p •" 
 
 ercy B. Shelley 
 
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 A Vicissitude in Four Acts 
 
 John Franklyn Phillips 
 
 Copyrif(ht. 1908. by John Franklyn Phillips 
 Printed by the Author in an Edition of Fifty Copies 
 
 NEW YORK, 1908 
 
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 Percy B. Shelley 
 
 A Vicissitude in Four Acts 
 
 John Franklyn Phillips 
 
 Copyright, 1908. by John Frankiyn Phillip* ] 
 
 Printed by the Author in an Edition of Fifty Copies / /i^O / ^"^ 
 
 NEW YORK, 1908 
 

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 FOREWORD 
 
 In this delineation of the philosopher-poet's charac- 
 ter, my chief aim has been to state intelligently his side 
 of The Question which circumstances compelled him to 
 decide. In doing this, I feel that I have paid him the 
 highest tribute; for, although he has had many biog- 
 raphers, none were sufficiently akin to him in intellect 
 and temperament to fully comprehend the master 
 morality of his actions during the summer of 1814. 
 
 J. F. P. 
 
PERSONS CONCERNED. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley, age 22. 
 
 Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, age 16. 
 
 Clara Mary Jane Clairmont, age 16. 
 
 Harriet Shelley, age 19. 
 
 Thomas Jefferson Hogg, a few years older than 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 Thomas Love Peacock, age 28. 
 
 William Godwin, age 58. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin, age unknown. 
 
 Hoo:^ham, a publisher. 
 
 Child. 
 
 Driver. 
 
 Postboy. 
 
 Servant. 
 
 Time: 1814. 
 
DESCRIPTION OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 Percy B3'sshe Shelley : A tall, slender youth with a 
 slight stoop which makes him appear of ordinary height. 
 His brown curly hair, long and bushy and unkempt, 
 his sensitive mouth and large blue eyes denote his 
 poetic proclivities ; while the expensive but untidy dress, 
 with throat exposed, the small, irregular features and 
 very small head, and the shrill and slightly discordant 
 voice are suggestive of ideas which are not common- 
 place. Enthusiasm dominates all his actions. 
 
 Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin: A young girl just 
 budding into womanhood. Her hazel eyes, pale face 
 and well-proportioned figure, constitute an admirable 
 combination of feminine loveliness. She wears a frock 
 of tartan, somewhat out of date. Her piercing look is 
 sufficient evidence of a strong mind. Her manner is 
 unconventional, sometimes bold, and even on occasion 
 imperious. 
 
 Clara Mary Jane Clairmont : Dark eyes, dark hair, 
 olive cheeks, brilliant, ardent, witty, pleasure-loving, 
 indolent and discontented. By nature romantic, with a 
 taste for gaiety and sensual pleasures. She calls her- 
 self "Claire," which is more fashionable than Jane — 
 the name her family insist upon calling her — and shows 
 a fondness for aristocratic surroundings which the 
 Godwins cannot afford. Egoism, which is only another 
 name for naturalness, purity of self-respect and intelli- 
 gent sincerity, is pre-eminently the motive power of 
 her existence. 
 
 Harriet Shelley : A premature young woman, good- 
 looking, and capable of strong feeling, but rather cold, 
 
 5 
 
stoical and indifferent. She is just a trifle haughty, and 
 her dress, although not ostentatious, shows an inclina- 
 tion to extravagance. 
 
 Thomas Jefferson Hogg: A typical young Lon- 
 doner of some means and a taste for literature. He is 
 a lawyer by profession, and an epicurean in the popular 
 sense of the word by nature. The knowledge of life 
 which he has gained has made him much more practical 
 than Shelley. He is also cynical, although his cynicism 
 is mitigated by a good-natured disposition. 
 
 Thomas Love Peacock : A tall, handsome young 
 man of the conventional type. His dark blue eyes and 
 bright brown hair, extravagant in its disarray, are 
 symbols of keen ironic wit and the studied precision of 
 a gentleman of belles lettres. He is an admirer of 
 ancient art and literature, and a warm friend of 
 Shelley's. 
 
 William Godwin : A short, stout, thick-set old 
 gentleman with a fair complexion and a bald head of 
 unusual size. Although he is in fairly comfortable 
 circumstances, one would not think so by looking at 
 his dark, plain and old-fashioned clothes. He is a non- 
 resistant, an ancient Tolstoian in a state of mental 
 decline. The large silver watch which he carries is 
 continually consulted as if he were afraid of forgetting 
 something. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : An ordinary, middle^class English 
 woman, probably fifty years of age. She is disagree- 
 able whenever she can be so with impunity, especially 
 to her step-daughter, Mary Godwin, whom she hates 
 most cordially. She is also liable on the slightest 
 provocation to give vent to a violent temper, which 
 is seldom checked except by fear. 
 
ACT I. 
 
 William Godzvin's study, Skinner Street, London, 
 on the morning of July 8th. In the hack are tivo zmn- 
 dows with shelves of old hooks hetween. In front, on 
 the left, is a zvriting table and tzvo chairs, over zuhich 
 hangs the picture of Mary WoUstonecraft. Farther 
 hack, on the left, is a door. In front, on the right, is 
 another door, partly covered hy a curtain. A tea table, 
 zvith glasses and glass pitcher, is in front of the open 
 zvindozv to the right, around zvhich chairs are placed. 
 Mrs. Godzvin is peevishly dusting the hook-shelves, 
 zvhile Claire is sitting at the uniting table reading a 
 hook. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : The Lord only knows what is 
 going to happen to us next! Godwin just got quieted 
 down and stopped writing those awful books, when 
 Shelley came to us with his infamous notoriety. I half 
 expect to be murdered by some of their revolutionary 
 admirers or arrested by the police. 
 
 Claire : Oh, mama ! Why be so cranky and old- 
 fashioned ? You know papa and Shelley are advanced 
 thinkers and you ought to be proud of them. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin (looking at her sharply) : One 
 would almost think, sometimes, that you were God- 
 win's daughter to hear you talk. Your own father 
 never entertained such crazy notions as you attribute 
 to advanced thinkers. I consider them absolutely de- 
 moralizing! Just think of those tramps who came 
 here this morning, looking for Mr. Shelley. They had 
 the efifrontery to ask me if I were his mother or his 
 zfife! (Claire smiles.) 
 
 7 
 
Claire : They complimented you. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : Jane Clairmont ! You dare to say 
 that ! Me, the mother of this fanatical friend of God- 
 win's — this boy who reads, and eats bread while walk- 
 ing the streets of London — this miserable person — this 
 — that — why, his own wife can't even live with him ! 
 
 Claire {sarcasfically) : Goodness! He's a mon- 
 ster ! 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : You are a very saucy girl. When 
 I was a young woman I was taught to respect my 
 mother. 
 
 Claire (zvearily) : Oh, spare me that hackneyed, 
 ridiculous reproach. We're living in England in 1814; 
 not China, or any other back-world country, where 
 parental tyranny is maintained. Heaven knows I have 
 a hard enough time existing in our poverty without 
 your adverse dissertations. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : And Heaven knows you have been 
 as expensive as five ordinary children. And now — you 
 are up-holding Shelley's libertinism, radicalism, an- 
 archy — oh ! that I should ever live to see this day ! 
 
 Claire (angrily) : Please look here, mother! I'm 
 getting tired of your continual fault-finding. I'm not 
 going to submit to your eternal caviling. Mr. Shelley 
 is a friend of papa's and Mary's and mine, and you 
 quit traducing him. You can't bully me like you try 
 to everybody else. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin (snapping like a whipped dog) : 
 Insulted ! insulted ! ! by my own flesh and blood ! If 
 your dead father (A knock.) 
 
 CLiViRE : Come in. (Hogg enters.) 
 
 Hogg : Good-morning ! 
 
 Claire: Good-morning, Mr. Hogg! You called 
 for your book, I presume? 
 
 Hogg:. Yes; Shelley left it here last night, so I 
 dropped around to get it. Your brother told me to 
 come right up. 
 
Claire: It is on top of papa's writing table; but 
 {getting up) won't you stay a little and join nie in a 
 glass of iced tea? 
 
 Hogg : Thank you ; I will. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : I am glad, Mr. Hogg, that Jane 
 has found someone who is congenial to her. It seems 
 her mother is a nuisance. {She goes out. Hogg looks 
 inquiringly at Claire, who is pouring the tea.) 
 
 Claire : Oh, don't pay any attention to mama. 
 She has had another cranky spell because I defended 
 Shelley when she ranted against him. Please be 
 seated. 
 
 Hogg {as they sit dozvn at tea table) : I see; she 
 objects to Shelley's radicalism. Does she have them 
 often ? 
 
 Claire : Why, yes ; mama is not as young as she 
 was once — disagreeable, I mean. 
 
 Hogg (drinking tea) : Yes, I know. It is a natural 
 mental decline, although some people escape. This tea 
 is excellent — won't you have some lemon ? 
 
 Claire {taking a piece) : Thank you. I glanced 
 through your book — "Voltaire's Letters on the Chris- 
 tian Religion" — but I couldn't discover much of his 
 world-famous wit in it. 
 
 Hogg : No, there is not much wit in his ''Letters," 
 but he said somewhere that when a woman is no longer 
 acceptable to man she turns to God. That's pretty 
 keen, you know. 
 
 Claire : Goodness ! Mr. Hogg. Do you enjoy 
 such cynical ideas? 
 
 Hogg : Well, probably he is a little over-estimated. 
 Ridicule was the only thing in which he excelled, an^ 
 that he used against Atheism. I presume that a step- 
 daughter of the author of "Political Justice" is free 
 from all theistic religions? 
 
 Claire: Yes, indeed. Shelley has told us of the 
 experience you and he had, when you were both ex- 
 
 9 
 
pelled from Oxford for publishing the "Necessity of 
 Atheism." 
 
 Hogg : True, I was expelled on account of the 
 pamphlet, although I did not even help in writing it. 
 Shelley w^as both author and publisher. By-the-bye, 
 you have not told me what you think of ''Queen Mab" ? 
 
 Claire : I think it is a wonderful and splendid 
 piece of work, but I would hardly call it a poem. 
 
 Hogg: Why? 
 
 Claire : It lacks in technique, for one thing. It 
 seems to me more of a versified philosophic thesis, or 
 a poetic essay. As poetry — it is far below Byron's 
 "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." 
 
 Hogg : I do not agree with you. Mere art with- 
 out an underlying current of thought, in my estima- 
 tion, is inferior to didactic art — artistic philosophy. I 
 will admit that Byron is a finer poet than Shelley, but 
 as a writer — Shelley, I think, excels. He is unquestion- 
 ably the deeper thinker of the tw^o. 
 
 Claire : That may be so, or not — but we were 
 speaking of poetry. The ease with which Byron 
 handles the Spenserian stanza, the vividness of his 
 imagination, the beauty of his word painting, and best 
 of all, the clearness of his style — I consider, places him 
 above all English poets — Shakespeare included. 
 
 Hogg : I am afraid our tastes in literature are 
 somewhat dififerent, and you seem to be a great ad- 
 mirer of Lord Byron. In fact, he has a reputation of 
 being rather a profligate fellow, around whom many 
 girl moths flutter. 
 
 . Claire: Do I understand that you believe me to 
 be infatuated with Lord Byron? 
 
 Hogg: I do not know, but I do know you are a 
 very attractive girl. 
 
 Claire (obviously pleased) : Please do not try to 
 take advantage of my age, Mr. Hogg. You see, I 
 
 10 
 
know of your unhappy episode with Harriet, although 
 Shelley was not my informer. 
 
 Hogg: Claire, I (Mrs. Godzmn comes in.) 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : Jane, are you ever 
 
 Claire : Mama, Mary said she was going to bake 
 some pies. You had better stop her, or she will make 
 a terrible mess in the kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin (forgetting her intention to annoy 
 Claire, indignantly) : She is going to bake some pies, 
 is she? I most assuredly will stop her. (She goes 
 out, slams door. Slight embarrassment.) 
 
 Claire: One must lie occasionally to protect one- 
 self from annoyances. 
 
 Hogg : Exactly ; I have also found it necessary. 
 Just as your mother interrupted us, I called you Claire 
 for the first time — are you angry? 
 
 Claire (smiling) : No ; why should I be, Mr. 
 Hogg? I'm very young. 
 
