Mrs. Shelley by Lucy M. Rossetti

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The story is told; and the friend--for he feels the utmost sympathy
with the tortures of Frankenstein--can only attempt to soothe his last
days or hours, for he, too, feels the end must be near; but at this
crisis in Frankenstein's existence the expedition cannot proceed
northward, for the crew mutiny to return. Frankenstein determines to
proceed alone; but his strength is ebbing, and Walton foresees his
early death. But this is not to pass quietly, for the demon is in no
mood that his creator should escape unmolested from his grasp. Now the
time is ripe, and, during a momentary absence, Walton is startled by
fearful sounds, and then, in the cabin of his dying friend, a sight to
appal the bravest; for the fiend is having the death struggle with
him--then all is over. Some last speeches of the demon to Walton are
explanatory of his deed, and of his present intention of
self-immolation, as he has now slaked his thirst to wreak vengeance
for his existence. Then he disappears over the ice to accomplish this
last task.

Surely there is enough weird imagination for the subject. Mary in this
work not merely intended to depict the horror of such a monster, but
she evidently wished also to show what a being, with no naturally bad
propensities, might sink to when under the influence of a false
position--the education of Rousseau's natural man not being here
possible.

Some weak points, some incongruities, it would be unreasonable not to
expect. Whether the _eternal_ light expected at the North Pole,
if of the sun, was a misapprehension of the author or a Shelleyan
application of the word eternal (as applied by him to certain
friendships, or duration of residence in houses) may be questioned.
The question as to the form used for the narrative has already been
referred to. The difficulty of such a method is strangely exemplified
in the long letters which are quoted by Frankenstein to his friend
while dying, and which he could not have carried with him on his
deadly pursuit. Mary's facility in writing was great, and having
visited some of the most interesting places in the world, with some of
the most interesting people, she is saved from the dreary dulness of
the dull. Her ideas, also, though sometimes affected, are genuine, not
the outcome of some fashionable foible to please a passing faith or
superstition, which ought never to be the _raison d'etre_ of a
romance, though it may be of a satire or a sermon.

The last passage in the book is perhaps the weakest. It is scarcely
the climax, but an anticlimax. The end of Frankenstein is well
conceived, but that of the Demon fails. It is ridiculous to conceive
anyone, demon or human, having ended his vengeance, fleeing over the
ice to burn himself on a funeral pyre where no fuel could be found.
Surely the tortures of the lowest pit of Dante's Inferno might have
sufficed for the occasion. The youth of the authoress of this
remarkable romance has raised comparison between it and the first work
of a still younger romancist, the author of _Gabriel Denver_,
written at seventeen, who died before he had completed his twentieth
year.

While this romance was being planned during the latter part of the
stay of the Shelley party in Switzerland, after their return from
Chamouni, the diary gives us a charming idea of their life in their
cottage of Montalegre. We have the books they read, as usual; and well
did Mary, no less than Shelley, make use of that happy reading-time of
life--youth. The Latin authors read by Shelley were also studied by
Mary. We find her reading "Quintus Curtius," ten and twelve pages at a
time; also on Shelley's birthday, August 4, she reads him the fourth
book of Virgil, while in a boat with him on the lake. Also the
fire-balloon is not forgotten, which Mary had made two or three days
in advance for the occasion. They used generally to visit Diodati in
the evening, after dinner, though occasionally Shelley dined with
Byron, and accompanied him in his boat. On one occasion Mary wrote:
"Shelley and Claire go up to Diodati; I do not, for Lord Byron did not
seem to wish it." Rousseau, Voltaire, and other authors cause the time
to fly, until their spirits are damped by a letter arriving from
Shelley's solicitor, requiring his return to England. While in
Switzerland Mary received some letters from Fanny, her half-sister;
these letters are interesting, showing a sweet, gentle disposition,
very affectionate to both Shelley and Mary. One letter asks Mary
questions about Lord Byron. There are also details as to the
unfortunate state of the finances of Godwin, who seemed in a perennial
state of needing three hundred pounds. Fanny also writes of herself,
on July 29, 1816, as not being well--being in a state of mind which
always keeps her body in a fever--her lonely life, after her sister's
departure, with all the money anxieties, and her own dependence,
evidently weighed upon her mind, and led to a state of despondency,
although her letters would scarcely give the idea of a tragedy being
imminent. She writes to Shelley and Mary that Mrs. Godwin--mamma she
calls her--tells her that she is the laughing-stock of Mary and
Shelley, and the constant "beacon of their satire." She shows much
affection for little William, as well as for his parents; but there is
certainly no word in these letters showing more than sisterly and
friendly feeling; no word showing jealousy or envy. Claire afterwards
alleged that Fanny had been in love with Shelley. Mr. Kegan Paul
states the reverse most strongly. It is not easy to conceive how
either should have been sure of the fact. Even Shelley's beautiful
verses to her memory do not indicate any special reason for her
sadness, as far as he was concerned.

