As I was perpetually haunted by these ideas, you may imagine that the
influence of Woodville’s words was very temporary; and that although I
did not again accuse him of unkindness, yet I soon became as unhappy
as before. Soon after this incident we parted. He heard that his
mother was ill, and he hastened to her. He came to take leave of me,
and we walked together on the heath for the last time. He promised
that he would come and see me again; and bade me take cheer, and to
encourage what happy thoughts I could, untill time and fortitude
should overcome my misery, and I could again mingle in society.
“Above all other admonition on my part,” he said, “cherish and follow
this one: do not despair. That is the most dangerous gulph on which
you perpetually totter; but you must reassure your steps, and take
hope to guide you.[74] Hope, and your wounds will be already half
healed: but if you obstinately despair, there never more will be
comfort for you. Believe me, my dearest friend, that there is a joy
that the sun and earth and all its beauties can bestow that you will
one day feel. The refreshing bliss of Love will again visit your
heart, and undo the spell that binds you to woe, untill you wonder how
your eyes could be closed in the long night that burthens you. I dare
not hope that I have inspired you with sufficient interest that the
thought of me, and the affection that I shall ever bear you, will
soften your melancholy and decrease the bitterness of your tears. But
if my friendship can make you look on life with less disgust, beware
how you injure it with suspicion. Love is a delicate sprite[75] and
easily hurt by rough jealousy. Guard, I entreat you, a firm persuasion
of my sincerity in the inmost recesses of your heart out of the reach
of the casual winds that may disturb its surface. Your temper is made
unequal by suffering, and the tenor of your mind is, I fear, sometimes
shaken by unworthy causes; but let your confidence in my sympathy and
love be deeper far, and incapable of being reached by these agitations
that come and go, and if they touch not your affections leave you
uninjured.”
These were some of Woodville’s last lessons. I wept as I listened to
him; and after we had taken an affectionate farewell, I followed him
far with my eyes until they saw the last of my earthly comforter. I
had insisted on accompanying him across the heath towards the town
where he dwelt: the sun was yet high when he left me, and I turned my
steps towards my cottage. It was at the latter end of the month of
September when the nights have become chill. But the weather was
serene, and as I walked on I fell into no unpleasing reveries. I
thought of Woodville with gratitude and kindness and did not, I know
not why, regret his departure with any bitterness. It seemed that
after one great shock all other change was trivial to me; and I walked
on wondering when the time would come when we should all four, my
dearest father restored to me, meet in some sweet Paradise[.] I
pictured to myself a lovely river such as that on whose banks Dante
describes Mathilda gathering flowers, which ever flows
---- bruna, bruna,
Sotto l’ombra perpetua, che mai
Raggiar non lascia sole ivi, nè Luna.[76]
And then I repeated to myself all that lovely passage that relates the
entrance of Dante into the terrestrial Paradise; and thought it would
be sweet when I wandered on those lovely banks to see the car of light
descend with my long lost parent to be restored to me. As I waited
there in expectation of that moment, I thought how, of the lovely
flowers that grew there, I would wind myself a chaplet and crown
myself for joy: I would sing _sul margine d’un rio_,[77] my father’s
favourite song, and that my voice gliding through the windless air
would announce to him in whatever bower he sat expecting the moment of
our union, that his daughter was come. Then the mark of misery would
have faded from my brow, and I should raise my eyes fearlessly to meet
his, which ever beamed with the soft lustre of innocent love. When I
reflected on the magic look of those deep eyes I wept, but gently,
lest my sobs should disturb the fairy scene.
I was so entirely wrapt in this reverie that I wandered on, taking no
heed of my steps until I actually stooped down to gather a flower for
my wreath on that bleak plain where no flower grew, when I awoke from
my day dream and found myself I knew not where.
The sun had set and the roseate hue which the clouds had caught from
him in his descent had nearly died away. A wind swept across the
plain, I looked around me and saw no object that told me where I was;
I had lost myself, and in vain attempted to find my path. I wandered
on, and the coming darkness made every trace indistinct by which I
might be guided. At length all was veiled in the deep obscurity of
blackest night; I became weary and knowing that my servant was to
sleep that night at the neighbouring village, so that my absence would
alarm no one; and that I was safe in this wild spot from every
intruder, I resolved to spend the night where I was. Indeed I was too
weary to walk further: the air was chill but I was careless of bodily
inconvenience, and I thought that I was well inured to the weather
during my two years of solitude, when no change of seasons prevented
my perpetual wanderings.
