“I am feeling understood,”
I say.
SHELLEY AND CLAIRE
January 1815
My Shelley nicknames me
Dormouse, Maie, and Pecksie,
after the characters
in a children’s book,
but leaves me alone
as I bleed
with this pregnancy.
He and Claire roam
about town, on the walks
I should be taking,
but cannot as I am
imprisoned in bed.
I worry with silent tears
that just like Mother bled with me
my fate will be similar to hers,
and when this baby comes
I will never see my Shelley again.
One might be angry
with Shelley but I understand
that he cannot be tied down.
He is like the sun,
sometimes shining his light upon others.
And I cannot and will not expect
him to give warmth to only me.
Shelley’s grandfather dies
and he is to receive
one thousand pounds a year,
one-fifth of which
will go to Harriet and her two children,
now that her Charles,
my Shelley’s heir, was born.
My, up to now, silent father
calls loudly upon Shelley
to make good his promise
of support now
that Father learns
that Shelley comes
into a little money.
My father does not
seem to care
that he will soon be
a grandfather
and still will not
speak to me or see me.
I long so
to see Father,
but my father remains
walled against me.
The only constant one
is Hogg. He visits me
like a faithful pet.
MORE THAN AN ANNOYANCE
January 1815
As Claire lets out
the waist of one of my skirts
she cannot hold back
her tongue;
“I would never have
imagined how big
one becomes
when one is pregnant.”
I can no longer
see my feet when
I look down.
I have noticed
that Shelley lies
farther from me in bed lately
as though he fears
touching my body.
And somehow
Claire knows it.
I think of the myriad
comments I could make
about my stepsister
and her facial features
but I just say,
“One day I hope
you experience
pregnancy and all
of its wonders too.”
BIRTH
February 22, 1815
My baby comes early,
and I am at ease
when she arrives.
Shelley, agitated
and exhausted, paces
about the room.
We do not name her
as we were not prepared
for her to be born yet
and selected no name.
I am as though
the sun
ran through my body
and light
beams from my pores.
Being a mother delights me so.
Shelley and Claire
run about town for a cradle
and to find us a new home,
though I wonder if we should
move the baby.
We move on March 2
to Arabella Row.
When I awake on the eleventh day
of my little baby girl’s life,
I cannot stir her.
When I went to nurse
her the night before she didn’t budge
and I thought her sleeping.
She is so cold when I pick her up today
my arms ache holding her.
No breath rises in her chest.
My baby neither moves, nor screams,
nor can I.
I was a mother
and I am no longer
I was a mother
and I am no longer
repeats through my brain.
I don’t know what to do
and a heavy numbness
settles over me
like one lost
out in the cold
all night.
I cannot be moved
from bed.
I send for Hogg
to help with arrangements
and to console me.
I feel I can rely on him,
and I worry
that Shelley might not handle
what is required
or my mood right now.
My own mother
died eleven days
after my birth,
and my baby
lived only eleven days.
Shelley and Claire
resume their daily schedule
of visits to money lenders
and booksellers,
but a part of me
has died.
MARCH
March 1815
I dream my baby girl
restores to life;
we rub her
before the fire
and she opens her eyes.
But then I awake
and the cradle lies empty.
And my heart shatters
all over again.
Shelley fears he is dying
of consumption.
He obsesses about death,
yet seems to forget
that we have just lost
a child.
Claire has no understanding.
“Why must you always
gloom about so?” she demands.
Claire must go.
I tell Shelley this.
I need to breathe.
I cannot even
see my own hands
when Claire stands in front of me.
We cannot send her
back to Skinner Street
as the family scandal
of us leaving with Shelley
cannot be condoned by Father
or it will damage
my sister Fanny’s prospects
of gainful employment
with her aunts.
Because there is nowhere else
for Claire besides among us right now,
here she remains
like a hat pin through my skull.
But another solution
will be found.
SALT HILL
April 1815
Shelley and I travel
alone to the Windmill Inn
at Salt Hill in Buckinghamshire.
The creditors
hound my love and
we need to escape.
The inn is as pretty
as I could have imagined,
the fields greener
than emeralds,
and we steal away
from London alone,
never mind the reason.
I feel serenity and joy
for the first time
in months.
Shelley kisses me
tenderly and whispers
that perhaps we should
try to have another child.
I can think of nothing I want more.
GOOD RIDDANCE
May 1815
We return to a new house
that Hogg finds us,
and Claire tramps about the rooms
as though she is the lady of the house.
I reach wit’s end.
Shelley retreats by reading Seneca,
while Claire and I
fight like angry hens
about every choice to be made.
My sister Fanny sneaks
out to see us from time to time,
though if my father
knew she saw us
he would string her up.
Her visits are brief as a glance,
and she often entreats Shelley
to give my father money
as she claims his situation to be dire.
Sir Timothy, Shelley’s father,
settles Shelley’s debts as well as
some of my father’s obligations.
We will finally receive
our annual allowance
of one thousand pounds,
two hundred of which
go to Harriet. At long last
we shall not be
running from creditors.
Shelley spends all morning
with Claire, all afternoon
amusing her as well,
and in the evening
they share a last talk.
For tomorrow
Claire leaves for Lynmouth,
a village in Devon
on the west coast of England,
where she will reside alone.
I gavotte about the house
light as silk.
While Shelley escorts Claire
to her carriage
I await at home,
maintaining my usual schedule.
When he does not return all day
I pace the house
with tears that fail to end.
I fear that Shelley has fled
with Claire
and left me,
like he did Harriet,
for good.
TRUST
May 1815
When I lived
on Spinner Street
with nothing but my wits,
Shelley recognized
in me a glow
of greatness.