 Hogg : Not too young to handle a woman's wea- 
 pons, though. Why did you refer to my episode with 
 Harriet? 
 
 Claire : Because I believe that you began by com- 
 plimenting her — possibly as you complimented me just 
 now. 
 
 Hogg : Harriet was married and you are not. 
 And besides, I thought you approved of Mary Woll- 
 stonecraft's and Shelley's liberal views on — on free- 
 dom in matrimony? 
 
 Claire : So I do ; but there is a difference in free- 
 dom in matrimony and — talking flippantly to a six- 
 teen-year-old girl. 
 
 Hogg : Oh, don't dwell on your age, Claire. Har- 
 riet eloped when she was sixteen. Come, let us be 
 good friends — call me Jefferson. 
 
 Claire (pleased, coqnettishly) : Jefferson. 
 
 Hogg: Now we are getting along capitally. (In 
 a loivered tone of voice) How about taking dinner with 
 
 11 
 
me this evening ? We can have a private dining-room, 
 if you wish. 
 
 Claire : No, Mr. Hogg, I will not ; your last re- 
 mark was not even a disguised compliment. 
 
 Hogg {risijig) : Possibly Lord Byron would be 
 more fortunate. (He gets book and hat.) 
 
 Claire : I am sorry you are going away angry, 
 but you must not talk to me like that. I have never 
 had the pleasure of meeting Lord Byron, but 
 
 (Shelley excitedly rushes in; a book is protruding 
 from his right-hand coat pocket.) 
 
 Shelley: What do you think! I met a friend of 
 Godwin's at Cook's Hotel who not only attacked "The 
 Rights of Women," but says Godwin agrees with him 
 that the book has a degenerating tendency. 
 
 Hogg: Who? 
 
 Shelley : I did not stop to inquire his name. But 
 what has happened to Godwin? Is he in his dotage? 
 Has the greatest philosopher of England become a 
 worshiper of modern social conditions? 
 
 Claire : Mama thinks papa is very radical. 
 
 Shelley : Yoiimother does not think at all — she 
 only thinks she thinks. (Mrs. Godunn has come in 
 unobserved by Shelley, and overheard his last remark.) 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : Mr. Shelley, I must say you are 
 a gentleman. 
 
 Shelley : Pardon me, Mrs. Godwin, but I am 
 not. I would rather be an Egyptian mummy than 
 an English gentleman. (Mrs. Godziin goes out, slams 
 door.) This is an outrage! Is all philosophy worthy 
 of the name to be digested into immorality? (Passing 
 
 his fingers through his hair. ) Am I forever to be 
 
 (Godzmn comes in. Shelley rushes at him.) Did you 
 ever say "The Rights of Women" had a degenerating 
 tendency ? 
 
 Godwin (slozvly) : Good-morning, Mr. Shelley. 
 You have evidently been talking to Mr. Drake. 
 
 12 
 
Shelley : I do not know who it was. However, 
 I never thought you would become a RoyaUst. 
 
 Godwin (sitting down at zvriting table) : You are 
 excited, my dear young man. Collect yourself, and I 
 will explain my position. {Hogg sits dozen.) 
 
 Shelley : Yes, yes, what is it ? 
 
 Godwin : When I was your age, I also was en- 
 thused by revolutionary doctrines. Permit me to say, 
 Mr. Shelley, that you are a very young man at this 
 period of your development ; and I believe you will 
 become less violent as you advance in years. 
 
 Hogg : Tliat is usually the way. 
 
 Godwin (to Shelley, continuing) : I grant you, 
 sir, that my former wife was right in many of her 
 views ; nevertheless, we must endure the present sys- 
 tem of society until it can be gradually changed. To 
 revolutionize society would be the greatest catastrophe 
 that could possibly happen. My conversation with 
 Mr. Drake, to which you referred, was to the effect 
 that 'The Rights of Women" has a tendency to incite 
 the people to anarchy ; and the same indictment, I am 
 sorry to say, stands against my "Inquiry Concerning 
 Political Justice." 
 
 Shelley: What do you recommend, then? 
 
 Godwin : Universal education and non-resistance. 
 If revolutionary radicals did not continually challenge 
 those who cause evil — evil would gradually subside for 
 the want of stimulus. I believe that violence begets 
 violence, and that resisting neither good nor evil is 
 the only way to bring about harmony and peace. 
 
 Shelley (zvaiking about) : Of course, you are 
 older than I, Godwin ; and I respect your greater ex- 
 perience, but as a matter of principle I must defend 
 your former point of view against your present theories 
 of peace — peace secured by oppression, starvation and 
 misery. If force begets force, force also stops force, 
 
 13 
 
as physics demonstrates — and that is what we Revolu- 
 tionists are trying to do. 
 
 Godwin : Yes, I know. 
 
 Shelley : And you also know very well that 
 government and its representatives assassinate liberty 
 at every step : it taxes people against their will and 
 compels unwilling labor. You admit all this, Godwin, 
 and in the name of all that is sacred, how can two 
 forces invade each other at the same time? 
 
 Godwin : Of course they cannot, Mr. Shelley, but 
 the revolutionists merely aggravate the invasion. 
 
 Shelley : Goethe and Lamarck believe on fairly 
 substantial evidence that the human race has evolved 
 from lower forms of animals ; that is, life is a struggle 
 for existence, and he or they who cease to struggle are 
 quickly eliminated. I think the simile of a drifting log, 
 and a well-built ship under full sail, illustrates my 
 meaning. Which of the two has the better chance to 
 reach the desired port? 
 
 Godwin : Well, well, time alone will reveal the 
 truth. 
 
 Shelley (sitting on the edge of a chair) : Your 
 friend Drake laid particular stress on Mary Wollstone- 
 craft's objection to existing political economy. 
 
 Hogg (risi^ig) : And I most emphatically agree 
 with him. Take the United States for an example of 
 monetary disruption. The new Republic came very 
 nearly being ruined by the lack of revenue. 
 
 Shelley (also getting tip) : That is just it — the 
 pecuniary system was merely disturbed. It was not 
 destroyed — only its food supply, the slave labor of the 
 landless, was cut off. 
 
 Hogg (to Godwin) : That is one subject on which 
 Shelley and I will probably always differ. Why he 
 advocates taking care of an army of lazy, worthless 
 tramps, I cannot understand. 
 
 Claire: I'm sorry, Shelley, but I also must dis- 
 14 
 
agree on taking care of tramps. If some people have 
 more brains than others, I do not believe in preventing 
 them from forging ahead of the rabble. 
 
 Shelley (sitting doum a gain) : If you will allow 
 me, I will try to make you understand Mary Wollstone- 
 craft's economic thesis, as I understand it. 
 
 Hogg : Proceed. 
 
 Shelley : She has propounded the expression that 
 man is a land animal. 
 
 Hogg : But you want to take the land away from 
 those who have earned it by their brains and give it to 
 people who are too indolent to work for it. 
 
 Shelley : Let us see how it was got by those who 
 have earned it by their brains. 
 
 Claire : By superior ability, of course. 
 
 Shelley : On the contrary, in many instances 
 large tracts have been given by kings to nobles for 
 services rendered by their peasants in war. That was 
 the original way in which land was earned — by the 
 price of forcing others to shed blood. And afterwards 
 it was bequeathed from father to son ; that is, children 
 receive wealth and power without personal exertion. 
 
 Hogg : Well, granting that that was wrong : every 
 man to-day is free to acquire, by his labor and thrift, 
 whatever he is able to, and all are protected by law. 
 
 Claire: That's right, Mr. Hogg, stand up for 
 your profession. 
 
 Hogg : Yes, without law do you suppose any 
 woman would dare to leave the house? and even in- 
 doors no woman would be safe. 
 
 Shelley : No, nor will she ever be without order, 
 and the existence of law is an acknowledgement of 
 disorder. Can you not see that the two terms are con- 
 trary to each other? 
 
 Godwin : Mr. Hogg said that every man to-day is 
 free to earn what he can. 
 
 Hogg: Thank you, Mr. Godwin; I almost forgot 
 15 
 
that point. Well, Bysshe. what have you to say in 
 reply ? 
 
 Shelley (excitedly running his fingers through his 
 hair) : How can one get what is already owned, taken, 
 protected by a police force? 
 
 Hogg : By giving a just equivalent for it in service. 
 
 Shelley : This is the way he gets it, whatever 
 you mean by it. Imagine an armed soldier over here ; 
 (points to right) and an unarmed slave over there 
 (points to left). 
 
 Hogg : Well ? 
 
 Shelley : The soldier points his musket at the 
 slave and says : Do so-and-so or I will take your life. 
 
 Claire: I don't follow you. 
 
 Shelley : Land, which is indispensable to man, 
 has been monopolized by force and is owned by a cer- 
 tain class. That class, through its ownership of the 
 land, controls the money — the necessities of existence. 
 It says to the landless : Do so-and-so or we will not 
 permit you to get the products of our soil and you 
 shall starve to death. This condition is maintained 
 by lazv, Jefferson, which you said protected all. 
 
 Hogg : Admitting for the sake of argument that 
 what you say is not greatly exaggerated — do you not 
 advocate robbing the robber ? 
 
 Shelley : We are arguing in a circle. I just fully 
 explained that to Godwin. If no resistance were rnade, 
 the workers would be worked beyond all limits of en- 
 durance. At present life is a battle : the rich fight to 
 oppress the poor and the poor fight to live. It is a 
 struggle between the many and the few — and, if the 
 many ceased to struggle, and placed themselves at the 
 mercy of the few — the Spanish Inquisition would be 
 insignificant compared with the Horror which would 
 follow. I am surprised, Jefferson, at such a paradox 
 as robbing the robber. 
 
 16 
 
Godwin : Allow me to suggest that you were dis- 
 cussing political economy. 
 
 Claire: Why, yes, so we were; and Shelley ob- 
 jected to people accumulating wealth. 
 
 Shelley : There is no wealth but the labor of man. 
 Were the mountains of gold and the valleys of silver, 
 the world would not be one grain of corn the richer ; 
 no one comfort would be added to the human race. In 
 consequence of (A faint knock.) 
 
 Godwin : Did some one knock? {Claire opens the 
 door. A child of seven or eight years old, pale and 
 emaciated, barefooted and dressed in rags, stands 
 there. ) 
 
 Claire : Well, little boy ? 
 
 Child : Please, ma'am ; mother is very sick, an' 
 sent me to find Mr. Shelley, an' the loidy down stairs 
 sent me hup 'ere. 
 
 Shelley (going to him) : Come in. Tommy. 
 What is the matter with mother? 
 
 Child: Please, sir; she's 'ot all over, an' drinks 
 the hawfulest lot o' water, an' she haint got no money 
 to pay the rent, an' the landlord says as 'ow we must 
 go hout to-morrow, an' sister is gettin' 'ot too, an' we 
 haint 'ad nothin' to eat, sir, and I'm so 'ungry. 
 
 Shelley (to the rest) : Here is one example of 
 the result of economic conditions ; yes, the fruit of non- 
 resistance ; the by-product of our semi-civilization. 
 
 Hogg : Do you know him ? 
 
 Shelley: Yes, I know him. I saved his mother 
 from being turned out to die once before. Mrs. Robin- 
 son is a widow with two children, and I have known 
 her to work at the washtub fifteen hours a day — for 
 what? for what? 
 
 Claire (sarcastically) : To supply you with an ob- 
 ject for your philanthropic work. 
 
 Shelley (continuing, as if he had not heard 
 Claire) : To die when her ability to slave is exhausted. 
 
 17 
 
Godwin : She evidently has some fever. 
 
 Shelley {to the child) : Come along, Tommy; I 
 will go with you to mother. 
 
 Hogg (looking at zvatch) : I must go, too. 
 
 Shelley : You had better not come with me — the 
 fever may be contagious. 
 
 Hogg : I have not the time, or I would. However, 
 I will be around early to-night to continue translating 
 "Horace." 
 
 Shelley: Come as early as you please, Jefiferson, 
 I will be waiting. (To Godzvin) I will be right back. 
 IMary and I are going to catalogue some books. 
 
 Claire : Good-day, Mr. Hogg. I hope you will 
 call again — we're very informal here, as Shelley will 
 testify. 
 
 Hogg: Thank you. 
 
