Mary Shelley
Page 1
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Timeline
Original Production
Characters
Act One
Act Two
Act Three
Act Four
Act Five
Afterword
About the Author
Copyright and Performing Rights Information
To Shared Experience
Mary Shelley: A Timeline
1792 Mary Wollstonecraft’s feminist A Vindication of the Rights of Woman is published.
1793 William Godwin’s radical political treatise, Enquiry Concerning Political Justice, is published.
1797 Mary Wollstonecraft marries William Godwin in St Pancras Church, London. Wollstonecraft already has one daughter, Fanny (b. May 1794), by Gilbert Imlay.
August Mary Wollstonecraft gives birth to Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin.
September Mary Wollstonecraft dies – her daughter, Mary, is only eleven days old.
1801 William Godwin marries Mary Jane Vial. Mary Jane already has a daughter, Jane Clairmont (b. 1798) aged twenty-one.
1814 Mary Godwin meets Percy Bysshe Shelley and they embark on a relationship. Percy is twenty-two years old and married. His wife, Harriet, is pregnant with their second child.
July William Godwin disapproves of the relationship. Percy leaves his wife and family and flees to Europe with Mary, just sixteen, and her stepsister, Jane.
November Percy’s estranged wife, Harriet Shelley, gives birth to their second child, Charles.
1815 February Mary gives birth to her first child with Percy – Clara. Clara dies at just thirteen days old.
1816 January Mary gives birth to a son, William.
May Percy, Mary and their son William leave for a tour of Europe. Mary’s stepsister Jane also joins them (pregnant with Lord Byron’s child). The weather takes a turn for the worse and they are confined indoors. Byron challenges the group to write their own ghost stories. It is here that Mary begins to write her acclaimed novel Frankenstein.
October Mary’s half-sister, Fanny Imlay, commits suicide in Swansea, aged twenty-two.
December After being missing for a month, Percy’s wife, Harriet Shelley, is found in the Serpentine River, Hyde Park, London. She was twenty-one years old and heavily pregnant at the time of her death.
A pregnant Mary marries Percy at St Mildred’s Church in London. She is reconciled with her father.
1818 Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus is anonymously published in three volumes and to immediate success.
May Mary writes her mythological drama, Proserpine, written for children. Percy contributes two poems to the piece.
September Mary’s daughter Clara dies from dysentery in Venice.
1819 Mary and Percy’s three-year-old son William dies of cholera in Italy.
November Mary gives birth to their fourth child, Percy Florence.
1822 Percy Bysshe Shelley drowns when his boat capsizes in the Gulf of Spezia. He is cremated and buried in Rome.
1824 Following her return to England with her son, Mary tries to publish a selection of Percy’s poems but Percy’s father, Sir Timothy Shelley, demands that she cease all writing and publications about his late son.
April Lord Byron dies in Greece.
1826 Mary Shelley’s The Last Man is published – an apocalyptic novel that tells of a future world that has been ravaged by a plague.
1832 Mary’s half-brother, William, dies (son of William Godwin and Mary Jane Vial).
1836 Mary’s father, William Godwin dies.
1837 Mary’s last novel, Falkner, which charts a young woman’s education under a tyrannical father figure, is published.
1839 A collection of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s poems are finally published with Sir Timothy Shelley’s permission.
1844 Sir Timothy Shelley dies. Mary’s son, Percy Florence, inherits the estate and title.
1848 Percy Florence Shelley marries Jane Gibson.
1851 Mary Shelley dies from a brain tumour after a long illness.
Mary Shelley was first performed in a co-production between Shared Experience, Nottingham Playhouse and West Yorkshire Playhouse, at the West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds, on 16 March 2012, with the following cast:
MARY
Kristin Atherton
FANNY
Flora Nicholson
MRS GODWIN
Sadie Shimmin
JANE
Shannon Tarbet
WILLIAM GODWIN
William Chubb
PERCY SHELLEY
Ben Lamb
Director
Polly Teale
Designer
Naomi Dawson
Composer
Keith Clouston
Lighting Designer
Chris Davey
Sound Designer
Drew Baumohl
Movement Director
Liz Ranken
The production subsequently toured to Nottingham Playhouse; Liverpool Playhouse; Hull Truck Theatre; Northern Stage, Newcastle; Oxford Playhouse; Winchester Theatre Royal and the Tricycle Theatre, London.
