she learns many Italian folk songs and sings them to Percy Florence.
We feel profoundly content at this moment. Nothing seems awry; trouble seems distant. Perhaps it will stay away and leave us alone for once.
5 October 1821
Claire continues to work as a governess, although she has become increasingly nervous about Allegra’s physical condition and her confinement in St. Anna’s. She thinks that Allegra’s health is fragile and has even confided to me her plans to kidnap the child and run away with her this spring! I am reminded of the time that Claire told her mother that she would break out of a convent if confined. Now, she falsely believes that she can penetrate a convent’s walls.
I have written to Claire that this plan of hers is sheer madness, an utter absurdity. First of all, how would she gain access to the convent? Its walls are ten feet high and its entrances are locked at all times. One must seek permission to enter. Second, if she did penetrate the walls and seize the child, what would she do with her? How would she support her? As always, Claire has no legal advantage and cannot feasibly support the child on her governess salary. Plus, the family that she works for would not allow her to keep the child in their home. Third, Byron would certainly find Claire no matter where she went with Allegra. He has ready silver at his disposal; he could hire a detective and has already relayed that if Claire annoys him further, he will take Allegra and hide her; Claire will never see her again.
I await Claire’s reply. Surely, she must see reason.
15 November 1821
Claire holds out hope that she can retrieve Allegra from the convent. This time I have been very direct with her and told her to please desist in her plan. Spring is always our unlucky time of the year. She knows that many troubles have befallen us when the season changes. I can’t explain why the black cloud that overhangs us always rains down on us in the spring. The Chancery suit, the slander from Paolo, her acquaintance with Byron, our misery in Rome with poor Will’s illness and death . . . I could go on, but don’t care to relive every misery that has befallen us in the spring.
20 December 1821
I hear no more from Claire about her ill-fated plan. If she brings it up again, I intend to warn her that her plan may compel Shelley to confront Byron in a physical manner. Perhaps he would even be forced to fight a duel with him. Shelley has a vehement temper but Byron is a practiced military man who has often fought duels. He has not missed his mark. Would she want to endanger Shelley whom she has long loved? Surely, she would not want to pose this threat.
Of course, I know for a fact that Shelley would never fight Byron in a duel. He knows, as Caroline Lamb attests, that Byron is “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” We are all a little frightened of the lord. And, although he dislikes Byron’s morals and finds Byron appalling at times, Shelley greatly admires his poetry and intellect. He enjoys conversing with him and even arguing with him about our tangled lives. He does verbally defend Claire to Byron but it is doubtful that he would physically defend her, if he were called upon to defend her honor. Despite his occasional madness, he has better sense than that.
1822
19 January 1822
I am about to complete Valperga, which has been quite gratifying to me as I see the connections between our tumultuous time and struggle for independence and a similar medieval scenario. Euthanasia’s heart has nearly overridden her reason in her desire to love Castruccio as she once did. As she works out her destiny, she has decided that she can never love him again or let him lord over her. She will sail away on her “Ariel” and hence will flee her tyrant who claims to love her. Like my poor, friendless creature in Frankenstein, I see an unfortunate end in sight for her. She may wish to escape patriarchy but cannot, unless she were to set up her own utopian space where no men can reside. She may long for that and had believed that her fortress was impenetrable from harm and yet it was not so. I see her seeking a remote island but I feel certain that she shall not arrive safely. She does not possess Shelley’s superior marine skills and I see a tempest on the horizon.
13 February 1822
Valperga is finished. Much to my dismay, once it is published, I will give the proceeds to Godwin who continues to suffer financial crisis. I wish that Godwin showed more gratitude. He never responded to my query about Mathilda and will probably neglect this novel also. I, on the other hand, have read every word that he has ever written.
8 March 1822
Shelley and Edward Williams have plans to create a writers colony. They intend to invite the Hunts to join us and we already have Margaret King Mason nearby. She is quite interested in perhaps becoming a member, since she is a celebrated author of several children’s books.
Shelley says that he grows sick of Byron; if that is the case, I asked him why he and Edward plan to name the new boat that they have ordered “Don Juan.” Shelley says that it is not in homage to Byron but is merely a lark. I don’t find it amusing.
Of late, I have felt somewhat estranged from Shelley who is once again in a flirtatious mood, but this time with Jane Williams. He becomes quite captivated with singers and cannot control his lust. I often wonder if it is like that Italian folktale about the opera singer, Farinelli, who enchants his listeners, but whose voice is wicked and emanates from evil; ultimately, if you hear his song for the third time, you will die. I doubt that this will happen to Shelley but he spends much time listening to Jane’s voice, which is clear, high, and beautifully wicked. I warn him to refrain from listening to a song thrice, but he ignores my advice.
25 March 1822
It is highly ironic that I now find myself with child once again; Shelley and I have grown apart and we are often at odds with one another. I try my best to refrain from jealousy but I do not care for his attention to Jane who enjoys his flirtations and whose husband seems oblivious of the emotional connection between Shelley and Jane.
