A Woman of Substance

Today I’d like to turn my attention to a woman. A true feminist and a true talent. She married for love, but she didn’t subject herself to it. She fought for love and defended it. She was “…fearless, and therefore powerful.” She was Mary Wollstonecraft Shelly (1797–1851). 

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley is best known for her writing, her stark feminism in an era, the 19th century, of bigotry, and of course, for being the lover first, and the wife later, of Percy Bysshe Shelley. Mary’s parents were both beacons of intellectuality, modernity and progress. Her father was William Godwin, a radical writer and political philosopher, and her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, often considered the first feminist, was the author of The Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792) and a journalist.

It was inevitable that Percy would meet Mary at some point, considering her parent’s radical thinking. Percy used to frequent their cultural circle to discuss anything from economy and politics to poetry and philosophy. It was at one of these meetings, in 1812, that Mary met Percy Bysshe Shelley for the first time. In 1814 she began a relationship with him, she was only 17 years old and he was a married man. What do you think of her two lines?

The bubble floats before,
The shadow stalks behind.

The two met in secret, and once her father discovered their relationship, he tried to stop it, but failed. This was obviously a huge scandal in the London of respectability. In the same year, the couple left for France to travel across Europe, leaving behind them a wake of gossip and disgrace. Their relationship was a tumultuous one and riddled with intense passion and tragedy. Mary’s first 3 children died soon after birth, and only her fourth child, a son, lived to survive her. 
When in Italy, in 1822, Percy sadly drowned in a boating accident off the coast of Viareggio. Mary mourned his loss until she died several years later in 1851, at the age of 53. 

There are a few different tales of Percy’s death, but the one that is he most poignant is this. When Percy Shelley was being cremated on the beach, Lord Byron who was his friend and fellow poet, thrust his hand in the burning pyre and pulled out Shelley’s heart, saying that this great poetic heart could not be burnt away! The story goes that he kept the heart in alcohol and later gave it to Mary. The story slowly fell into legend, until Mary’s death, for it is believed that a pouch was found amongst her belongings, labelled, Percy’s heart! True or not, it’s a touching story.

One of Mary's short poem:

Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried,
What hell it is——
To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares,
To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs;
To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone.

Mary Shelley’s novel, Frankenstein, about the creation of a monstrous being by an eccentric genius (the modern Prometheus), was her masterpiece. The monster could also represent society’s creation of the industrial revolution, which turned against that same society that had created it. I shall return to this work in the future, as it deserves a page to itself. Several other of her novels are today considered praiseworthy by critics. Her nonfiction prose, like biographies, documentaries and travel essays are also worthy of note. Many critics believe, in fact, that her nonfiction work is even more significant.



The love between Percy and Mary was deep and boundless. Even though they both believed in free love and an open marriage, they were intrinsically bound to each other. His thoughts were always for her.

To Mary Shelley

The world is dreary,
And I'm weary
Of wandering on without thee, Mary;
A joy was erewhile
In thy voice and thy smile,
And 'tis gone, when I should be gone too, Mary.


Percy had also jotted down these words in his notebook when in Italy:

My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone,
And left me in this dreary world alone?
Thy form is here indeed—a lovely one—
But thou art fled, gone down a dreary road
That leads to Sorrow's most obscure abode.
For thine own sake I cannot follow thee
Do thou return for mine.

To conclude, let Mary give you her Stanzas:

Stanzas

Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!
I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.

’Twas thus, as ancient fables tell,
Love visited a Grecian maid,
Till she disturbed the sacred spell,
And woke to find her hopes betrayed.

But gentle sleep shall veil my sight,
And Psyche’s lamp shall darkling be,
When, in the visions of the night,
Thou dost renew thy vows to me.

Then come to me in dreams, my love,
I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.