Characters
MARY
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT, as imagined by Mary
FANNY
MRS GODWIN
JANE
WILLIAM GODWIN
PERCY SHELLEY
HARRIET
MAID
And a SAILOR, CROWDS OF PEOPLE
Heartfelt thanks to Dr Mark Philp for his tireless help and advice.
H.E.
This text went to press before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed.
ACT ONE
Scene One
March 1814. The mouth of the Thames. MARY is standing alone on the deck of a ship. There is a book in her hands.
MARY (reading). ‘Her first thought had led her to Battersea Bridge, but she found it too public. It was night when she arrived at Putney, and by that time it had begun to rain with great violence. The rain suggested to her the idea of walking up and down the bridge until her clothes were thoroughly drenched and heavy with the wet.’
We are plunged into MARY’s imagination. Darkness. Rain lashes down.
We see a woman – MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT – holding out her arms to the elements, drenching herself. Then she climbs onto the edge of the bridge and jumps into the water. We hear the sound of the water pounding in her ears, see her struggle to stay under, groaning and wailing with frustration. Finally she becomes senseless, giving herself to the water.
Mother...
Scene Two
A wharf. London docks. MARY has disembarked and stands on the quay. It is noisy and crowded. People hurry past her. A SAILOR puts her trunk down next to her. She gives him a penny and he leaves.
FANNY approaches her through the crowd.
FANNY. Mary! Mary!
MARY. Fanny!
FANNY rushes to her. They embrace.
FANNY. Oh, Mary. You’re home. You’re home at last.
MARY. Are you alone? Father wrote that he would come.
FANNY. He wanted to, indeed he did. But he got called to a meeting with some lawyers and...
MARY. Lawyers?
FANNY. Don’t worry. But how cold you are. Why didn’t you stay below?
MARY. Oh, you know I can’t bear to be below. It makes me feel sicker than ever. And besides, I was reading this – (Holds out the book.) and I wanted to read it with water churning beneath me and a wild wind banging in my ears.
FANNY. What is it?
MARY. Fanny... it’s Father’s memoir of our mother. And I cannot tell you what a revelation it has been.
FANNY. Mary...
MARY. I’ve read it over and
over. I feel as if I know her and love her a hundred times better than I did before. I feel as if she could be standing here right now, and I would slip my arm through hers and kiss her cheek quite naturally, for she is real to me.
FANNY. Where did you get this?
MARY. Did you know that our mother tried to kill herself? It was after your father left her. She was so desperate, broken. She threw herself into the river. This river.
FANNY. Hush.
It’s against the law, Mary.
MARY. Did you know? Did you?
FANNY. I thought something like that had happened. Yes.
MARY. When I first read it, I was sitting alone on a beach in Scotland, with the waves coming towards me and coming towards me. I almost knew what was going to happen before I saw the words. They’re Father’s words, so they are quite measured and restrained, but I could imagine it all beneath the lines – her agony, her desire to have it all stop. I almost wished the waters had taken her, for that is what she truly wanted, but then, if they had, I would not be here upon this earth – whatever this earth might be.
FANNY. Where did you get this from?
MARY. It was on Father’s shelves. He said I could take whatever I liked before I left.
FANNY. But he didn’t mean this.
MARY. Why not? It’s a published work. Hundreds of people have read it. He wouldn’t want to hide the truth from us. Truth is omnipotent.