I must always remind myself that Shelley chose me and, to my knowledge, has never engaged in any sexual intimacy with any one of his numerous “loves.” He tells me that each of these women have served as muses. Why is it that I have not?
26 April 1822
As I predicted, spring is once more unlucky for us. Claire has received devastating news about Allegra. Shelley had to inform her that Allegra died of typhus. Claire is now accusing Byron of murdering her child through neglect and through confining her in that pestilence-ridden convent. Byron has told Shelley that he will bury the child in England on his estate and he now regrets that he had not visited her in many months.
I fear that Claire will go mad. I do know and understand her grief, since I have been the victim of it numerous times, first Sophia, then Clara, then my Willmouse. I cling to my dear Percy Florence who, thank God, remains healthy.
7 May 1822
I have visited Claire who is quite despondent. Nothing has turned out as she had hoped. Byron never loved her or their child. Ironically, her relationship with Bryon is somewhat similar to my mother’s and Imlay’s, although Byron never suggested a ménage a trois. If he had, I am certain that Claire would have embraced the notion, even though towards the end of their acquaintance, she often said that she completely loathed him and realized that he is the devil incarnate.
Byron insisted that Allegra be educated as an Italian Catholic, believing that with this education she would one day be able to marry into Italian nobility. Claire was completely opposed to this and had told Byron many times that such an education would make Allegra subservient. Now, the child is dead and Claire is certain that the child had completely forgotten about her. Like me, she has nightmares about her child calling for her from her grave.
Claire has been quite an actress but this time her theatrics have some substance. I do feel for my stepsister and wish that I could calm her but I fear that she sha
ll never recover from this unnatural event.
10 May 1822
Claire has returned to us and we have moved to Casa Magni in San Terenzo. Shelley is thrilled that the sailboat that he has designed has arrived; he has named it Don Juan. He plans to sail alone beyond Livorno and out into the sea. He, of course, is Neptune’s son and is an able sailor. I have no worries about his solitary sailing.
1 June 1822
Shelley has renamed his vessel Ariel; I believe that he finally decided after Allegra’s death that he wishes to part with Byron. I do not oppose this renaming nor do I oppose separating ourselves from Byron who has been heartless throughout this entire ordeal.
Perhaps in naming the bark Ariel, Shelley will throw a girdle around the world and will work sufficient magic to preclude us from more harm. Clearly, Shakespeare’s Ariel quelled tempests and brought about a good end for all, including himself who was finally freed from Prospero’s tyranny.
16 June 1822
I awoke last evening to cramping and the bed sheets were saturated with blood. I cried out and Shelley called for Elise to help me. She lifted my legs but the bleeding would not stop. Finally, Shelley retrieved a large bucket of ice and advised me to sit in it. I cried the entire time and felt certain that I, like my mother, would join Fanny Blood. Shelley held me as I sat in my own blood and once the bleeding stopped we found a tiny creature in among the liquid. Whether female or male we could not tell. We both cried when we saw the creature who was not destined to live in this world.
Shelley held me all night and I found comfort in knowing that his love for me is intact.
22 June 1822
I provided comfort for my Shelley tonight. I have just now calmed him after he woke me with his screams. “Mary, my darling,” he cried. “I just had the most wretched vision. I saw Edward walk naked into our room, his skin was bloodied and torn. Edward told me to get up quickly because the sea is flooding the house.” It took all of my effort to assure him that Edward was safe in his villa and that the sea had not swamped ours. I believe that as I spoke with him he was still dreaming his nightmarish vision.
After I managed to get Shelley subdued, I went out on the balcony and looked at the sea, which was quite serene. I felt comforted that Shelley’s vision was merely a bad dream, probably related to our most recent tragedies.
24 June 1822
Jane Williams came to me today and told me about another disquieting event. She claims that she saw Shelley walking on her terrace two evenings ago, but he was not in their house. He was at home with me.
All of us seem on edge and I cannot understand why, other than because of the loss of our child. Even so, Shelley has returned to work and continues to pursue his vision to create a writers colony. The Hunts have safely arrived in Livorno and he and Edward plan to sail to meet them on 1 July.
Of late, my sleep is dreamless, just like my creature’s. I miss my mother’s counsel. But I am thankful that I am not plagued by waking nightmares, as Shelley and Jane seemingly are. If I were, I fear that we would all go mad.
1 July 1822
I wished Shelley Godspeed as he and Edward set off for Livorno. The sky is robin-egg blue and winds are fair; no doubt, they shall have a good sail. Before they left, Shelley ironically spoke lines from his “Ode to the West Wind.” I told him that such words were not entirely appropriate but he just laughed and kissed me on the forehead, telling me that the winds favor them, as do the gods. Of course, he does not believe in the gods so their favor means nothing.
Shelley and Edward say that they will return on 8 July and after that we shall have our writers colony; we will create our own world, our own garden á la Voltaire. I have no need of a writers colony. I work alone generally, but I do understand the need for solidarity and the re-creation of community and society based on freedom and imagination.