I lay upon the grass surrounded by a darkness which not the slightest
beam of light penetrated--There was no sound for the deep night had
laid to sleep the insects, the only creatures that lived on the lone
spot where no tree or shrub could afford shelter to aught else--There
was a wondrous silence in the air that calmed my senses yet which
enlivened my soul, my mind hurried from image to image and seemed to
grasp an eternity. All in my heart was shadowy yet calm, untill my
ideas became confused and at length died away in sleep.[78]
When I awoke it rained:[79] I was already quite wet, and my limbs were
stiff and my head giddy with the chill of night. It was a drizzling,
penetrating shower; as my dank hair clung to my neck and partly
covered my face, I had hardly strength to part with my fingers, the
long strait locks that fell before my eyes. The darkness was much
dissipated and in the east where the clouds were least dense the moon
was visible behind the thin grey cloud--
The moon is behind, and at the full
And yet she looks both small and dull.[80]
Its presence gave me a hope that by its means I might find my home.
But I was languid and many hours passed before I could reach the
cottage, dragging as I did my slow steps, and often resting on the wet
earth unable to proceed.
I particularly mark this night, for it was that which has hurried on
the last scene of my tragedy, which else might have dwindled on
through long years of listless sorrow. I was very ill when I arrived
and quite incapable of taking off my wet clothes that clung about me.
In the morning, on her return, my servant found me almost lifeless,
while possessed by a high fever I was lying on the floor of my room.
I was very ill for a long time, and when I recovered from the
immediate danger of fever, every symptom of a rapid consumption
declared itself. I was for some time ignorant of this and thought that
my excessive weakness was the consequence of the fever; [_sic_] But my
strength became less and less; as winter came on I had a cough; and my
sunken cheek, before pale, burned with a hectic fever. One by one
these symptoms struck me; & I became convinced that the moment I had
so much desired was about to arrive and that I was dying. I was
sitting by my fire, the physician who had attended me ever since my
fever had just left me, and I looked over his prescription in which
digitalis was the prominent medecine. “Yes,” I said, “I see how this
is, and it is strange that I should have deceived myself so long; I am
about to die an innocent death, and it will be sweeter even than that
which the opium promised.”
I rose and walked slowly to the window; the wide heath was covered by
snow which sparkled under the beams of the sun that shone brightly
thro’ the pure, frosty air: a few birds were pecking some crumbs under
my window.[81] I smiled with quiet joy; and in my thoughts, which
through long habit would for ever connect themselves into one train,
as if I shaped them into words, I thus addressed the scene before me:
“I salute thee, beautiful Sun, and thou, white Earth, fair and cold!
Perhaps I shall never see thee again covered with green, and the sweet
flowers of the coming spring will blossom on my grave. I am about to
leave thee; soon this living spirit which is ever busy among strange
shapes and ideas, which belong not to thee, soon it will have flown to
other regions and this emaciated body will rest insensate on thy bosom
“Rolled round in earth’s diurnal course
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
“For it will be the same with thee, who art called our Universal
Mother,[82] when I am gone. I have loved thee; and in my days both of
happiness and sorrow I have peopled your solitudes with wild fancies
of my own creation. The woods, and lakes, and mountains which I have
loved, have for me a thousand associations; and thou, oh, Sun! hast
smiled upon, and borne your part in many imaginations that sprung to
life in my soul alone, and which will die with me. Your solitudes,
sweet land, your trees and waters will still exist, moved by your
winds, or still beneath the eye of noon, though[83] [w]hat I have felt
about ye, and all my dreams which have often strangely deformed thee,
will die with me. You will exist to reflect other images in other
minds, and ever will remain the same, although your reflected
semblance vary in a thousand ways, changeable as the hearts of those
who view thee. One of these fragile mirrors, that ever doted on thine
image, is about to be broken, crumbled to dust. But everteeming Nature
will create another and another, and thou wilt loose nought by my
destruction.[84]
“Thou wilt ever be the same. Recieve then the grateful farewell of a
fleeting shadow who is about to disappear, who joyfully leaves thee,
yet with a last look of affectionate thankfulness. Farewell! Sky, and
fields and woods; the lovely flowers that grow on thee; thy mountains
& thy rivers; to the balmy air and the strong wind of the north, to
all, a last farewell. I shall shed no more tears for my task is almost
fulfilled, and I am about to be rewarded for long and most burthensome
suffering. Bless thy child even even [_sic_] in death, as I bless
thee; and let me sleep at peace in my quiet grave.”