 Godwin (getting up) : And you must come to 
 dinner with Mr. Shelley, sometime. 
 
 Hogg : Thanks ; I shall be delighted. 
 
 Shelley {taking child's hand) : Come on. Tommy. 
 We will get mother up in no time. 
 
 Hogg : Good-bye. 
 
 Godwin: Good-morning, Mr. Hogg. (They go 
 out.) 
 
 Claire (arranging tea things) : Some drunken 
 woman wants more brandy, I suppose. Shelley really 
 ought to have a guardian ; he is imposed upon by every 
 beggar he meets. 
 
 Godwin : It is unworthy of you to say that, Jane. 
 Mr. Shelley has relieved a great deal of suffering by 
 his liberality. (Resumes his seat at desk, looks over 
 papers. ) 
 
 Claire : Yes, and he can relieve as long as he has 
 a farthing left. He saves them from starvation only to 
 have them get into the same condition again — and then 
 more charity is needed. (Silence.) I think it better 
 to let them die and get over their misery at once, than 
 
 18 
 
to prolong their sufifering — only to starve in the end. 
 (Mrs. Codunn co}nes in.) 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : Mr. Hookham wants to see you. 
 
 Godwin : I saw him yesterday; I wonder what he 
 can want? 
 
 Mrs. Godwin: Shall I say you're busy? 
 
 Godwin: No; please ask him to come up. (She 
 goes out. ) Will you copy this for me, Jane ? 
 
 Glaire (taking a paper he gives her) : Certainly, 
 papa. (She goes out.) 
 
 Mrs. Godwin (outside) : The weather is uncom- 
 monly warm, even for July. 
 
 Hookham (also outside) : Yes; it is very warm, 
 indeed. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : To your right, Mr. Hookham. 
 (He conies in.) 
 
 Hookham : I trust I'm not disturbing you, Mr. 
 Godwin ? 
 
 Godwin (risi)ig, offering a chair) : No, sir; won't 
 you be seated? 
 
 Hookham (sitting doivn) : Thank you, sir. 
 
 Godwin : You called to see me about some publica- 
 tion, I presume? 
 
 Hookham : No. Not this time, Mr. Godwin. 
 
 Godwin: No? 
 
 Hookham : No, sir ; I have called to see you on a 
 very delicate matter ; the communication of which I 
 would be very happy to spare you, as well as myself, 
 did not my conscience compel me to do what I consider 
 my duty — my duty, sir, to inform you ; and your right, 
 sir, to know. 
 
 Godwin : You mystify me, Mr. Hookham. 
 
 Hookham : I am speaking, sir, of the significant 
 attentions that Shelley is paying to your daughter, Miss 
 Mary. 
 
 Godwin : Is that so! You astound me! 
 
 Hookham: Yes, sir, just so; if he were a single 
 19 
 
man I should think nothing of it — just the congenial 
 companionship of a young gentleman and a young lady 
 — but, as Shelley is a married man who is separated 
 from his wife, and, sir, a man who holds very queer 
 opinions of marriage — I consider it my duty to inform 
 you that they are almost constantly together. That is 
 why I called his attentions significant. 
 
 Godwin : I am greatly indebted to you for this 
 information. May I ask for all the details of their 
 relations with which you think I am unfamiliar? 
 
 HooKHAM : Certainly. They take lonely walks to- 
 gether; frequent St. Pancras Churchyard at night; 
 and I have seen some recent poems of Shelley's which 
 leave little doubt about his intentions. 
 
 Godwin : You do not mean to say, sir, that Mr. 
 Shelley deliberately submitted such a manuscript for 
 publication ? 
 
 HooKHAM : No, Mr. Godwin ; he accidentally 
 dropped it in the store the other day. 
 
 Godwin : And, Mr. Hookham, do you know if my 
 daughter consciously encourages these attentions that 
 Mr. Shelley pays her? 
 
 Hookham : No, sir ; I do not. 
 
 Godwin : Again I thank you for admonishing me. 
 As a father, I am naturally anxious to guard my daugh- 
 ter from any folly into which her youthful impulses 
 might lead her. 
 
 Hookham (rising) : As I said before, sir, I have 
 only done what I considered my duty. 
 
 Godwin (also rising) : Which I consider a per- 
 sonal kindness. I shall look into the affair at once. 
 By-the-bye, how is the publishing business prospering? 
 
 Hookham : Fairly well, Mr. Godwin. 
 
 Godwin : And Mr. Shelley's "Queen Mab" ? 
 
 Hookham : The poem is not attracting as much 
 attention as we expected. 
 
 Godwin : That is too bad. It is an excellent work 
 20 
 
and deserves recognition as such ; however, I still be- 
 lieve Mr. Shelley has very promising prospects as an 
 author. 
 
 HooKHAM (as Godzmn opens the door for him) : 
 If I can be of further service, sir, command me. {They 
 go out. Claire comes in from behind the curtain; runs 
 on tip-toe to the other door; listens; runs hack again. 
 Godwin returns; sits dozim for a moment in medita- 
 tion.) 
 
 Godwin {rising, going to door) : My dear! 
 
 Mrs. Godwin {outside) : What is it? 
 
 Godwin : I wish to see you a minute. {Mrs. God- 
 zvin comes in.) 
 
 Mrs. Godwin {peez'ishly) : I'm dusting. What is 
 it you Avant ? 
 
 Godwin {resuming seat) : Have you noticed any- 
 thing strange about Mary lately? 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : No, except that she is growing very 
 obstinate. 
 
 Godwin : Does she go out much at night? 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : No more than usual. What are 
 you trying to find out, anyhow? 
 
 Godwin: Hookham just told me that Mr. Shelley 
 is paying her improper attentions. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin: The wretch! I've always said he 
 was capable of anything ! but I did not dream he would 
 dare do anything like that. W^hy do you persist in 
 having him here ? 
 
 Godwin : I will look into the affair — please do 
 not mention what I have said to anyone. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : Oh, you'll look into the afifair, will 
 you ! Why, Godwin, you are totally incompetent to 
 deal with a — with an impudent, crazy man like Shelley. 
 Better let me send him about his business. 
 
 Godwin {zvith decision) : I have decided to attend 
 to this affair myself. Please do not interfere with my 
 own way of looking after my own child. 
 
 21 
 
Mrs. Godwin: Oh, very well; suit yourself. 
 
 God w IN : And remember, I do not wish you to 
 allude to my suspicions to anyone. If it is necessary to 
 speak to Mr. Shelley, I will do so. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : After it is too late, I suppose ; but 
 I will let you reap the results of your fear of exercising 
 a parent's authority. Fm going to continue my dusting. 
 
 Godwin : Kindly ask Mary to come to me. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin : I will — and you please remember, 
 spare the rod and spoil the child. (She goes out. Mary 
 CO tries in directly.) 
 
 Mary : You want to see me, papa ? 
 
 Godwin : Yes, I want to talk to you about Mr. 
 Shelley. 
 
 Mary: Shelley? {Parrying.) Has he not been 
 here to-day? 
 
 GoDw^iN : He just left. {Short pause.) I want 
 to know what your relations are to him, Mary ? 
 
 Mary : Why, papa — I do not know why you ask 
 such a question. I consider Shelley a very dear friend, 
 indeed — if that is what you mean. 
 
 Godwin : I want to know what your relations are 
 to him ; how you feel towards him ; I mean. ^Nlary, do 
 you love him ? 
 
 Mary : I think we all love him, papa. I am sure 
 you do, and 
 
 Godwin : You do not understand me. Mr. Hook- 
 ham just called and informed me that Mr. Shelley is 
 paying you attentions wdiich are improper for a girl 
 to receive, coming, as they do, from a married man. 
 
 Mary {blushing) : I assure you, papa, that Mr. 
 Hookham is mistaken. 
 
 Godwin : He said Mr. Shelley wrote you sugges- 
 tive poems, and also that you and he took lonely walks 
 together, and frequented St. Pancras Churchyard at 
 night. Is this true, Mary? 
 
 Mary : We have taken lonely walks, and gone to 
 22 
 
St. Pancras ; but there is not the slightest thing in our 
 relation that anyone could object to. 
 
 Godwin : What about the poetry ? 
 
 Mary : True, he has dedicated a few poems to me 
 — you know how enthusiastic he is about everyone 
 whom he likes — but why Mr. Hookham should infer 
 that there is anything more than friendship existing 
 between us, I am sure I do not know. The poems are 
 just the same as others which you have seen — shall I 
 get them for you ? 
 
 Godwin: No; I do not doubt your word, Mary. 
 Now that you have assured me that Mr. Hcokham is 
 mistaken, I am perfectly satisfied. However, be very 
 careful about doing anything rashly that Mr. Shelley 
 may suggest. Remember — you are a young girl and 
 should take the best possible care of your — yourself. 
 
 Mary (putting her arms around him) : Believe me, 
 papa : I do assure you Mr. Hookham is mistaken. 
 
 Godwin {affected by her dcmonstrativeness) : 
 There, there, your old father was afraid only of the 
 future; he did not believe his little girl had done any- 
 thing that she should not do. We will say no more 
 about it. How is our library ? 
 
 Mary : We are getting along fine. 
 
 Godwin : Mr. Shelley is coming to help you cata- 
 logue some books — are they new ones ? 
 
 Mary: Yes, some that he and Mr. Hogg gave us. 
 
 Godwin : You have not met Mr. Hogg yet, have 
 
 you? 
 
 Mary : No. 
 
 Godwin : He was here this morning with 
 
 Claire (coming in) : Mama wants the books taken 
 out of the dining room. 
 
 Mary: I will go at once. (She goes out.) 
 Claire (lying to discredit Hookham s infonna- 
 tion) : Do you know, papa, the other day when I was 
 at Hookham's, he wanted -me to sell him some of our 
 
 23 
 
rare works below cost. Did he speak to you about it? 
 
 Godwin : No ; when did he say this ? 
 
 Shelley (coming in): It is all right; nothing 
 dangerous ; the mother and daughter have a low fever, 
 and were actually weak for the want of food. How- 
 ever, they will soon recover. Could you not manage 
 to send them the household washing, Godwin? 
 
 Godwin {rising, looking at his large silver watch) : 
 I will see, Mr. Shelley ; I will consult Mrs. Godwin. 
 
 Shelley: It would be more than charity. (To 
 Claire.) Is Mary ready to commence the books? 
 
 Claire: I think so. 
 
 Godwin (going out) : I have an engagement to 
 dine out to-day. Shall I see you this afternoon? 
 
 Shelley : I think not ; I am going to Mrs. Rob- 
 inson's at three o'clock. 
 
 Godwin: To-morrow, then? 
 
 Shelley: Yes. (Godzvin goes out.) 
 
 Claire : You came to see Mary, I suppose ? 
 
 Shelley : Yes ; to help her with the books. 
 (Starting tozvards the door.) Let us commence. 
 
 Claire : May I talk to you a few moments first ? 
 
 Shelley (stops) : Certainly. 
 
 Claire : Then I want to ask your advice. 
 
 Shelley : To which you are welcome with all my 
 heart. 
 
 Claire (after a moment's silence) : I have been 
 thinking of leaving home. 
 
 Shelley: Why? And what would you do? 
 
 Claire : I could get a position as governess. 
 
 Shelley : Maybe you could ; but why do you wish 
 to leave? Are not you and Mary dear companions? 
 And your mother and father and 
 
 Claire (moving about): Yes, yes; but a girl 
 wants something more than a family and a companion. 
 Every healthy girl with cosmic sap flowing through her 
 veins wants joy, life, and freedom. 
 
 24 
 
Shelley : It is only natural that you should ; how- 
 ever, something has evidently gone amiss. What is it, 
 Claire ? 
 
 Claire: Nothing — nothing, except that I want to 
 live my own life in my own way. Why — my mother 
 treats m.e just as she did six years ago. No one seems 
 to realize that I am developing, changing, growing into 
 womanhood. It's "Jane, do be careful — Jane, you must 
 not do that — Jane, you should not be so forward" — just 
 as if I were a machine made exclusively for parental 
 use. 
 
 Shelley: Godwin surely does not abuse your in- 
 dividuality ? 
 
 Claire (sitting down) : No; papa is good to me; 
 but, as you said a while ago — he is growing old — su- 
 perannuated. 
 
 Shelley: Are you very fond of anyone, Claire? 
 Are you in love? 
 