6 July 1822
I received a tender letter from my Shelley who inquired about my health and Percy’s health. He asked me not to grieve too much for the child that I lost. It was not meant to be. He tells me that he has located the translation of the Symposium for which he was searching and that he will be home soon.
8 July 1822
Like Penelope, Jane and I eagerly await the return of our two seafarers to Casa Magni. But we sense that they have not set sail because a gale has arisen; the tempest continues all day and we must remain indoors.
To pass the time, Percy Florence and I wrote a short story based on one of his favorite inventions, Timothy the Mouse, which reminds me of our lost Willmouse. I write the story that he dictates and he likes for me to draw the figure that he has in his mind’s eye. My drawing lessons from Amelia have paid off and my mouse is a fair rodent.
10 July 1822
Still no word about Shelley and Edward. We feel assured that they holed up because of the storm and that now that the weather is calm and the sky is blue once more, the billowing sails on Ariel will appear and deliver our “good spirits” to their home, leaving the harpies behind.
13 July 1822
No Shelley yet. We did receive an alarming post from Hunt today though, asking Shelley if he arrived home safely. We now know that Shelley and Edward sailed into fair weather, but then a storm arose on Monday.
I will not succumb to despair. Our friend Edward Trelawny will travel the route to Livorno and will try to find Edward and Shelley. He assures me that they are probably sitting drenched in a pub drinking spirits by the fireside and have not had a chance to send us news that they are safe and will be home soon.
EPILOGUE
1835
It had been years since I had seen it. As I was packing Percy Florence’s trunk to prepare to return him for the schoolyear to Harrow, I was sorting through clothes in his armoire and found my journal buried beneath one of his frock coats. I recall hiding my journal in an old chest so that I wouldn’t be tempted to look at it and be reminded, but now, somehow, Percy had purloined it and presumably read it. I always intended to keep my thoughts private, except for that which I deliberately published. At first, knowing that he read it without my permission, I grew angry, but then remembered how Godwin had forbidden me from reading my mother’s memoir and then I recalled how I read everything that I could about my own mother, in order to know her. At least, in this case, he had my own words, not someone else’s narrative and partial truth. Percy deserved to know the entire truth about Shelley and me and now he does. I should not berate him for wanting to know more, for after all, he’s not a child; he is sixteen, the same age I was when I ran off with Shelley.
I opened the journal with great apprehension, because I feared meeting my young self on the page, Mary Wollstonecraft’s and William Godwin’s only child, Shelley’s idealistic “child of light.” I discovered the journal late in the evening and I retreated to my room to read it. I let the candle burn all of the way down before I completed my reading. I sobbed as I read my reactions to Sophia’s, Clara’s, and Will’s deaths. Sophia would have been 19 this year, Will 18, Clara 17. I closed the book as I read Trelawny’s assurance that my Shelley and Edward were ensconced in a pub as they prepared to write to us to tell us that they had survived a tempest. They had not. My Beloved Shelley, despite his brilliance, was ever the mad fool. He believed that he could, like Prospero, withstand a tempest but alas he could not work magic, as Ariel had, and throw a girdle around the world.
I did not speak to Percy about his piracy and how he intruded on my privacy but instead decided to ask if he would like to travel with me to Italy. We would delay sending him back to school. He had never been back to his birthplace and I finally felt able to return to that land that stole Shelley from me. I was ready to confront the pain by visiting the site of Shelley’s drowning. Then we would travel to Rome to the Protestant Cemetery, then to Lake Geneva and Villa Diodati to see where his father and I spent our happiest and most productive times. “Indeed, Mother,” he said cheerfully. “I wish to kn
ow all I can about you and Father.” He didn’t bother to confess that he knew about our elopement, Shelley’s occasional madness, the death of his siblings, or the way that Claire lusted after my husband, or even the fact that some believed that I had killed my mother.
I hoped that a return to Italy would quell my pain for good and bestow a sense of peace. And it was time for Percy to learn what happened on the Ligurian Sea.
We traveled to Viareggio and I directed the driver to the beach north of the village. I dismissed him and then took Percy’s arm and we strolled on the beach. As we walked along the shoreline, we watched as terns and sandpipers raced the tide back and forth as it ebbed and flowed. Grey clouds dotted the sky. In the distance, we could see the Apuan Alps. A child was building a sandcastle too near the water; it was constantly getting washed away, other children and their parents were digging for shells. We saw couples amble by with parasols unfurled. Gentlemen tipped their hats to us as their ladies greeted us. “Ciao,” they said, as they nodded their heads.
I had never been to this beach. When Shelley’s body washed ashore here, I relied on Trelawny and Byron to arrange his internment. At the time, I was so distraught that I kept to my bed for weeks; I couldn’t eat; I felt physically ill; I couldn’t sleep without heavy doses of laudanum. I couldn’t grasp what had happened. My Shelley, my merman, was drowned. I would never see or speak to him again. I would never feel his arms surround and comfort me. And, unlike my mother, he never visited me in my dreams. I missed him and wept until I could no longer produce tears.
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