FANNY. Truth. I sometimes think our family speaks a great deal too much truth. I wish we could be like normal people, and keep our thoughts to ourselves.
MARY. But that would be cowardly.
Are we not normal people then?
FANNY. You know we aren’t.
MARY. Oh, don’t be cross, Fanny. This is a precious discovery. I mean to read it to you.
FANNY. No.
MARY. Yes. We’ll read a little every night. Our mother would have wanted that. I know she would.
FANNY (gazing at the book). ‘Your real mother was only too ready to leave you behind.’
That’s what Mama said. ‘Your real mother didn’t even think of you when she tried to end it all.’
MARY. She said that? When? How dare she say that to you?
FANNY. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t tell you so you would be cross with Mama.
MARY. Don’t call her Mama. She’s not our mama. She’s just the dreadful creature who my father has the misfortune to be married to.
FANNY. Mary...
MARY. Your real mother did think about you. She must have felt that you would be better off being raised by others. She was so wretched.
FANNY. Perhaps.
MARY. Our poor mother. You could not cheer her with all your sweetness, and I... I was the cause of her death.
FANNY. Please don’t make trouble with Mama – I mean, with Mrs Godwin – when we get home. You won’t, will you?
MARY. No. I won’t. I have come home determined to rise above the dreadful Mrs Godwin. I intend to remain completely aloof.
How are things at Skinner Street? How is dear Papa?
FANNY. He is very much occupied, but in reasonably good spirits.
MARY. And have you been lonely, with everyone away?
FANNY. I haven’t had time. Mama has started another translation, so there’s been a great deal of copying to do. And I’ve been writing letters for Papa and running errands and minding the shop. Jane arrived home from school two days ago. She was going to come with me to meet you, but then she discovered I was walking here and...
MARY. That’s so like her.
FANNY. We shall get a chaise back, of course. Papa put some money by.
And we have some new friends.
MARY. Do we?
FANNY. Do you remember a young man – one of Papa’s disciples – who wrote him all those elaborate letters that he used to read out to us?
MARY. Do you mean the man called Shelley?
FANNY. Yes. Well, he’s in London now. He talks and talks philosophy with Papa. He says Political Justice is his bible.
MARY. Isn’t he a baronet or something of the sort?
FANNY. He’s the heir to a baronetcy. His grandfather is Sir Bysshe Shelley of Sussex.
MARY. How grand.
FANNY. He wants to help us. He wants to invest in the bookshop.
MARY. Really?
FANNY. And he is quite... extraordinary.
MARY. In what way?
FANNY. He’s... I don’t know how to explain it... He’s so vibrant. More vibrant than anyone I ever met. And he speaks to me so easily. I feel I could talk to him about anything.
MARY. Fanny Godwin... I do believe you are in love.
FANNY. I’m not. I’m not. He’s married.
MARY. But that doesn’t stop you from falling in love.
FANNY. His wife is... quite lovely. Quite a fine lady. But you shall see all this. Come now, my poor cold girl. Let’s find a chaise and get you home.
Scene Three
The parlour. Skinner Street. A window looks out onto the street, and from outside the noise of a crowd can be heard.
MARY and FANNY set the trunk down. MRS GODWIN enters.
MRS GODWIN. Move that trunk out of the way, Mary. What makes you think we want that in the middle of the parlour?
MARY. I’m a little tired. I’ll move it soon.
MRS GODWIN. You went away for your health, you shouldn’t have come back tired.
MARY. I’m tired from the journey, that’s all.
MRS GODWIN. Well, we’re all tired. Now move it.
FANNY. I’ll move it.
MARY. No, leave it, Fanny. I’ll do it.
MRS GODWIN. Go and help Jane with the tea things, Fanny.
FANNY. Yes, Mama.
FANNY leaves. MRS GODWIN begins to set up a small table for tea. MARY moves the trunk.
MARY. Can’t the maid see to the tea?