 Claire : I have no opportunity here to ever get in 
 love. That is just the trouble. I'm a child of poverty, 
 shut out from the adventures of the world. 
 
 Shelley: What is it you desire, Claire? 
 
 Claire : All that I am capable of enjoying. 
 
 Shelley : I do not understand you. 
 
 Claire : Listen to me : only a short time ago I 
 was satisfied to long for a man who could win my love. 
 I was content to dream of a little cottage far ofif some- 
 where in the mountains, surrounded by gay flowers 
 and sweet-singing birds ; a fireside of my own, with 
 my children gathered around me as I would sew by the 
 evening fire. (Getting up.) But now I am through 
 with dreams and ideals — now I want reality — I want 
 to stand on the floor of satisfaction. You surely would 
 not advise me to remain here in this monotonous tomb. 
 
 Shelley : No, not if you feel that way, you cannot 
 in justice to yourself remain at Skinner street. But 
 
 25 
 
do not do anything until the end of this month, when I 
 may be able to assist you. 
 
 Claire (joyously) : I knew it ! I kncAv it would 
 happen ; I 
 
 Shelley (startled) : You knew? 
 
 Claire (consciously) : Why, er — that, that you 
 would help me. 
 
 Shelley : I only said I may be able to assist you. 
 I am not positive. 
 
 Claire : Let's hope for the best — I sincerely wish 
 you success. 
 
 Shelley: Wish me success in what? 
 
 Claire : That you — that we all may be happy some 
 day. 
 
 Shelley (hcunldcrcd) : I trust so. (Short 
 silence.) 
 
 Claire : I have something" to tell vou — confiden- 
 tially. 
 
 Shelley: What? 
 
 Claire : Will you promise not to say anything 
 to Mary about it, just now? 
 
 Shelley : I do not like to make promises, Claire. 
 How long must I remain silent? 
 
 Claire : Only a week — maybe a few days. 
 
 Shelley : Very well, I will promise. 
 
 Claire: Hookham has just been here and told 
 papa that you were paying attentions to Mary which 
 were hardly proper from a married man. I fistened 
 from (pointing) the door. 
 
 Shelley: No, did he? Hookham came here and 
 told Godwin that ! 
 
 Claire: Yes; and papa and Mary have 
 
 Shelley (interrupting her) : By all that is sacred! 
 Am I to be hounded by vituperative beasts forever? 
 Claire, I do not blame you for wanting to leave — you 
 can count upon me to 
 
 Mary (looking in at door) : Shelley! 
 26 
 
Claire (whispers) : Remember your promise. 
 
 Shelley : Mary ! (He darts over to her, takes her 
 by the hand, and brings her into the room) : I came to 
 help you one-half hour ago, and was sent for by a sick 
 woman. 
 
 Mary (zvho carries a copy of "Queen Mab'^) : 
 Better late than never. Is anything serious the matter 
 with her? 
 
 Shelley: No, I had the doctor. A low fever; he 
 could not tell exactly what, but nothing contagious. 
 
 Mary : Claire and I were wondering why you did 
 not come yesterday. Bye-the-bye, Claire, what have 
 you been telling mama ? She insists that I was going 
 to try to poison the family by baking some pies. 
 
 Claire (laughing) : I had quite forgotten — I did 
 send her on a wild goose chase to get rid of her. 
 
 Mary: How unkind; however, (to Shelley) you 
 have not told us where you were yesterday? 
 
 Shelley : Yesterday, yesterday, where was I ? Oh. 
 yes, Hogg and I did some translating, and I lost all 
 track of the time. 
 
 Claire: What book is that you have with you — a 
 new one ? 
 
 Shelley (taking it out of pocket) : It is Ariosto's 
 "Orlando Furioso" — a delightful epic. I see Mary 
 still carries "Queen Mab." 
 
 Claire : Yes ; and if I were as closely akin to the 
 author as she is, I suppose I would do the same. But 
 I'm going to leave you now. 
 
 Shelley: Are you going far? 
 
 Claire : Not very — only to the kitchen. 
 
 Shelley : Oh ! 
 
 Claire: I'll try to interest mama. 
 
 Mary: Do. tell her Shelley is discoursing on 
 astronomy. (They all laugh.) 
 
 Claire: That would be a falsehood. (She goes 
 27 
 
out. Shelley takes Mary's hand and pats it as if she 
 were a child. He looks earnestly at her.) 
 
 Mary : Tell me, Shelley, what is the matter ? You 
 look unusually troubled. 
 
 Shelley : What should a little girl like you want 
 to know about trouble ? 
 
 Mary : I am not a little girl ; there, now ! 
 
 Shelley (dropping her hand) : Very well, I will 
 call you Miss Godwin. Let us go to the library. 
 
 Mary (seriously, putting her hand on his shoul- 
 der) : Laying all joking aside, Shelley, I do not like to 
 see you look sad. Tell me, have you had any further 
 bad news from Harriet? 
 
 Shelley: No; what further bad news could I 
 have ? 
 
 Mary (inadvertently) : Something might have 
 happened to lanthe. 
 
 Shelley : I am sure I do not know ; Harriet does 
 not write. 
 
 Mary : How absurd of me to think such a thing — 
 Of course nothing has happened. 
 
 Shelley (to himself): Poor lanthe! Weaned 
 from a mother's breast; nursed by a hired woman; 
 cared for by Eliza's hands. 
 
 Mary : Why feel so bitter ? 
 
 Shelley : Because she was the cause of Harriet's 
 leaving me. I hate her with all my heart and soul. It 
 is a memory which awakens an inexpressible sensation 
 of disgust and horror to recollect how she caressed my 
 poor child, in whom I may hereafter find the consola- 
 tion of sympathy. I sometimes feel faint with the 
 fatigue of checking the overflowing of my unbounded 
 abhorrence for this miserable wretch. 
 
 Mary : But she means lanthe no harm. 
 
 Shelley : No ; she is no more than a blind and 
 loathsome worm that cannot see to sting. 
 
 Mary (coming close to him) : Dear Shelley, you 
 28 
 
know how much it pains me to see that you are un- 
 happy. 
 
 Shelley : Does it, honestly, Mary ? Do you really 
 care so much ? 
 
 Mary (softly) : You know I do — (He looks 
 straight at her; her eyes drop.) Yes. 
 
 Shelley : And yet 
 
 Mary (going away from him, sitting down) ; Let 
 me read again my inscription in my copy of "Queen 
 Mab." (Opens hook; reads.) This book is sacred to 
 me, and as no other creature shall ever look into it I 
 may write in it what I please — yet what shall I write — 
 that I love the author beyond all powers of expression 
 and that I am parted from him — dearest and only love 
 — by that love we have promised to each other ; al- 
 though I may not be yours, I can never be another's. 
 But I am thine, exclusively thine. 
 
 Shelley (excitedly, rushing about) : Do you not 
 see, Mary, that we love each other by the very force 
 of necessity? You are the only power that causes me 
 to exist from day to day. It is 
 
 Mary : Stop, dear. Why talk about the inevitable ? 
 Only to think, for making just one little mistake we 
 must be miserable the rest of our lives. 
 
 Shelley : I will be damned if vou shall — or I 
 will. I 
 
 Mary: Shelley! I will not listen to you. (She 
 rjins out of room.) 
 
 29 
 
ACT II. 
 
 A corner of old St. Pancras Churchyard at fading 
 izvilight. Monuments and tombstones, almost all of 
 which exhibit a cross and the initials R. I. P., are seen 
 in every direction. The place has not been used in 
 many years, and consequently is in a state of dilapida- 
 tion. In the back ground is a high zvooden fence. To 
 the right, a corner of the church can be seen. To the 
 left, Mary Wollstonecraffs grave is made prominent 
 by a fine zmeping-nnlloiiK Mary enters from the back, 
 zi'aJks slozviy to the zmllozv tree, against zvhich she leans 
 and is silent for a few moments. 
 
 Mary {speaking to her mother's grave) : Oh, 
 mother ! Can you not help me ? It seems as though 
 you were urging me on, to break all chains of con- 
 ventionality and follow wherever this great love which 
 has come to me may lead to. 
 
 Claire (out of sight) : May I come in? 
 
 Mary : Yes, for a little while. 
 
 Claire (entering) : How is it you're alone? 
 
 Mary : I thought I would come a little early — it is 
 so warm in the house. 
 
 Claire: I feel like talking this evening, but I'll 
 go as soon as he comes. I saw him this afternoon. 
 (Claire sits alongside of Mary. Pause.) Have you 
 ever thought, Mary, what a mockery it was to inter a 
 woman of your mother's genius in this haimt of super- 
 stition? 
 
 Mary : Yes, many, many times ; her heart was too 
 loving, her intellect too broad, to receive the impress 
 of creed or dogma. 
 
 30 
 
Claire: She was too advanced for her contem- 
 poraries. Just think what maudhn idiots the most of 
 these men and women resting here were — yes, and the 
 living are no better — your Uncle Charles, for example. 
 
 Mary : Uncle Charles was no better nor worse 
 than the generation that he lived in. 
 
 Claire: What of that? That doesn't excuse his 
 abominable conduct towards your mother. 
 
 Mary : You mean after mama had separated from 
 Imlay 
 
 Claire : Yes, when he offered to procure her a 
 position as weaver in a woolen mill, if she would send 
 her "illegal" child to a foundling's home. 
 
 Mary : FanlK^! It was a brutal thing to say, but 
 mama understood the social pressure which caused 
 him to regard family honor as sacred. 
 
 Claire : And consign to slavery his "erring" 
 sister. 
 
 Claire : And sacrifice ourselves to alien things — 
 Claire, and do away with evil by the power of kindness 
 and affection. 
 
 Claire : And sacrifice ourselves to alien things : 
 offer ourselves up to misery on the altar of Love and 
 Humanity. Well, I for one will not. 
 
 Mary : If every one were as good as you, there 
 would be no need to emancipate our fellow-beings. 
 However, even as things are, I know you are ready to 
 do your share of the world's work. You are not so 
 indifferent to progress and philosophy as you try to 
 make people believe. 
 
 Claire : Oh ! Mary, why persist in trying to make 
 an angel of me, when I am thoroughly bad in every 
 sense of the word. 
 
 Mary : You bad, Claire ? You, my life-long, de- 
 voted friend ! You would not like another than your- 
 self to say that. 
 
 Claire : Don't you understand that I am only your 
 
 31 
 
friend because it gives me pleasure to be? If it afford- 
 ed me more pleasure to hate and torment you, I should 
 most assuredly do so. 
 
 Mary : But you are usually on the side of good- 
 ness and the oppressed. 
 
 Claire: It is pleasant to me to fight oppression. 
 As for goodness — I despise it. 
 
 Mary {getting up) : Listen! What was that? It 
 is not time for Shelley, but I am sure I heard footsteps. 
 
 Claire: Oh, probably some morbid personXcome 
 to commune with the dead. Look, Mary! Here he 
 comes. Why, it's papa — (to Godzvin) whatever brings 
 you here? 
 
 Godwin (coming in, seemingly surprised) : I 
 might ask the same question of you, but to answer 
 you, I was restless and thought to get some inspiration 
 for my new book by an evening walk. (Turning.) 
 Have you girls noticed what a delightful twilight we 
 have to-night, and how picturesque the old church 
 looks? 
 
 Mary (to Claire) : Get him away from here. 
 
 Claire (to Godzvin) : By-the-bye, papa, I quite 
 forgot ; I met Mr. Hogg this afternoon, and he said he 
 was particularly anxious to see you, and he would call 
 at eight o'clock this evening. 
 
 Godwin (looking at silver zvatch) : I had better 
 return then immediately. It is nearly eight o'clock 
 now. I suppose you will be back soon? 
 
 Claire: Yes, very soon. (Godzvin goes out.) 
 
 Mary (sitting doum) : Thank Goodness, Shelley 
 is not early. Well, go on and tell me why you despise 
 goodness ? 
 
 Claire: Wait a minute — did it occur to you, 
 Mary, that papa may have been spying on you? 
 
 Mary (incredulously) : Papa spying on anyone! 
 I do not believe it, Claire ; you are too — but wait — I 
 
 32 
 
do not know but that yon are right. Papa did speak to 
 me about coming here at night with Shelley. 
 
 Claire: Yes. I know. 
 