When we eloped
to Switzerland
on nothing but our beliefs,
Shelley held
my hand promising
not to let go.
When we lost
our first child
to death’s cold silence,
Shelley vowed
to once again
create our family.
When I wait
in an empty house
for my love’s return,
I shall be vindicated.
Shelley will bound
back into my arms
as though we never
were apart.
OUR REGENERATION
Summer 1815
Shelley more than returns
to me.
With Claire gone
we nestle into life
as a twosome.
I am pregnant
again, and happy
as my beating heart.
Health becomes paramount
as I refuse to lose this baby.
My poor Shelley
suffers from debilitating
abdominal pains
and panics that he will die
very soon of consumption.
I believe this may be somewhat
a construct of his overactive mind.
Nevertheless, we must
escape London
and salve him with the seaside.
We vacation to Clifton
and Torquay, both renown
for their health-giving air.
But my Shelley stirs, restless,
even as we travel
and abandons me
to holiday alone.
He returns to London
to seek a home for us
and to see Dr. Lawrence,
who assures Shelley
that he has not contracted consumption.
Lynmouth is less than a day’s walk
from here, and I fret
when Shelley leaves me;
he does so
to visit Claire.
A HOME
August 1815
Shelley finds us a home
in Bishopsgate, near Windsor.
I love it immediately
as there is a garden
and enchanting views of the abbeys,
the heath, and the lake.
I also acquire a small staff
to perform the domestic duties
I do not adore.
We establish a routine
of reading, writing, and talking.
My hands plunged
into the earth,
cradling a book,
or even better moving
a pen across paper,
I am at home.
A MUSE
August 1815
Without Claire
I hear thoughts
as music.
My mind frees
to once again
delve into learning.
I read everything
within reach
knowing
that this prepares
me for later writing.
Shelley has picked
up his pen here
in Bishopsgate,
and he calls me
his lovely muse.
VISITORS TO OUR HOME
August 1815
Hogg visits infrequently.
Claire gratefully does not call upon us.
But Thomas Love Peacock
takes up residence in Marlow
and will make the long walk
up the Thames to stay with us
from time to time.
He advises Shelley
on his writing and career
as he is seven years his senior
and then becomes his agent
and business adviser.
We argue into the night
about vegetarianism,
the return of the French monarchy,
the disrepair of the government,
and Thomas encourages
us to read classical texts again.
Peacock convinces
Shelley to change his diet
of bread, butter, and lemonade
and finally eat a pork chop.
Shelley loses his pallid complexion
and starts to feel markedly better.
My brother Charles Clairmont
also frequents our home
as he is now free to do so.
But, to my sorrow,
Father still will not
acknowledge me.
Charles concocts many ideas
for his future, but they
all require funding from Shelley.
Thomas provides us
some relief from Charles
by chaperoning him on long walks.
One night after reading Peacock’s poem
“The Genius of the Thames,”
we four decide to embark
on a boating expedition
up the river. I enjoy
the old houses surrounded by
purple loosestrife and golden water-irises.
The slow row of the boat
through the locks soothes me.
I lounge back and smell
peace in the air.
We discuss history,
politics, and literature
with vigor and ambition.
We spend the day
wandering Oxford
and stand in Shelley’s
old room at University College.
Magic occurred here,
an alchemy of spirit
pushed at the boundaries
of human knowledge.
This is where my Shelley and Hogg
threatened the world
to open its eye,
and for such blasphemy
were expelled.
We travel ten days
but no more
even though we thoug
ht
to try and reach Wales
and the Lake District.
We haven’t adequate funds,
and the water lowers
so shallow, we must
carry the boat
above our heads.
We merrily voyage home.
BISHOPSGATE
Autumn 1815
Shelley finds great inspiration
and harmony here
in Bishopsgate.
He embarks on a new poem
even more ambitious
than Queen Mab.
Peacock suggests
he call it Alastor
or The Spirit of Solitude.
It tells the story of a poet who
leaves his home
to wander the world,
and ends with the poet’s solitary death
which is then mourned
by nature and the narrator.
I help him copy the poem out
and praise the work
as genius.
In Alastor Shelley raises the question
of whether a poet
needs companionship
or solitude to produce great work.
I am never certain
which best serves Shelley himself.
Inspired, I find that I must
study Latin again
as we have many classical
discussions, and I want
to be active in the conversation,
not just one taking notes.
I apply myself to daily exercises
and Shelley is impressed
by my quick progress.
This pregnancy feels
more stable, too,
like a boat on still water.
I begin to have faith
that the baby will be fine.
WILLIAM SHELLEY
January 24, 1816
Born this day
a baby boy.
We name him William
after my father.
I cradle my baby
in my arms
and hope that Father
will wish to do the same.
William appears healthy
and strong as the sea.
As I nurse him for
the first time
I know for certain
I wish us to never part.
Claire comes to helps me
with the birth and the baby,
but she is determined
not to stay with me and Shelley.
She seeks more independence.
This is good,
because I am determined
not to let her stay.
THE INFAMOUS POET
Winter–Spring 1816
Where Claire has lived
these past few months
seems a bit of a mystery.
She stays out of touch
until she requires something of me.
Claire writes many letters
of late, and thankfully
not to my Shelley
as in the past.
She decides to correspond
with another more infamous
and yet celebrated poet,
Lord Byron.
Much gossip
surrounds Byron
and I cannot truly distill
what is truth,
but it appears he
recently legally separated
from his wife
as he had an affair
with his half-sister.
I care little for scandal
and those who spread it;
what matters to me
is that Byron’s poetry is triumphant,
Hideous Love Page 4