Her voice did quiver as we parted,
Yet knew I not that heart was broken
From which it came, and I departed,
Heeding not the words then spoken.
Misery--oh Misery!
This world is all too wide for thee.

From these lines we see that Fanny was in a very depressed state of
mind when her sister left England for her second Continental tour in
1816. This being two years from the time when Mary had first left her
home, it does not seem probable that Shelley was to blame, or rather
was the indirect cause of Fanny's sadness. She felt herself generally
useless and unneeded in the world, and this idea weighed her down.

CHAPTER VIII.

RETURN TO ENGLAND.

On leaving the Lake of Geneva on August 28, without having
accomplished anything in the way of a settlement for Claire, but with
pleasant reminiscences of Rousseau's surroundings, and the grandeur of
the Alps, the party of three returned towards England by way of Dijon,
and thence by a different route from that by which they had gone,
returning by Rouvray, Auxerre, Fontainebleau, and Versailles. Here
Mary and Shelley visited the palace and town, which a few years hence
she would revisit under far different circumstances. Travelling--in
those days so very unlike what it is in ours, when Europe can be
crossed without being examined--allowed them to become acquainted with
the towns they passed through. Rouen was visited; but for some reason
they were disappointed with the cathedral. Prom Havre they sailed for
Portsmouth, when, with their usual fate, they encountered a stormy
passage of twenty-seven hours. It must have been a trying journey for
them in more ways than one, for if there was any uncertainty as to
Claire's position on leaving England, Mary could now no longer have
been in any doubt. On arriving in England she proceeded, with Claire
and her little William, with his Swiss nurse Elise, to Bath, where
Claire passed as Mrs. Clairemont. Shelley addressed her as such at 5
Abbey Churchyard, Bath. During this time Shelley was again
house-hunting, while staying with Peacock on the banks of the Thames;
and Mary paid a visit to Peacock at the same time, leaving little
William to the care of Elise and Claire at Bath. From here Claire
writes to Mary about the "Itty Babe's" baby ways, and how she and
Elise puzzled and puzzled over the little night-gowns, or, quoting
Albe, as they called Byron (it has been suggested a condensation of L.
B.), "they mused and coddled" without effect. Claire certainly did her
best to take care of the baby, walking out with it, and so forth.

Now the three hundred pounds written of by Fanny was falling due. Mary
must also have been kept in great apprehension, as we see by a letter
from Shelley to Godwin, dated October 2, 1816, that the money was not
forthcoming, as hoped. So the fatal Rhine gold is again helping to a
tragedy, which the romantic prefer to impute to a still more fatal
cause; for, so short a time after the 2nd as October 10, we find Fanny
already at Bristol, writing to Godwin that she is about to depart
immediately to the place whence she hopes never to return. On October
3 there is a long letter from her to Mary, written just after
Shelley's letter had reached Godwin, when she had read its contents on
Godwin's countenance as he perused it. Her letter is most
clear-sighted, noble, and single-minded; she complains of Mary's way
of exaggerating Mrs. Godwin's resentment to herself, explaining that
whatever Mrs. Godwin may say in moments of extreme irritation to her,
she is quite incapable of making the worst of Mary's behaviour to
others. She shows Mary her own carelessness in leaving letters about
for the servants to read, so that they and Harriet spread the reports
she complains of rather than Mrs. Godwin. She tells how she had tried
to convince Shelley that he should only keep French servants, and she
endeavours to persuade Mary how important it is that they should
prevent bad news coming to Godwin in a way to give a sudden shock, as
he is so sensitive. She saw through certain subterfuges of Shelley,
and wrote in a calm, affectionate way, trying to set everything right,
with a wonderful clearness of vision; for everyone but herself--for
herself there was no outlet but despair, no rest but the grave; she,
the utterly unselfish one, was useless--all that remained was to
smooth her way to the grave. Not for herself, but others, she managed
to die where she was unknown, travelling for this purpose to Swansea,
where only a few shillings remained to her, and a little watch Mary
had brought her from Geneva. She wrote of herself in a letter she
left, which neither compromised anyone nor indicated who she was, as
one whose birth was unfortunate, but whose existence would soon be
forgotten. Poor Fanny! Is she not rather likely to be remembered as a
type of self-abnegation? Certainly hers was not the nature to cause
her sister a moment's jealous pang, even though her death called forth
one of Shelley's sweetest lyrics.