 Mary : You know ? Tell me, how did you find it 
 out? 
 
 Claire : I listened when Hookham called. Now 
 do you understand why I despise goodness? 
 
 Mary : You mean that when Hookhani told papa 
 his suspicions, he did an act of goodness ? 
 
 Claire : Yes ; as he said himself, he discharged his 
 duty which is tantamount to goodness — that old worn- 
 out idea of Christianity in a new dress. We must 
 define terms by the meanings that usage gives them, 
 otherwise we do not represent things truly, but as we 
 should like to have them. 
 
 Mary : That is a matter of choice. But try as you 
 will, you cannot tell me why you are bad. 
 
 Claire : Because I would steal and rob, cheat and 
 murder, to gain my point, if occasion required it. 
 
 Mary : Claire ! I never heard you talk this way 
 before. Do tell me what is the matter ? 
 
 Claire: Oh ! nothing new, only I'm driven to des- 
 peration by the racking monotony of the life I «m 
 forced to lead. 
 
 Mary : Why not get something definite to do, 
 something to occupy your mind — some work, some 
 study, and by and bye home duties will take their place. 
 I am sure you would be much happier if you only had 
 an object in life. 
 
 Claire : Yes, I tried that as governess — sold my 
 freedom for £2 los. a month. No, thanks, I want no 
 more slavery, no more drudging for another's interest, 
 for me. 
 
 Mary : Even so — you do not want to shirk all 
 responsibility, do you? 
 
 Claire : Yes, I do ; I only want to please myself. 
 I don't care that (snapping her fingers) for others. 
 
nor those stupid, meaningless, abstract words, such as 
 responsibihty, moraHty, duty, honor, justice, etc. Why 
 should I make a slave of myself to an intangible 
 essence ? Why should I bow submissively before other 
 people's thoughts, called philosophy? 
 
 Mary : Surely, thinking is the greatest achieve- 
 ment of man, for without thought we would be on a 
 level with beasts. And, the best thoughts supply us 
 with conceptions that should inspire us to do nobler 
 things, to help each other. 
 
 Claire : Thought is all right only when it is my 
 pleasure to use it. The difference between you and 
 me is, that I use thought, and you allow thought to 
 use you. Not even thought shall be my master. And 
 conceptions — they have meanings only for people who 
 believe in them, like religions. 
 
 Mary (annoyed) : I did not ask you, Claire, for 
 your opinion of my slavishness to philosophy. I see 
 you are in a very bad humor. Shelley asked me to 
 
 Claire {putting her arm around her) : Forgave 
 me, dear; I did not mean to hurt you. 
 
 Mary : I did feel hurt for a second, but never 
 mind. What you were saying is interesting. I under- 
 stand now why you always disagree with Shelley about 
 the workingmen. 
 
 Claire: Yes, I'd work them twice as hard, if I 
 were their mistress. (Pause.) 
 
 Mary : The women, too ? 
 
 Claire : Yes. 
 
 Mary : I thought you agreed with mama in her 
 '^Rights of Women" ? 
 
 Claire: So I did; and I admire the work even 
 yet, but I cannot agree with it the way I have felt lately. 
 
 Mary : You mean that you are bored at home ? 
 
 Claire : Partly that, but I also feel a great surging 
 passion, a something new being born within me. Oh ! 
 I don't know how to say it, a love for wickedness. 
 
 34 
 
Mary : Maybe you really are in love ? 
 
 Claire : I only wish I were ! Oh, for some great, 
 big brute of a man to try to master — some monster 
 who would compel everything to obey him ; yes, even 
 beat me until I fainted from his blows. 
 
 Mary: I think I partly understand you and can 
 even sympathize with you. I, too, have experienced 
 something of that same feeling. I do not mean to 
 injure anyone — but to be loved by a great Force that 
 would fight for human glorification, that would strug- 
 gle against present evils. I wonder what it can be ! 
 
 Claire : I know. 
 
 Mary : What ? 
 
 Claire : The arrival of blood-red womanhood that 
 is pulsating through our veins. 
 
 Mary : But it is such an all-consuming passion, 
 I am afraid of it, I want to make it obedient to jus- 
 tice, at least, my conception of justice. 
 
 Claire : I don't. The Force that drives me on to 
 enjoyment and selfishness is me; it says, make every- 
 thing you can your own ; it is Life itself. (Passionate- 
 ly) You must take me away, you must take me with 
 you. 
 
 Mary : Where ? I am not going away. 
 
 Claire : There is no use trying to deceive me any 
 longer, Mary. 
 
 Mary : I am not trying to deceive you, Claire. 
 What do you mean? 
 
 Claire (Looking at her) : Can it be that you 
 really do not know? 
 
 Mary (annoyed) : For the last time, Claire, I will 
 ask you what you mean? 
 
 Claire: I mean that Shelley loves you. (Pause.) 
 
 Mary : Yes, I know it. 
 
 Claire: And don't you know that it is only a 
 question of time before he will insist on your going 
 away with him? Why, I believe he is about to ask 
 
 35 
 
you now — this very night. He was uncommonly ex- 
 cited when I saw him late this afternoon. 
 
 Mary : No, I do not know that, Claire. 
 
 Claire : Well, I do. And what are you going to 
 say to him? 
 
 Mary : That I shall not go — should he ask me 
 such a question. 
 
 Claire (zmrmly) : You, the daughter of Mary 
 Wollstonecraft, her professed disciple and co-worker, 
 renouncing the man you love because conventional 
 morality says you mttst! 
 
 Mary : It is not morality ; I was not thinking of 
 that. 
 
 Claire : What then ? in the name of common 
 sense. 
 
 Mary : I was thinking what an effect such an 
 action on my part would have on our parents, Shelley's 
 wife and his child. 
 
 Claire (sarcastically) : Oh, I see! Not m.orality 
 — only humane feelings. 
 
 Mary : Yes. 
 
 Claire: In other words, respect other people's 
 feelings and disrespect your own. 
 
 Mary : Even so, there are more than two people 
 to be made unhappy by our eloping, and why should 
 the many be made miserable at the expense of the 
 few? 
 
 Claire : So Christianity is right, after all. Self- 
 renunciation is the noblest thing in life. The early 
 fanatics sacrificed themselves to God, and now, you 
 wish to sacrifice yourself to Humanity. 
 
 Mary : If it is necessary, I am ready to do so. 
 
 Claire {ar guinentatively) : Well, who is Human- 
 ity? You, papa, Shelley, Hogg, and myself? No; 
 we are individuals, we do things; we suffer, enjoy and 
 the like. But Humanity does nothing, in fact, it is 
 nothing except an essence, a conception, a new God. 
 
 36 
 
Mary : But Shelley's wife and her child are in- 
 dividuals ; papa and mama are also individuals, all of 
 whom would be very unhappy if I eloped. 
 
 Claire: Nonsense! But how in the name of 
 reason is anyone or everybody going to be elevated 
 and freed, if we are all going to be slaves to anyone 
 or everybody, eh ? Don't you see that the one or ones 
 that you submit to, are inexorable, tyrannical? When 
 individuals cease creating and accepting judges and 
 masters then we may enjoy something that will not 
 be a mockery to liberty. 
 
 Mary : Yes, yes, but I cannot see why the many 
 should suffer for the few ; they for me. It is no use, 
 Claire, you can never make me believe it. 
 
 Claire : Suffer, indeed ! What are they going to 
 suffer from ? 
 
 Mary : They would suffer from my selfishness, in 
 case I were incapable of self-restraint. 
 
 Claire : Oh, then ! So you are going to restrain 
 yourself from being yourself and make yourself miser- 
 able in order not to offend conceptions of duty that 
 you do not believe in. You are not going to act in 
 accordance with your own ideas, but in accordance 
 with ideas held by other people — and so reap the re- 
 ward of unselfishness, a clear conscience and what 
 not. Admirable! x\nd also sacrifice Shelley to your 
 beautiful unselfishness. 
 
 Mary (startled) : What do you say? 
 
 Claire: I said, and also sacrifice Shelley to your 
 immaculate, clear conscience. 
 
 Mary : We are only dreaming, Claire ; talking 
 about what may be. 
 
 Claire : You will learn that we are talking about 
 what is to be. And, moreover, you will learn the 
 after effect of stifling your love. 
 
 Mary : That effect I already know. 
 
 Claire : Maybe you do, but you don't know what 
 37 
 
effect your refusal will have on Shelley. Maiden 
 thoughts at forty, and the recollection of casting off a 
 loved one, would not appeal to me. 
 
 Mary : And no doubt, by refusing to go, I would 
 be sacrificing you ? 
 
 Claire: Certainly. But you will be murdering 
 yourself and — 
 
 Mary : Shelley. 
 
 Claire: Yes. (Pause.) Listen, Mary : You talk 
 about your conscience, duty, etc. What about your 
 duty to Posterity? It will be larger than Humanity. 
 Has it no claims on you ? 
 
 Mary : Yes, vou are right, I have a duty to ful- 
 fill, but— 
 
 Claire : But what ? 
 
 Mary : But how do I know that, er — 
 
 Claire : Shelley will give you a chance. 
 
 Mary : I did not say so. 
 
 Claire: Very well, I'll take it back. (Pause.) 
 
 Mary : You do not seem to realize that I am 
 chiefly concerned in this affair ; yes, even compromised. 
 
 Claire : I most painfully do, Mary. If I were 
 the principal, I would act instead of talking. 
 
 Mary : Talking about acting is much easier than 
 doing. It is hard to be placed as I am ; it is hard for 
 me to forego the joys of life. 
 
 Claire : Do you think if I loved a man as you 
 love Shelley, that any public consideration could keep 
 me from him ? No ! I'd rather win the love of a first- 
 rate man, even though he shared it with other women, 
 than have the exclusive possession of a second-rate 
 one. 
 
 Mary (taking her hand) : I know you feel for me, 
 dear, and perhaps you are right ; but I cannot say at 
 present. This dreadful upset condition has robbed me 
 of the power to think, or act. I have anticipated what 
 you prophesy for weeks and weeks. 
 
 38 
 
Claire : But you must act — you must do some- 
 thing. I firmly believe Shelley is going to speak to- 
 night. {Looks at her watch.) He will be here any 
 minute now. 
 
 Mary : I want to do whatever is best ; I shall try 
 to do whatever is best for all, but, I fear, I do not 
 know but that Shelley's sentiment for old memories 
 may cause him to become reconciled to Harriet. 
 (Claire smiles.) 
 
 Claire: No, Mary, Shelley is not a sentimental 
 idiot. You must decide his future as well as your 
 own, and remember, you cannot sacrifice yourself with- 
 out sacrificing him also. But I'm sure everything will 
 come out all right, only be brave. {Some one is heard 
 walking. They both rise.) He's coming now. {Kisses 
 her.) Be brave. {She goes out.) 
 
 {Shelley, dominated by a unld, ungovernable pas- 
 sion, rushes in. He runs to Mary, clasps her in his 
 arms and kisses her.) 
 
 Mary {breathlessly) : Shelley! {Disengages her- 
 self.) 
 
 Shelley : There, Mary, do not be angry, I have 
 suffered from an insane delusion for the last four 
 hours that you would not meet me to-night. And — 
 when I saw you, my joy completely mastered me. 
 
 Mary : But — but what has happened ? 
 
 Shelley : An inevitable crisis has come in my 
 life, and I could not have lived twenty-four hours 
 longer without stating my case to you as a final judge, 
 and coming to an understanding. {He begins to walk 
 lip and dozvn. Mary leans against willozv-tree.) 
 Please do not interrupt me : let me briefly sketch the 
 course of my unhappy life. From my very childhood 
 the iron arm of despotism has been upon me. My 
 boyhood walks by moonlight were spied upon by my 
 father's servants. My schooldays were embittered by 
 persecuting companions. My college career ended in 
 
 39 
 
expulsion, because I dared to express my honest con- 
 victions. And now, worst of all, my soul is being- 
 choked by a damnable ring of gold — the emblem of 
 respectability. Oh, fool that I was ! to have acted con- 
 trary to the dictates of my reason. 
 
 Mary (softly) : You mean by marrying Harriet? 
 