I feel death to be near at hand and I am calm. I no longer despair,
but look on all around me with placid affection. I find it sweet to
watch the progressive decay of my strength, and to repeat to myself,
another day and yet another, but again I shall not see the red leaves
of autumn; before that time I shall be with my father. I am glad
Woodville is not with me for perhaps he would grieve, and I desire to
see smiles alone during the last scene of my life; when I last wrote
to him I told him of my ill health but not of its mortal tendency,
lest he should conceive it to be his duty to come to me for I fear
lest the tears of friendship should destroy the blessed calm of my
mind. I take pleasure in arranging all the little details which will
occur when I shall no longer be. In truth I am in love with death; no
maiden ever took more pleasure in the contemplation of her bridal
attire than I in fancying my limbs already enwrapt in their shroud:
is it not my marriage dress? Alone it will unite me to my father when
in an eternal mental union we shall never part.
I will not dwell on the last changes that I feel in the final decay of
nature. It is rapid but without pain: I feel a strange pleasure in it.
For long years these are the first days of peace that have visited me.
I no longer exhaust my miserable heart by bitter tears and frantic
complaints; I no longer the [_sic_] reproach the sun, the earth, the
air, for pain and wretchedness. I wait in quiet expectation for the
closing hours of a life which has been to me most sweet & bitter. I do
not die not having enjoyed life; for sixteen years I was happy: during
the first months of my father’s return I had enjoyed ages of pleasure:
now indeed I am grown old in grief; my steps are feeble like those of
age; I have become peevish and unfit for life; so having passed little
more than twenty years upon the earth I am more fit for my narrow
grave than many are when they reach the natural term of their lives.
Again and again I have passed over in my remembrance the different
scenes of my short life: if the world is a stage and I merely an actor
on it my part has been strange, and, alas! tragical. Almost from
infancy I was deprived of all the testimonies of affection which
children generally receive; I was thrown entirely upon my own
resources, and I enjoyed what I may almost call unnatural pleasures,
for they were dreams and not realities. The earth was to me a magic
lantern and I [a] gazer, and a listener but no actor; but then came
the transporting and soul-reviving era of my existence: my father
returned and I could pour my warm affections on a human heart; there
was a new sun and a new earth created to me; the waters of existence
sparkled: joy! joy! but, alas! what grief! My bliss was more rapid
than the progress of a sunbeam on a mountain, which discloses its
glades & woods, and then leaves it dark & blank; to my happiness
followed madness and agony, closed by despair.
This was the drama of my life which I have now depicted upon paper.
During three months I have been employed in this task. The memory of
sorrow has brought tears; the memory of happiness a warm glow the
lively shadow of that joy. Now my tears are dried; the glow has faded
from my cheeks, and with a few words of farewell to you, Woodville, I
close my work: the last that I shall perform.
Farewell, my only living friend; you are the sole tie that binds me to
existence, and now I break it[.] It gives me no pain to leave you; nor
can our seperation give you much. You never regarded me as one of this
world, but rather as a being, who for some penance was sent from the
Kingdom of Shadows; and she passed a few days weeping on the earth and
longing to return to her native soil. You will weep but they will be
tears of gentleness. I would, if I thought that it would lessen your
regret, tell you to smile and congratulate me on my departure from the
misery you beheld me endure. I would say; Woodville, rejoice with your
friend, I triumph now and am most happy. But I check these
expressions; these may not be the consolations of the living; they
weep for their own misery, and not for that of the being they have
lost. No; shed a few natural tears due to my memory: and if you ever
visit my grave, pluck from thence a flower, and lay it to your heart;
for your heart is the only tomb in which my memory will be enterred.
My death is rapidly approaching and you are not near to watch the
flitting and vanishing of my spirit. Do no[t] regret this; for death
is a too terrible an [_sic_] object for the living. It is one of those
adversities which hurt instead of purifying the heart; for it is so
intense a misery that it hardens & dulls the feelings. Dreadful as the
time was when I pursued my father towards the ocean, & found their
[_sic_] only his lifeless corpse; yet for my own sake I should prefer
that to the watching one by one his senses fade; his pulse weaken--and
sleeplessly as it were devour his life in gazing. To see life in his
limbs & to know that soon life would no longer be there; to see the
warm breath issue from his lips and to know they would soon be
chill--I will not continue to trace this frightful picture; you
suffered this torture once; I never did.[85] And the remembrance fills
your heart sometimes with bitter despair when otherwise your feelings
would have melted into soft sorrow.