There was nothing to be done. Godwin paid a brief visit to the scene,
and ascertained that all was too true. The door that had had to be
forced, the laudanum bottle, and her letter told all that need be
known. Shelley visited Bristol to obtain information; but there was no
use in giving publicity to this fresh family sorrow--discretion was
the only sympathy that could be shown. Mary bought mourning, and
worked at it. Claire envied for herself Fanny's rest; but life had to
proceed, awaiting fresh events.

Work was the great resource. Mary was writing her _Frankenstein_.
She persisted with the utmost fortitude in intellectual employment, as
poor Fanny wrote to Mary on September 26:--"I cannot help envying your
calm, contented disposition, and the calm philosophical habits of life
which pursue yon; or, rather, which you pursue everywhere; I allude to
your description of the manner in which you pass your days at Bath,
when most women would hardly have recovered from the fatigues of such
a journey as you had been taking."

This is, indeed, the key-note of Mary's character, which, with her
sensitive, retiring nature, enabled her to live through the stormy
times of her life with equanimity.

Mary had Shelley's company through November, but at the beginning of
December she writes to Shelley, who is again staying with Peacock
house-hunting. Mary tells him what she would _like_: "A house
(with a lawn) near a river or lake, noble trees, or divine mountains";
but she would be content if Shelley would give her "a garden and
absentia Claire." This is very different from her way of thinking of
Fanny, who, she says, might now have had a home with her. This
expression occurs in a letter to Shelley when she was on the point of
marrying him, and might have had Fanny with her. Mary also speaks of
her drawing lessons, and how (thank God!) she had finished "that
tedious, ugly picture" she had been so long about. This points to that
terrible way of teaching Art, by accustoming its students to
hideousness and vulgarity, till Art itself might become an unknown
quantity. Mary also tells, what is more interesting, that
she has finished the fourth chapter, a very long one, of her
_Frankenstein_, which she thinks Shelley will like. She wishes
for his return. On December 13 Mary receives a letter from Shelley,
who is with Leigh Hunt. On December 15, 1816, he is back with Mary at
Bath, when a letter from Hookham, who had been requested by Shelley to
obtain information about Harriet for him, brought further fatal
news--for Harriet had now committed suicide, and had been found
drowned in the Serpentine. Unknown, she was called Harriet Smith;
uncared for, she had gone to her grave beneath the water--unloved, the
lovely Harriet cared not to live. What may have happened, it is not
for those who may not have been tried to question; of cause and effect
it is not for us to judge; but that her memory must have been a
haunting shadow to Shelley and to Mary no one would wish to think them
heartless enough to deny. Surely the lovely "Lines," with no name
affixed, must be the dirge to Harriet's fate, and Shelley's life's
failure:--

The cold earth slept below;
Above, the cold sky shone;
And all around
With a chilling sound,
From caves of ice and fields of snow,
The breath of night like death did flow
Beneath the sinking moon.

The wintry hedge was black;
The green grass was not seen;
The birds did rest
On the bare thorn's breast,
Whose roots, beside the pathway-track,
Had bound their folds o'er many a crack
Which the frost had made between.

Thine eyes glowed in the glare
Of the moon's dying light.
As a fen-fire's beam
On a sluggish stream
Gleams dimly, so the moon shone there;
And it yellowed the strings of thy tangled hair,
That shook in the wind of night.

The moon made thy lips pale, beloved;
The wind made thy bosom chill:
The night did shed
On thy dear head
Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie
Where the bitter breath of the naked sky
Might visit thee at will.

These lines are dated 1815 by Mary in her edition, but she says she
cannot answer for the accuracy of all the dates of minor poems.

The death of Harriet was necessarily quickly followed by the marriage
of Shelley and Mary. The most sound opinions were ascertained as to
the desirability of an early marriage, or of postponing the ceremony
for a year after the death of Harriet; all agreed that the wedding
ought to take place without delay, and it was fixed for December 30,
1816, at St. Mildred's Church in the City, where Godwin and his wife
were present, to their no little satisfaction, as described by Shelley
to Claire. Mary notes her marriage thus in her diary: "I have omitted
writing my journal for some time. Shelley goes to London, and returns;
I go with him; spend the time between Leigh Hunt's and Godwin's. A
marriage takes place on the 30th December 1816. Draw. Read Lord
Chesterfield and Locke."