 Shelley : Ay, but the fault was not entirely hers, 
 nor mine. The fault lies in the alternative between 
 celibacy and unjust social persecution. You know of 
 my unfortunate experience : Westbrook insisted upon 
 Harriet's returning to school against her will. The 
 brutal authority of parental dictatorship has destroyed 
 countless submissive children ; and Harriet appealed to 
 me to save her from her father's tyranny. I protest 
 against the inhuman treatment of pristine soul stuff, 
 the mother's threat, the father's command, the attempted 
 annihilation of budding individuality by V^ampires who 
 endeavor to think and feel for the personified Joys of 
 Cupid. I could not let Harriet glut the poisonous 
 vat of submission. We eloped, and in my weakness 
 I made the momentous mistake of substituting my will 
 for the will of public opinion. I sought in my delusion 
 to protect Harriet, and so we were married. My father 
 stopped my allowance — the Westbrook's denounced me 
 — and only for the magnanimity of a few dear friends 
 we two children would have starved to death. At this 
 very minute I feel nothing but pity for my wife and 
 I respect her sincerity in voluntarily leaving me ; but 
 Mary (gohig closer to her), I never loved her : chivalry 
 and friendship were the causes which made me decide 
 to cast my lot w4th hers : not love, the love of man for 
 woman which spurs man on to climb the alpine heights 
 of Difficulty, in order to be better able to help Human- 
 ity and facilitate the sacred Brotherhood of Man. 
 Through the cruelty and kindness of Fate, Mary, I 
 was attracted to your father by the splendor of his 
 genius. It is now two years since we first met, and 
 
 40 
 
at that time I was at the zenith of what I mistook for 
 Happiness. Then I was comparatively free from care — 
 and yet, I felt the need of something which I did not 
 have; a longing- for sonietliing, I knew not what. Now 
 I am a free man ; my wife has abandoned me and I 
 recognize no duty to man nor God before the duty I 
 owe to myself. Mary, you know what I mean : you 
 may struggle against the Will of Nature, but, believe 
 me, you will not succeed ; you may talk of conjugal ties, 
 yet you cannot but realize the meaninglessness of your 
 words ; you may hesitate, but sooner or later you shall 
 requite my love. 
 
 Mary: But — Harriet? 
 
 Shelley : I have every reason to believe that 
 Harriet has been untrue to me. 
 
 Mary {much moved) : Oh, I do not know what 
 to do ! I cannot believe it is wrong to love — it is so 
 grand, so noble, and still, I cannot give my consent 
 at present. Let us talk it over, dear, we do not want 
 to do anything rash. Oh, Shelley ! Shelley ! can we be 
 right and everyone else wrong? 
 
 Shelley {more calmly) : Surely you must agree 
 with m.e that a husband and a wife ought to continue 
 so long united as they love each other ; and any law 
 which binds them to live together for one moment after 
 the decay of their affections is most intolerable tyr- 
 anny. Love withers under constraint ; its very essence 
 is liberty ; it is compatible neither with obedience, 
 jealousy nor fear. 
 
 Mary : I feel it, I believe it, but oh ! the other 
 people must have some truth on their side. 
 
 Skelley : You mean, I suppose, the Christian 
 moralists. This is their truth : The woman I now 
 love may be infinitely inferior to many others; the 
 creed I now profess may be a mass of errors and ab- 
 surdities; but I exclude myself from all future in- 
 formation as to the amiability of the one and the truth 
 
 41 
 
of the other, resolving blindly and in spite of conviction 
 to adhere to them. Is this the language of delicacy and 
 
 reason 
 
 Mary (more calmly) : No, it is not. And think 
 of the thousands of girls who must suffer — suffer — 
 suffer. 
 
 Shelley {deliberately) : Yes, prostitution is the 
 legitimate offspring of marriage and its accompany- 
 ing errors. Women for no other crime than having 
 followed the dictates of a natural appetite, are driven 
 with fury from the comforts and sympathies of society. 
 And chastity ! that monkish, evangelical superstition ! 
 It is a greater foe to natural temperance even than 
 unintellectual sensuality; it strikes at the root of all 
 domestic happiness and consigns more than half of the 
 human race to misery that some few may monopolize 
 according to law. 
 
 Mary : It is truly awful. What a system ! 
 
 Shelley : A system could not well have been de- 
 vised more studiously hostile to human happiness than 
 marriage. (More excited ly.) And for the sake of this 
 system of organized misery — you hesitate to grant me 
 your love. 
 
 Mary : But, dear Shelley, are you quite sure that 
 we are not unfair to Harriet and lanthe in our mutual 
 desire ? 
 
 Shelley : Mary, I could only be unfair to Har- 
 riet by continuing my present relation to her. I owe 
 something to my wife and child which I must pay. 
 I owe Harriet the liberty of finding a congenial part- 
 ner, a man whose love she can win, a companion 
 whose presence shall eliminate all the dark clouds and 
 shadows which our unhappy union has caused, a hus- 
 band to build up a happier home and brighter fireside 
 than it was in my power to do. And lanthe : should 
 she be brought up in an atmosphere of domestic dis- 
 cord? Should quarrels and incongruity be her first 
 
 42 
 
lesson? Or should Harriet and I glue a lie to our 
 individual natures and don the mask of hypocrisy? 
 No, Mary; that cannot be. By this grave {pointing) 
 where lie the remains of your talented mother, the 
 greatest woman that has ever ever trod this massive 
 ball of heterogeneous grief and joy, I ask you in all 
 the reverence which true love claims, to share with me 
 a common future. Ah, Mary, with you to inspire me, 
 to grant me the love and affection that I have already 
 won, to help me carry on the struggle for improve- 
 ment until this revolving sphere, now choked with urban 
 wastes, is one great green ball of laughing joy, is in 
 very truth the reality of Heaven. (Holding his arms 
 open to her) Will you, Mary — will you be my com- 
 panion ? 
 
 Mary (putting her hands in his) : Yes, Shelley. 
 (He kisses her.) 
 
 Shelley : Mary ! 
 
 Mary (smiling and looking up at him) : And, 
 dear, it was not your reasoning which caused me to 
 come to this decision — it was just because I loved you. 
 
 Shelley : A new life is dawning for both of us. 
 To-morrow I shall send for Harriet, tell her my de- 
 termination, and make arrangements for her support. 
 With your power to elevate and ennoble me, Mary, I 
 shall endeavor to make the name of Shelley among the 
 foremost of my time ; to rank with that of W^oUstone- 
 craft, Godwin and Paine. I wish posterity to say that 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley was a worthy companion of the 
 daughter of Mary WoUstonecraft. (Mary throzvs her- 
 self into his arms.) 
 
 43 
 
ACT III. 
 
 Shelley's lodgings, Hatton Garden, on the after- 
 noon of July 14th. To the left, door; farther back a 
 sofa and a book shelf on zvhich books are piled irregu- 
 larly, many being open. To the right, a large easy chair 
 almost surrounded by books and papers. In back, writ- 
 ing table zinth chairs around it. On the table are many 
 manuscripts and open books. The room shows signs 
 of long neglect. Shelley, greatly excited, eyes blood- 
 shot, dress disordered, sits at the table. He is trying to 
 read, but cannot sufficiently concentrate his thoughts to 
 do so. He picks up a bottle of laudanum, is about to 
 sivallow its contents, hesitates and slozdy puts it dozim. 
 He falls into a deep reverie and is oblivious to his 
 surroundings for a few moments. A knock. Shelley 
 starts, cautiously gets up and opens the door. A ser- 
 vant enters. 
 
 Servant : Mr. Peacock, to see you, sir. 
 
 Shelley: Show him up. {Servant retires.) 
 
 Peacock {coming in) : My dear fellow, I am glad 
 to see you. {Looks at him.) What is the matter? 
 You look ill. 
 
 Shelley {as they shake hands) : You received my 
 letter, I see. Pray be seated. {Peacock sits dozvn.) 
 As we have not seen each other for a long time, Pea- 
 cock, you are unfamiliar with my recent affairs and 
 the nature of a personal trouble about which I ask 
 your indulgence to hear and advise me. 
 
 Peacock : I am extremely distressed to hear you 
 speak of a personal trouble, Shelley, although I trust 
 you have overrated it and that it will prove no more 
 
 44 
 
than a bad dream of your poetic fancy. If I am capable 
 of any service, command me. 
 
 Shelley : No, Peacock, it is more than poetic 
 fancy. (Catching up the bottle of laudanum.) I never 
 part from this. I am always repeating to myself your 
 lines from Sophocles : 
 
 "Man's happiest lot is not to be : 
 
 And when we tread life's thorny steep 
 Most blest are they who earliest free 
 Descend to death's eternal sleep.'' 
 
 Peacock : Constrain yourself, my dear fellow, and 
 tell me the trouble? 
 
 Shelley : The facts are these : Harriet has aban- 
 doned me — our afifection is ended. 
 
 Peacock : It always appeared to me that you were 
 very fond of Harriet. 
 
 Shelley : But you did not know how I hated her 
 sister. 
 
 Peacock : Who ? 
 
 Shelley : Eliza. 
 
 Peacock : Why ? 
 
 Shelley : Because she was the cause of Harriet's 
 leaving me. During my loneliness, my abject wretched- 
 ness, I have fallen in love with Mary Godwin. 
 
 Peacock : Truly romantic and poetic, but for a 
 gentleman in your position, rather embarrassing. 
 
 Shelley : Yes, for a gentleman, rather embarrass- 
 ing, but I want to rise above the mere man of gentility, 
 as mv present difficulty requires a more difficult solu- 
 tion than mere politeness can offer. 
 
 Peacock : How can I assist you ? 
 
 Shelley : As friend to friend, I ask you to give 
 me your honest thoughts, and as I want to come to a 
 definite conclusion on how I shall act, by talking the 
 affair over with you, I entreat you not to take offense 
 at anything I say. You can plainly see that I am in 
 no condition to be polite. 
 
 45 
 
Peacock : Very well, as friend to friend, I cannot 
 advise you to gratify your new love by openly leaving 
 your wife and child, and sacrificing your social stand- 
 ing, although I see you are inclined to do so. 
 
 Shelley : But, you cannot advise me to sacrifice 
 my happiness, Mary's happiness, for public opinion, 
 which you call social standing? Everyone must know 
 that the partner of my life should be one who can feel 
 poetry and understand philosophy. Harriet is a noble 
 animal, but she can do neither. (Pause. Shelley sits 
 down.) 
 
 Peacock : Permit me to talk plainly. 
 
 Shelley : It is my sincere desire that you should. 
 
 Peacock : Very well. Of course, Shelley, I am 
 familiar with your notes to Queen Mab. I thoroughly 
 understand your radical arguments and partly sympa- 
 thize with them, especially your struggle against re- 
 ligious superstition. However, in your zeal for 
 promoting advanced ideas, you have indiscriminately 
 attacked all existing institutions, under the belief that 
 because some socially recognized institutions are erro- 
 neous, all are erroneous. One might as well conclude, 
 because one man is bad, all men are bad. I refer to 
 your attacks on the marriage ceremony. 
 
 Shelley : But there is evidence and reason 
 
 Peacock : One minute, please. I am not through. 
 
 Shelley : I beg your pardon. 
 
 Peacock : It seems to me that it is absolutely neces- 
 sary to have some social means of preventing unbridled 
 gratification among the sexes. Otherwise the number 
 of illegitimate children would be appalling, and morality 
 would turn into degeneracy. When a ma nis angry, he 
 or the law must restrain his anger. If this were not 
 so, murders would annihilate the race. 
 
 Shelley (getting up and walking the floor) : The 
 fundamental scheme of the universe, Peacock, is its 
 liability to change. Any institution which is regarded 
 
 46 
 
as permanent is a barrier to all human progress. Unless 
 men and women are free to act according to their im- 
 mediate requirements, they are slaves. That is my 
 philosophic reason for attacking the ceremony originally 
 invented to make women chattel property. Now, you 
 say that the father and mother instinct is immoral un- 
 less regulated by an incantation presided over by an 
 official. Prove it ! You compare Nature's only means 
 of Life Creation in its highest developed species — Man, 
 to a destructive impulse on the part of a few indi- 
 viduals ; and even that you misrepresent when you say 
 laws prevent the assassination of humanity by men. 
 
 Peacock : My dear fellow, you are falling into 
 your old habit of philosophizing at great length, and 
 drawing me in as well. Let us return to our starting 
 point. How are you going to extricate yourself from 
 your present dilemma? 
 