So day by day I become weaker, and life flickers in my wasting form,
as a lamp about to loose it vivifying oil. I now behold the glad sun
of May. It was May, four years ago, that I first saw my beloved
father; it was in May, three years ago that my folly destroyed the
only being I was doomed to love. May is returned, and I die. Three
days ago, the anniversary of our meeting; and, alas! of our eternal
seperation, after a day of killing emotion, I caused myself to be led
once more to behold the face of nature. I caused myself to be carried
to some meadows some miles distant from my cottage; the grass was
being mowed, and there was the scent of hay in the fields; all the
earth look[ed] fresh and its inhabitants happy. Evening approached and
I beheld the sun set. Three years ago and on that day and hour it
shone through the branches and leaves of the beech wood and its beams
flickered upon the countenance of him whom I then beheld for the last
time.[86] I now saw that divine orb, gilding all the clouds with
unwonted splendour, sink behind the horizon; it disappeared from a
world where he whom I would seek exists not; it approached a world
where he exists not[.] Why do I weep so bitterly? Why my [_sic_] does
my heart heave with vain endeavour to cast aside the bitter anguish
that covers it “as the waters cover the sea.” I go from this world
where he is no longer and soon I shall meet him in another.
Farewell, Woodville, the turf will soon be green on my grave; and the
violets will bloom on it. _There_ is my hope and my expectation;
your’s are in this world; may they be fulfilled.[87]
NOTES TO _MATHILDA_
Abbreviations:
_F of F--A_ _The Fields of Fancy_, in Lord Abinger’s notebook
_F of F--B_ _The Fields of Fancy_, in the notebook in the Bodleian Library
_S-R fr_ fragments of _The Fields of Fancy_ among the papers of the
late Sir John Shelley-Rolls, now in the Bodleian Library
[1] The name is spelled thus in the MSS of _Mathilda_ and _The Fields
of Fancy_, though in the printed _Journal_ (taken from _Shelley and
Mary_) and in the _Letters_ it is spelled _Matilda_. In the MS of the
journal, however, it is spelled first _Matilda_, later _Mathilda_.
[2] Mary has here added detail and contrast to the description in _F
of F--A_, in which the passage “save a few black patches ... on the
plain ground” does not appear.
[3] The addition of “I am alone ... withered me” motivates Mathilda’s
state of mind and her resolve to write her history.
[4] Mathilda too is the unwitting victim in a story of incest. Like
Oedipus, she has lost her parent-lover by suicide; like him she leaves
the scene of the revelation overwhelmed by a sense of her own guilt,
“a sacred horror”; like him, she finds a measure of peace as she is
about to die.
[5] The addition of “the precious memorials ... gratitude towards
you,” by its suggestion of the relationship between Mathilda and
Woodville, serves to justify the detailed narration.
[6] At this point two sheets have been removed from the notebook.
There is no break in continuity, however.
[7] The descriptions of Mathilda’s father and mother and the account
of their marriage in the next few pages are greatly expanded from _F
of F--A_, where there is only one brief paragraph. The process of
expansion can be followed in _S-R fr_ and in _F of F--B_. The
development of the character of Diana (who represents Mary’s own
mother, Mary Wollstonecraft) gave Mary the most trouble. For the
identifications with Mary’s father and mother, see Nitchie, _Mary
Shelley_, pp. 11, 90-93, 96-97.
[8] The passage “There was a gentleman ... school & college vacations”
is on a slip of paper pasted on page 11 of the MS. In the margin are
two fragments, crossed out, evidently parts of what is supplanted by
the substituted passage: “an angelic disposition and a quick,
penetrating understanding” and “her visits ... to ... his house were
long & frequent & there.” In _F of F--B_ Mary wrote of Diana’s
understanding “that often receives the name of masculine from its
firmness and strength.” This adjective had often been applied to Mary
Wollstonecraft’s mind. Mary Shelley’s own understanding had been
called masculine by Leigh Hunt in 1817 in the _Examiner_. The word was
used also by a reviewer of her last published work, _Rambles in
Germany and Italy, 1844_. (See Nitchie, _Mary Shelley_, p. 178.)
[9] The account of Diana in _Mathilda_ is much better ordered and more
coherent than that in _F of F--B_.