MRS GODWIN. The maid doesn’t work today. She does three days now. We had less need of her with everyone away. Everyone has to do their bit, that’s all.
(Calling.) Mr Godwin! Tea!
Charles is doing awfully well in Edinburgh.
MARY. Yes. He wrote to me.
MRS GODWIN. But you didn’t see him, I suppose?
MARY. No.
MRS GODWIN. I would have thought you might want to visit your stepbrother, with him being so close.
MARY. It’s quite some distance from Dundee to Edinburgh. We made do with letters.
MRS GODWIN. I don’t know why he had to go so far away. There are plenty of apprenticeships to be had in London. Why go all the way to Scotland?
MARY. I can’t imagine.
MRS GODWIN (calling). Mr Godwin! If you don’t come out, we shall come in!
Every day.
MARY. There’s really no need to disturb his work. I can see him at dinner.
JANE enters. MARY goes to the window and looks out.
JANE. Maman, Fanny wants to know if we should put all the sugar buns out?
MRS GODWIN. All of them? Of course not. One each. We’re not elephants.
JANE goes to the window.
JANE. Gracious, what a crowd. I wonder who they’re hanging?
MRS GODWIN (to MARY). And you left the Baxters tolerably well, I hope?
MARY. I’m sorry...?
MRS GODWIN. The Baxters. You left them tolerably well?
MARY. Yes. They were fine, thank you.
MRS GODWIN. Did they send their regards to me?
MARY. To my father and to you, yes.
MRS GODWIN. Oh. Then you should pass them on. Not leave me to prise them out of you.
(Calling.) Mr Godwin!
She leaves. JANE and MARY listen to the crowd passing by.
JANE. Isn’t hanging the most awful thing? So primitive, don’t you think, Mary? So utterly barbaric.
GODWIN enters from the study.
GODWIN. What is utterly barbaric?
MARY. Hanging.
GODWIN. Ah, yes. That would qualify.
&
nbsp; MARY. Hello, Papa.
MARY goes to him and kisses his cheek with great affection.
GODWIN. Well, well. Hello to you too.
MRS GODWIN enters, holding a tablecloth.
MRS GODWIN. Finally, he emerges.
GODWIN. I’m sorry, Mrs Godwin, am I horribly late? Have I missed tea?
MRS GODWIN. No. But I should have thought you might want to come out sooner when your only daughter is back from a six-month visit.
GODWIN. Mary understands.
MARY. Of course I do.
GODWIN. And I had three daughters last time I looked.
MRS GODWIN. You know very well what I mean – the only one as is the fruit of your loins.
JANE. Maman, must you? Must you use such awful words?
MRS GODWIN. Oh, don’t you start that.
JANE. What?
MRS GODWIN. You’ve been doing it all day – making out there’s some sort of coarseness in me which you don’t like to be associated with.
JANE. I’ve done nothing of the sort.
MRS GODWIN. A few weeks at boarding school and you think you can look down on me. Well, you can’t.
JANE. But...
MRS GODWIN. I’m just as good as you – (Pointing at MARY.) and you, and I shan’t be treated like this in my own home.
JANE. Maman, I didn’t mean anything. Really...
MRS GODWIN. Loins is a perfectly respectable word. I’m sure it is in Mr Johnson’s Dictionary. I’m sure everyone has loins. Do you have loins, Mr Godwin?
GODWIN. I’m rather afraid I do.
MRS GODWIN. There. And I’m sure most people would be happy to admit to it.
FANNY enters, carrying a tray of tea things.
FANNY. I didn’t get an answer, Jane.
JANE. Oh, sorry, Fanny. I forgot.
MRS GODWIN. One each. One each.
FANNY. Good. That’s what I thought.
MARY. We’re not elephants.
FANNY carries the tray to the table.
MRS GODWIN. Bring your chair round, Mary. Don’t just stand there.
JANE. Who are they hanging, Papa? Do you know?
GODWIN. A man called Bates. Theft of a gun.