 Shelley: Yes, you are right; that is what I wish 
 to talk about. 
 
 Peacock : You say Harriet has abandoned you — 
 there has evidently been some misunderstanding. Shel- 
 ley, do you not think that a few kind words on your 
 part would restore domestic harmony, revive your 
 former mutual affection ? 
 
 Shelley: No; a few kind words is an excellent 
 means of bringing about a reconciliation between people 
 who have quarrelled ; but Harriet and I have not — the 
 trouble is more deeply seated than that. 
 
 Peacock : What is it. then ? 
 
 Shelley : A natural psychological change which 
 neither my wife nor I are able to control. 
 
 Peacock : Well, I only know of one other course. 
 
 Shelley : What is that? 
 
 Peacock : You wish to do all the good to your 
 fellowman that you can? 
 
 Shelley : Yes. 
 
 Peacock : You wish to live the life of a reformer, 
 47 
 
to influence men to follow the road of goodness and 
 justice? 
 
 Shelley : Of Truth. 
 
 Peacock: Exactly. Now, do you not see that in 
 order to hold that position, you must be held in esteem 
 by those whom you wish to influence ? 
 
 Shelley : And sacrifice 
 
 Peacock : The heart flowing o'er with love of the 
 unsophisticated mundane goddess — Mary Godwin ! No, 
 not even that. You agree with me that an untarnished 
 name is necessary to your object in life. Now, then — 
 public disavowal of your solemn oath to the mother of 
 your child is impossible. Such a scandal could never 
 be outlived. 
 
 Shelley (holding the back of a chair, strung to a 
 high pitch of excitement) : Well ! well ! ! well ! ! ! The 
 alternative ? 
 
 Peacock : Godwin is a freethinker. He sympa- 
 thizes with your extreme views on the sex problem. 
 Why not a secret liaison with Mary, and make the best 
 of your conjugal situation ? 
 
 Shelley ^flinging the chair away from him) : Plain 
 Hell ! Nadir of degeneracy ! ! Can I believe my own 
 ears ? Peacock — you — you — advise me — ! ! ! 
 
 Peacock (rising) : I beg your pardon, Mr. 
 Shelley ! You do not seem to be accountable for what 
 you say. 
 
 Shelley (somewhat calmer) : Peacock, you do not 
 mean it — you cannot — that I should innoculate my emo- 
 tions by secrecy — place the free and natural love of a 
 young girl in the same category with something too vile 
 to be spoken of in public ! No ! No ! No ! No ! ! ! 
 
 Peacock : Ah, yes, free love is the prerogative of 
 those who have sufficient intellect to appreciate it. My 
 congratulations. 
 
 Shelley (sinking into a chair, to himself) : Oh, if 
 I were only dead ! 
 
 48 
 
Peacock : I have no doubt but that you will be — 
 socially — in a very short time. 
 
 Shelley : So be it. Better ten thousand dead men 
 than one live slave and his master — Public Opinion. 
 
 Peacock: As you wish. I will go now. (He 
 starts to go out. A knock.) 
 
 Shelley: Come. {Godzvin enters.) 
 
 Godwin : Good-morning, Mr. Shelley. 
 
 Shelley (getting up) : How are you, Godwin? 
 Let me introduce Mr. Peacock. 
 
 Godwin : I am happy to make your acquaintance, 
 sir. 
 
 Peacock (shaking hands) : I also am pleased to 
 meet you. 
 
 Shelley (to Godivin) : Won't you be seated? 
 
 Godwin : No, I thank you. However, if you will 
 let me know as soon as you are disengaged ; I have 
 
 Peacock : Pray remain. I was on my way out 
 as you came in. Good-bye. 
 
 Godwin: Good-bye, Mr. Peacock. (He goes out.) 
 The young poet I have heard you speak of? 
 
 Shelley : Yes. 
 
 Godwin : I would not have interrupted you on any 
 account, had I not something of great importance to 
 communicate to you. 
 
 Shelley (abstractedly) : Don't mention it. 
 
 Godwin (smiling) : Pay attention to what I have 
 to say. I have good news for you. 
 
 Shelley (dejectedly) : Good news for me — I am 
 afraid not, Godwin. 
 
 Godwin : Yes, I have, and it will cheer you up, too. 
 
 Shelley (indifferently) : Well? 
 
 GoDw^iN : Harriet has unexpectedly come from 
 Bath to see you. 
 
 Shelley : Did she sav she had come unexpect- 
 edly? 
 
 Godwin : Yes, as a surprise to you. Pray forgive 
 49 
 
me, Shelley, if I take a liberty in referring to your un- 
 happy married relation, but as a friend who feels deeply 
 for your interests, I should like to give you the benefit 
 of my experience — if you will permit me to advise you ? 
 
 Shelley : By all means. 
 
 Godwin : When two young people have quarrelled, 
 the intervals at which a reconciliation is possible grow 
 fewer and fewer as time goes on. The longer the 
 length of time that elapses, the shorter the intervals, 
 until a final separation is inevitable. 
 
 Shelley: What then? 
 
 Godwin : I am sure Harriet still loves you and 
 wishes a reconciliation — at this minute. 
 
 Shelley: Has she told you so? 
 
 Godwin : Practically, yes. However, she is wait- 
 ing right outside the door, and can tell you herself. 
 
 Shelley : Why did she not come in with you? 
 
 Godwin : I suggested seeing you first, so as to pre- 
 pare you. But, before I call her — may I expect you 
 both for supper this evening? 
 
 Shelley : It will be impossible for me to come. 
 
 Godwin : Nevertheless, the reconciliation will take 
 place, and remember, it is very important that no un- 
 pleasant reminiscences should follow this meeting to 
 interfere with a joyous future. Regardless of feeling, 
 I would go more than half way, if I were in your place. 
 {He goes out. Shelley zvalks about, trying to get com- 
 plete control of himself. He puts laudanum bottle out 
 of sight. GodziHn re-enters zvith Harriet, whose atti- 
 tude is decidedly cold and distant, to whom he speaks.) 
 There he is, Mrs. Shelley, our same old untidy poet. 
 Bless me ! Just look at the room ! It looks as if a 
 woman could find a little tidying-up to do, does it not ? 
 The next time I come it will be different — but I must 
 go — good-bye. (He goes out.) 
 
 Shelley (offering her a chair) : W^on't you sit 
 down, Harriet? 
 
 50 
 
Harriet (coldly) : Thank you. (She sits doivn. 
 After a moment's pause) You sent for me, Bysshe — 
 what is it you wish? 
 
 Shelley (tvalking tip and dozvn the room) : To 
 come to some definite understanding- with you, Harriet. 
 
 Harriet : Yes, I am Hstening. 
 
 Shelley (standing back of a chair) : I am afraid 
 that you made a mistake in marrying me, Harriet. You 
 probably did not know me, as I really am, that day 
 you decided to place yourself under my protection. 
 
 Harriet : You speak truly, I was deceived in you. 
 
 Shelley : We have tried to get along together 
 now, for three years, without even average success. 
 
 Harriet : Again, I agree with you. 
 
 Shelley : In other words, we have two sets of 
 interests. The things in which I am interested are 
 disagreeable to you ; and the things in which you are 
 interested, bore me. 
 
 Harriet : You never tried to change it ; never 
 attempted to concern yourself with ;»y things; you 
 never even met me half way in coming to a ground of 
 common interest. 
 
 Shelley : Maybe not, Harriet. 
 
 Harriet : No, and you persisted in talking dull 
 philosophy, and expected me to show enthusiasm over 
 your exasperating poetry. 
 
 Shelley : That is my life, Harriet. What would 
 you have had me do? 
 
 Harriet : I think it is the duty of every husband 
 to make some concessions to his wife — to partly map 
 out his day with a view to pleasing her. 
 
 Shelley : And what about a wife? 
 
 Harriet : I forced myself to my utmost, Bysshe. 
 
 Shelley (starting to walk up and doum again) : 
 And so did I, Harriet. We both have tried to please 
 each other, and we have failed. 
 
 51 
 
Harriet : The man is stronger than the woman, 
 should not he make a greater effort ? 
 
 Shelley : No, Harriet. Interest and affection 
 may be pretended, but they can never be forced. 
 
 Harriet: Then you justify your unreasonable- 
 ness? 
 
 Shelley : It is a matter of temperament, Harriet, 
 not reason. 
 
 Harriet : Reason is reason ! A person irust act 
 reasonably or unreasonably. Nobody can gainsay that. 
 
 Shelley : To put it in other words, then : my rea- 
 son is not your reason. We see things from different 
 view-points. We are attracted by almost diametrically 
 different ways of life. 
 
 Harriet : Yes, and what shall be done with lanthe 
 is one cause of contention. You objected to me, her 
 mother, caring for her in my own way. 
 
 Shelley (agitated): I did; it seemed to me a 
 most unnatural way. In fact, it was not a zvay, but 
 turning her over to strange people, whom I. her father, 
 detested. 
 
 Harriet (zvalkiiig across the room and coming hack 
 to Iwr chair) : Do you mean to insult my sister again 
 in my presence? I believe on a previous occasion I 
 requested you to leave her out of our discussions. 
 
 Shelley : No, nor do I even wish to reproach you. 
 We will never come to an understanding by bringing 
 indictments against each other. 
 
 Harriet : I was not aware that I began it. 
 
 Shelley : I did not accuse you of beginning it. 
 ( Pause. ) 
 
 Harriet : W^ell. Bysshe, what is it you wish to 
 come to an understanding about with me ? As a result 
 of complying with your request, I have had a long, 
 tedious journey from Bath, and I am tired out. 
 
 Shelley {commencing to zcalk again and bracing 
 himself to carry out his determination) : In order to 
 
 52 
 
explain I am compelled to say this, which, please re- 
 member, I do not mean as a reproach. 
 
 Harriet : Well ? 
 
 Shelley (quite calmly) : I have entreated you to 
 return to our sad and silent home, with its desolated 
 liearth ; I have implored you to pity if you could not 
 love — forever in vain ! I have asked you to do the im- 
 possible. We have tried, Harriet, and have failed — and 
 as a result of our unwedded conduct towards each 
 other, I have decided to end our conjugal relations 
 forever. 
 
 Harriet : Why in the name of Heaven did you ask 
 me to come here? Do you think I enjoy your abuse? 
 
 Shelley: I protest that I am not abusing you; I 
 am not blaming you — we are simply not adapted to 
 administer to each other's needs. I wish to act justly 
 towards you, as well as myself, and — make arrange- 
 ments for your support 
 
 Harriet (freecingly) : Indeed. 
 
 Shelley : Do not make my position harder for me 
 than it already is. Harriet. In me you will ever find 
 a warm and constant friend, to whom your welfare 
 will be ahvays dear — by w^hom your feelings will never 
 be wilfully injured. From none can you expect this 
 but me. 
 
 Harriet {treating wlvat h-e has said as a spasmodic 
 Zi'him) : Bysshe. please stop talking that nonsense. I 
 haven't seen you in a long time, and I do not think you 
 should expect me to humor your whims in the future, 
 anyhow. I wish to live in London this suminer : you 
 must see about getting a place for Eliza, lanthe and 
 myself. I want our own home again — we cannot, and 
 should not, live apart as we have been doing for so long 
 a time. 
 
 Shelley ( standing still and speaking very de- 
 liberately) : I fear you misunderstand me, Harriet. 
 
 53 
 
In justice to ourselves and our child, we unist live apart, 
 now and forever ! 
 
 Harriet (getting tip) : You are in a very unrea- 
 sonable mood. I am going. 
 
 Shelley (as if to detain her) : Not yet — I am in 
 deadly earnest — our co-habitation is ended forever. In 
 the future I have decided to cast my lot with another 
 woman. 
 
 Harriet (deathly pale, z'aiuly trying to conceal 
 her agitation) : Oh! by that do I understand you wish 
 an absolute separation? 
 
 Shelley : That is what I mean, Harriet. 
 
 Harriet : And may I inquire the name of this— 
 this zi'oman, with whom you are to cast your lot, as you 
 term it? 
 
 Shelley : Mary Godwin. 
 
 Harriet (resuming her seat and nervously tap- 
 ping the floor zvith her right foot) : I suppose I am 
 too illiterate to be the ''companion" of the illustrious 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley ! No doubt, she can appreciate 
 your literary efforts. 
 