No sooner was the marriage over than their one anxiety was to return
to Bath; for now the time of Claire's trial was approaching, and on
January 13 a little girl was born, not destined to remain long in a
world so sad for some. Little Allegra, a child of rare beauty, was
welcomed by Shelley and Mary with all the benevolence they were
capable of, and Byron's duty to his child devolved, for the time at
least, on Shelley.

During this period, Shelley's and Mary's chief anxiety was to welcome
and care for the little children left by poor Harriet. They had been
placed, before her death, under the care of a clergyman who kept a
school in Warwick, the Rev. John Kendall, vicar of Budbrooke. Shelley
had hoped that his marriage with Mary would remove all difficulty, and
Mary was waiting to welcome Ianthe and Charles; but in this matter
they were doomed to disappointment.

On January 8 a Bill was filed in the Court of Chancery, on the part of
the infants Charles and Ianthe Shelley, John Westbrook, their maternal
grandfather, acting on their behalf, praying that they might not be
transferred to the care of their father, Percy Bysshe Shelley, who had
deserted their mother; who was the author of _Queen Mab_, and an
avowed atheist, who wrote against the institution of marriage, and who
had been living unlawfully with a woman whom Eliza Westbrook (as
Shelley had written to her) might excusably regard as the cause of her
sister's ruin. Shelley filed his answer on the 18th, denying the
desertion of his wife, as she and he had separated with mutual
consent, owing to various causes. He had wished for his children on
parting with her, but left them with her at her urgent entreaty. He
had given her two hundred pounds to pay her debts, and an allowance of
a fifth of his income. As to his theological opinions, he understands
that they are abandoned as not applicable to the case. His views on
matrimony, he alleged, were only in accordance with the ideas of some
of the greatest thinkers that divorce ought to be possible under
various conditions.

Lord Eldon gave his judgment on March 27, 1817. In fifteen carefully
worded paragraphs he showed his reasons for depriving Shelley of his
children. He insists through all that it is Shelley's avowed and
published opinions, as they affected his _conduct_ in life, which
unfitted him to be the guardian of his children.

The wording in some passages caused grave anxiety to Shelley and Mary
(as shown in their letters) as to whether they would be deprived of
their own children; and they were prepared to abandon everything,
property, country, all, and to escape with the infants. The poem "To
William" was written under this misapprehension, although when he left
England in 1818, Shelley's chief reason, as given in his letter to
Godwin, was on account of his health. Undoubtedly the judgment, and
all the trying circumstances they had been passing through ever since
their return from Geneva, helped to decide them in this determination.

Charles and Ianthe were finally placed under the care of Dr. and Mrs.
Hume, who were to receive two hundred pounds a year--eighty pounds
settled on them by Westbrook, and one hundred and twenty pounds to be
paid by Shelley for the charge. Shelley might see them twelve times a
year in the presence of the Humes, the Westbrooks twelve times alone,
and Sir Timothy and his family when they chose.

While these proceedings were progressing, Mary with Claire and the two
children had moved to Marlow, having previously joined Shelley in
London on January 26, as she feared to leave him in his depressed
state alone. The intellectual society they met at Hunt's and at
Godwin's helped to pass over this trying period. One evening Mary saw
together the "three poets"--Hunt, Shelley, and Keats; Keats not being
much drawn towards Shelley, while Hazlitt, who was also present, was
unfavourably impressed by his worn and sickly appearance, induced by
the terrible anxieties and trials which be had recently passed
through. Horace Smith also proved a staunch friend: Shelley once
remarked it was odd that the only truly generous wealthy person he
ever met should be a stockbroker, and that he should write and care
for poetry, and yet make money. In the midst of her anxieties, Mary
Shelley enjoyed more social intercourse and amusement than before. We
find her noting in her diary, in February, dining with the Hunts and
Horace Smith, going to the opera of _Figaro_, music, &c. But now
they had found their Marlow retreat--a house with a garden as Mary
desired, not with a river view, but a shady little orchard, a kitchen
garden, yews, cypresses, and a cedar tree. Here Mary was able to live
unsaddened for a time; the Swiss nurse for the children, a cook and
man-servant, sufficed for in-door and out-door work, and Mary, true to
her name, was able to occupy herself with spiritual and intellectual
employment, not to the neglect of domestic, as the succession of
visitors entertained must prove; study, drawing, and her beloved work
of _Frankenstein_ were making rapid progress. Nor could Mary have
been indifferent to the woes of the poor, for Shelley would scarcely
have been so actively benevolent as recorded during the residence at
Marlow without the co-operation of his wife. While Shelley enquired
into cases of distress and gave written orders for money, Mary
dispensed the latter. Here Godwin paid them his first visit, and the
Hunts passed a pleasant time. Shelley wrote his _Revolt of Islam_
under the Bisham Beeches, and Mary had the pleasure of welcoming her
old friend Mr. Baxter, of Dundee, although his daughter Isabel,
married to Mr. Booth, still held aloof. Peacock, Horace Smith, and
Hogg were also among the guests. We find constant references to Godwin
having been irritated and querulous with Mary or Shelley. A forced,
unnatural, equanimity during one period of his life seems to have
resulted in a querulous irritability later--a not unusual case--and he
had to vent it on those who loved and revered him most, or in fact, on
those who would alone endure it from amiability of disposition, a
quality not remarkable in his second wife.