 Shelley : This is no time for sarcasm, Harriet. 
 I do not want you to feel bitter towards Mary nor me. 
 (Holding out his hand.) Let us be friends. 
 
 Harriet : Be the friend of that free-loving she 
 devil ! Never ! That daughter of a strumpet ! She 
 stole your affections from me. Yes, she did, and you 
 need not deny it ! (Shelley zn'olks over to sofa, Har- 
 riet gets up.) Didn't I sacrifice my family, my youth, 
 my happiness, my peace of mind, my life! for you? 
 Didn't I bear you your child? Didn't I go whenever 
 and wherever you wanted to? Didn't I allow you to 
 have a strange woman in the house — how many wives 
 do you suppose would have put up with that? 
 
 Shelley (quickly) : You know there were no im- 
 proper relations between Miss Brown and me. 
 
 Harriet (disregarding him) : Didn't I hear my 
 54 ' - 
 
faith, my religion, everything I held sacred, desecrated 
 by you in the name of philosophy? And now, after 
 ail this, I am to be abandoned, cast ofif, for a young 
 girl, because she happens to bear the name of Godwin 
 and was the daughter of a notorious woman ! 
 
 Shelley (coming fonmrd) : Gently, Harriet. 
 You are in positive danger of deceiving yourself. I 
 deny that I am casting you off as a worn out thing, 
 as you assert. It is untrue. You seem to forget that 
 you took the initiative in breaking up our home. { Ex- 
 citedly.) It was you who first left me, Harriet, please 
 remember that. And even after our false reconciliation 
 you were the one who taunted me by asking : why I 
 had enticed you from comfortable surroundings and 
 congenial companions to return to my dungeon ; by 
 declaring that you had only come back to accommodate 
 me ; that you had condescended to give me another 
 chance ! No, Harriet, you cannot spurn me one day 
 and control my affections the next. Right up to a few- 
 months ago I loved you in spite of your coldness and 
 indifiference. I was the one who begged, while you 
 condescended. But now — I am determined to use my 
 prerogative — to be true to m}'self — to live my own life 
 in my own way. 
 
 Harriet (bitterly) : Yes, be true to yourself and 
 make me suffer — for that designing creature. 
 
 Shelley : I shall see that you are amply provided 
 for. There is nothing that I know of to make you 
 suffer. 
 
 Harriet (zeal king about) : Xo wonder they called 
 you "Mad Shelley" at Eton ! 
 
 Shelley : What do you mean by that? 
 
 Harriet : That you are mad, mad to say you know 
 of nothing to make me suffer — after you have humil- 
 iated me in this fashion ! What do you suppose people 
 will sav? 
 
 LOfC. 55 
 
Shelley : I do not know ; I have not thought of 
 what they will say. 
 
 Harriet {excitedly): Well, I have; it is the 
 woman who has to bear the taunts. How can I ever 
 look anyone in the face again ? They will point me out 
 as the forsaken wife of ''Mad Shelley/' the degenerate, 
 the deserter, the crazy poet! {Pause. She goes to 
 middle of room.) Bysshe! if you go with this — low 
 creature, then {pointing upward) in the name of the 
 living God, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, I hurl 
 my undying curse at both of you. {Silence.) 
 
 Claire {outside) : H papa isn't here, Mary, you 
 wait while I go to Hookham's — unless {laughing) you 
 care to go and compliment him on his keen insight into 
 personal affairs. 
 
 Mary {also outside) : No, I hardly care to see 
 Hookham just now. {They enter.) 
 
 Shelley {to Claire) : I am very busy at present — 
 can you not wait until another time ? 
 
 Claire: Certainly. {She turns to go.) 
 
 Mary {slightly disconcerted) : How do you do, 
 Harriet ? 
 
 Harriet: Mrs. Shelley, if you please, Miss God- 
 win! 
 
 Mary : Oh ! 
 
 Harriet {looking at her witheringly) : So you 
 are the person whom I have to thank for ensnaring 
 my husband ? As his wife, I request you to leave Mr. 
 Shelley entirely alone and not keep coming here and 
 forcing yourself upon him. You are placing yourself 
 in a very delicate position by coming to Mr. Shelley's 
 lodgings at all. 
 
 Claire: Although you did not — 
 
 Mary : Please, Claire — allow me to speak. I am 
 here, Mrs. Shelley, on an errand, but were I not, I 
 would still deem it my privilege to move and act en- 
 tirely as I see fit. 
 
 56 
 
Harriet {crying zvith vexation): You vixen! 
 You hussy ! You dare to force your attentions on a 
 married man ! Don't you see that Shelley is tired of 
 you? I am mistress here, withdraw — go at once! 
 
 Mary (successfully concealing her annoyance, to 
 Shelley} : A gentleman is waiting at the house to see 
 papa. I thought he might be here? 
 
 {Harriet retires to other end of room.) 
 
 Shelley: No, Godwin left here some time ago; 
 I have not any idea where you can find him. 
 
 Claire : Thanks, I'm sorry we interrupted you. 
 (They go out.) 
 
 Shelley: If you will kindly send your solicitor 
 to me, Harriet, it will save us the painful necessity of 
 attending to the monetary arrangements ourselves. 
 
 Harriet {crying) : Yes. (Pause.) 
 
 Shelley: And, Harriet, and (almost breaking 
 dozvn) what about lanthe? 
 
 Harriet (realizing she has found a weak point, 
 artfully) : Our child, our little baby? You could not 
 think of separating us ! 
 
 Shelley (almost sobbing) : No, not if you wish 
 to keep her. I wish we could remain friends, Harriet, 
 if only for lanthe's sake. 
 
 Harriet (snappingly) : If you care so much for 
 lanthe, why not stay with her? 
 
 Shelley : That is impossible. 
 
 Harriet (again, trying to take advantage of his 
 feelings) : And when she asks me about her father — 
 what shall I say to her ? 
 
 Shelley (annoyed) : If she wants to see me — 
 send her to me, of course. 
 
 Harriet (indignantly): No, never! To be con- 
 taminated by that vile woman, that daughter of a — 
 
 Shelley : Stop ! There is a limit to even my 
 patience. 
 
 Harriet (preparing to go, tauntingly) : Oh, you 
 57 
 
can't bear to hear the truth about your, (bitterly) your 
 sweetheart ! Well, go to her, yes, go ; but I know you 
 will want to come back to me ! Satisfy yourself, and 
 when you have got tired of vice and long for the 
 society of a respectable woman, I will talk to you, 
 perhaps. At present I will not detain you from going 
 to Miss Mary Godwin, your poor, dear, newly found 
 affinity ! Just think, she is the daughter of Godwin 
 and Wollstonecraft ! That was enough to bring you 
 to her feet, wasn't it? Any old thing that pertains to 
 philosophy can make a fool of you, can't it, Bysshe? 
 No doubt, your pure fatherly love will prick your con- 
 science, but then, that, that home wrecker, that cat, 
 who stole you from me, must be supported. 
 
 Shelley (offering his hand) : Good-bye. 
 
 Harriet : I am a decent woman — do not defile me 
 with your hand, poisoned by that creature. Remember 
 that, Bysshe Shelley — I am a decent woman ! (She 
 goes out.) 
 
 58 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 Hatton Garden at sunrise, on the morning of July 
 28th. In the background is a corner of the square 
 at which stand a post-chaise. The driver and the post- 
 boy, who are rubbing dozmi the horses, are the only ones 
 in sight. 
 
 Driver : We've been waitin' 'ere nearly an' hour. 
 Bill. I expects hits another runaway match an' the 
 loidy 'as backed out at the last moment. 
 
 Postboy: Well, an' wot d'you care? The gen'l'- 
 m'n will 'ave to pay just the same, and I'm in no un- 
 common bad way to be hoff to Dover. 
 
 Driver : You haint got no pride, Bill. Wot are 
 we for? me a driver an' you a postboy, but to hexer- 
 cise the 'orses an' — 'ere 'e comes now. 
 
 Shelley {coming in sight) : Are you ready to 
 start? 
 
 Driver : Right away, sir. I wants to put some hoil 
 on the left wheel, sir ; are you in a 'urry, sir ? 
 
 Shelley : I want to start as soon as the ladies 
 arrive. There will be three of us. 
 
 Driver : Very good, sir. Bill — give us an 'and. 
 {They proceed to oil the ivheei.) 
 
 Shelley {restlessly moving about, speaking to 
 himself) : It is time they were here — Why do they 
 not come ? Oh, I am so impatient to begin life anew — 
 free and independent of all conventionality — among 
 new surroundings — new scenes that will not remind me 
 of past sorrows. My only regret is in leaving lanthe 
 behind, to be brought up by my accursed sister-in-law. 
 {Footsteps are heard; he turns. Mary and Claire ar- 
 rive, carrying bundles, boxes, etc.) 
 
 59 
 
Claire : Do you know, I really believe Mary's 
 courage almost failed her — but (zmth satisfaction) we 
 are here a tlast ! 
 
 Mary: Why, Claire! 
 
 Shelley: Give me your bundles! (As he takes 
 them from Mary some things drop out.) The driver 
 will be ready directly. 
 
 Mary : Then let us re-tie these parcels. We heard 
 a stir in the house and thought it best not to — 
 
 Claire: Disturb mama to help us pack. Here 
 are the boxes. (Puts them dozmi.) I'm helpless when 
 it comes to packing. I'm going to talk to the driver. 
 
 Shelley (as he and Mary commence to re-pack the 
 parcels) : Tell him we will be ready whenever he is. 
 (Claire retires to post-chaise.) 
 
 Mary : I cannot help thinking of Harriet. I have 
 not been able to get her out of my mind all night. 
 
 Shelley : Please do not talk of her, Mary. I 
 have done everything for Harriet that is in my power. 
 My love I cannot give at will, or I might have been 
 foolish enough to give her that also. 
 
 Mary (looking up) : You have seen that she is 
 well provided for? 
 
 Shelley : Yes, I have even sacrificed our own 
 financial independence to secure her every comfort that 
 money can afford. 
 
 Mary (stops and looks at him tenderly) : Oh, 
 Shelley ! You do not realize the force with which you 
 attract me. All your acts are so noble, so generous ! 
 
 Shelley : You set too much stress on my gen- 
 erosity — but, dear, how do you feel about leaving? 
 Are you coming with me without one regret? 
 
 Mary (passionately, still on her knees, doing up 
 bundles) : Yes ! I am thine for now and — 
 
 Shelley : As long as our love continues. 
 
 Mary: Yes. (Pause.) But had we not better 
 60 
 
hurry and get on our way? Mama must have dis- 
 covered our absence by this time. 
 
 Shelley (tying last bundle) : Yes, we must hurry. 
 
 Mary (rising) : I hardly dare to think of the sen- 
 sation our departure will cause. 
 
 Shelley (also getting up) : I beseech of you, 
 Mary, do not let it concern you. In years to come, 
 when the human race has attained the point at which 
 we now stand, we shall be praised and admired for 
 having dared to free ourselves from moral super- 
 stition. 
 
 Mary : Oh, Shelley ! I am so happy ! July 28th ! 
 What an eventful day for me ! — for both of us ! 
 
 Shelley : Yes, and the world — Is the driver 
 ready, Claire ? 
 
 Driver : In one minute, sir. 
 
 Mary : You mean our action will teach other 
 people to do the same. Every time I think of it I ani 
 filled with dread. Supposing, dear, we should influence 
 others to — desert their homes — their duty ? 
 
 Shelley : No ! No ! ! On the contrary, we will in- 
 fluence others to live their own lives in their own way ; 
 to be free and attain the perfection of the Gods. 
 
 Mary : Oh, if everyone could only think as we do ! 
 
 Shelley : Believe me, as long as men speak and 
 write our language our names shall be respected by 
 future generations. We, Mary, are the pioneers of 
 progress ; the forerunners of the new ; the arrival of 
 the better. (The driver climbs up into his seat; the 
 post boy mounts his horse.) 
 
 Claire (coming forward) : Come! We're ready. 
 
 Shelley : Away to Dover — 
 
 Claire : And then to Paris — 
 
 Shelley {helping them into post-chaise) : And 
 carry the torch of Reason far, far into the future : we 
 three comrades together ! (He gets in: the drvi'er cracks 
 his zvhip, and they are off.) 
 
 61 
 
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