On May 14 we find Mary has finished and corrected her
_Frankenstein_, and she decides to go to London and stay with her
father while carrying on the negotiations with Murray whom she wishes
to publish it. Shelley accompanies Mary for a few days at Godwin's
invitation, but returns to look after "Blue Eyes," to whom he is
charged with a million kisses from Mary. But Mary returns speedily to
Shelley and "Blue Eyes," having felt very restless while absent. She
soon falls into a plan of Shelley's for partially adopting a little
Polly who frequently spent the day or slept in their house, and Mary
would find time to tell her before she went to bed whatever she or
Shelley had been reading that day, always asking her what she thought
of it.

Mary, who was expecting another child in the autumn, was not long idle
after the completion of _Frankenstein_, but set to work copying
and revising her _Six Weeks' Tour_. This work, begun in August,
she completed after the birth of her baby Clara on September 2. In
October the book was bought and published by Hookham.

She tells, in her notes on this year 1817, how she felt the illness
and sorrows which Shelley passed through had widened his intellect,
and how it was the source of some of his noblest poems, but that he
had lost his early dreams of changing the world by an idea, or, at
least, he no longer expected to see the result.

A letter from Mary to her husband, written soon after the birth of her
baby, shows how anxious she was at that time about his health. It had
been a positive pain to her to see him languid and ill, and she
counselled him obtaining the best advice. Change being recommended by
the physician, Mary has to decide between going to the seaside or
Italy. With all the reasons for and against Italy, Mary asks Shelley
to let her know distinctly his wish in the matter, as she can be well
anywhere. One strong reason for their going to Italy is that Alba, as
Allegra was then called, should join her father. Evidently the
embarrassment was too great to settle how to account for the poor
child longer in England; and had not she a just claim upon Byron?

In another letter, September 28, Mary speaks of Claire's return to
Marlow in a croaking state--everything wrong; Harriet's debts
enormous. She had just been out for her first walk after the birth of
Clara, and was surprised to find how much warmer it was out than in.
Shelley is commissioned to buy a seal-skin fur hat for Willy, and to
take care that it is a round fashionable shape for a boy. She is
surrounded by babies while writing--William, Alba, and little Clara.
Her love is to be given to Godwin when Mrs. Godwin is not there, as
she does not love her. _Frankenstein_ is still undisposed of.

The house at Marlow is soon found to be far too cold for a winter
residence. Italy or the sea must speedily be settled on. Alba is the
great consideration in favour of Italy, Mary feels she will not be
safe except with them; Byron is so difficult to fix in any way, and
the one hope seems to be to get him to provide for the child. Anxiety
for Alba's future ruled their present, so impossible is it to foretell
the future, which, read and judged as our past, is easy to be severe
upon. This dream of health and rest in Italy was not to be so easily
realised. Instead of being there, they were still dispensing charity
at Marlow at the end of December, in spite of various negotiations for
money in October and November. Horace Smith had lent two hundred
pounds, and, Shelley thought, would lend more. Mary continued
extremely anxious on Alba's account. If she could only be got to her
father! Who could tell how he might change his mind if there be much
delay? Might he not "change his mind, or go to Greece, or to the
devil; and then what happens?" The lawyers' delays were heavy trials,
and they could not go and leave Godwin unprovided for; he was a great
anxiety to Mary at this time. It was not till December 7 that Shelley
wrote to tell Godwin how he felt bound to go to Italy, as he had been
informed that he was in a consumption.

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