[10] The description of the effect of Diana’s death on her husband is
largely new in _Mathilda_. _F of F--B_ is frankly incomplete; _F of
F--A_ contains some of this material; _Mathilda_ puts it in order and
fills in the gaps.
[11] This paragraph is an elaboration of the description of her aunt’s
coldness as found in _F of F--B_. There is only one sentence in _F of
F--A_.
[12] The description of Mathilda’s love of nature and of animals is
elaborated from both rough drafts. The effect, like that of the
preceding addition (see note 11), is to emphasize Mathilda’s
loneliness. For the theme of loneliness in Mary Shelley’s work, see
Nitchie, _Mary Shelley_, pp. 13-17.
[13] This paragraph is a revision of _F of F--B_, which is
fragmentary. There is nothing in _F of F--A_ and only one scored-out
sentence in _S-R fr_. None of the rough drafts tells of her plans to
join her father.
[14] The final paragraph in Chapter II is entirely new.
[15] The account of the return of Mathilda’s father is very slightly
revised from that in _F of F--A_. _F of F--B_ has only a few
fragmentary sentences, scored out. It resumes with the paragraph
beginning, “My father was very little changed.”
[16] Symbolic of Mathilda’s subsequent life.
[17] _Illusion, or the Trances of Nourjahad_, a melodrama, was
performed at Drury Lane, November 25, 1813. It was anonymous, but it
was attributed by some reviewers to Byron, a charge which he
indignantly denied. See Byron, _Letters and Journals_, ed. by Rowland
E. Prothero (6 vols. London: Murray, 1902-1904), II, 288.
[18] This paragraph is in _F of F--B_ but not in _F of F--A_. In the
margin of the latter, however, is written: “It was not of the tree of
knowledge that I ate for no evil followed--it must be of the tree of
life that grows close beside it or--”. Perhaps this was intended to go
in the preceding paragraph after “My ideas were enlarged by his
conversation.” Then, when this paragraph was added, the figure,
noticeably changed, was included here.
[19] Here the MS of _F of F--B_ breaks off to resume only with the
meeting of Mathilda and Woodville.
[20] At the end of the story (p. 79) Mathilda says, “Death is too
terrible an object for the living.” Mary was thinking of the deaths of
her two children.
[21] Mary had read the story of Cupid and Psyche in Apuleius in 1817
and she had made an Italian translation, the MS of which is now in the
Library of Congress. See _Journal_, pp. 79, 85-86.
[22] The end of this paragraph gave Mary much trouble. In _F of F--A_
after the words, “my tale must,” she develops an elaborate figure: “go
with the stream that hurries on--& now was this stream precipitated by
an overwhelming fall from the pleasant vallies through which it
wandered--down hideous precipieces to a desart black & hopeless--”.
This, the original ending of the chapter, was scored out, and a new,
simplified version which, with some deletions and changes, became that
used in _Mathilda_ was written in the margins of two pages (ff. 57,
58). This revision is a good example of Mary’s frequent improvement of
her style by the omission of purple patches.
[23] In _F of F--A_ there follows a passage which has been scored out
and which does not appear in _Mathilda_: “I have tried in somewhat
feeble language to describe the excess of what I may almost call my
adoration for my father--you may then in some faint manner imagine my
despair when I found that he shunned [me] & that all the little arts I
used to re-awaken his lost love made him”--. This is a good example of
Mary’s frequent revision for the better by the omission of the obvious
and expository. But the passage also has intrinsic interest.
Mathilda’s “adoration” for her father may be compared to Mary’s
feeling for Godwin. In an unpublished letter (1822) to Jane Williams
she wrote, “Until I met Shelley I [could?] justly say that he was my
God--and I remember many childish instances of the [ex]cess of
attachment I bore for him.” See Nitchie, _Mary Shelley_, p. 89, and
note 9.
[24] Cf. the account of the services of Fantasia in the opening
chapter of _F of F--A_ (see pp. 90-102) together with note 3 to _The
Fields of Fancy_.
[25] This passage beginning “Day after day” and closing with the
quotation is not in _F of F--A_, but it is in _S-R fr_. The quotation
is from _The Captain_ by John Fletcher and a collaborator, possibly
Massinger. These lines from Act I, Sc. 3 are part of a speech by Lelia
addressed to her lover. Later in the play Lelia attempts to seduce her
father--possibly a reason for Mary’s selection of the lines.
[26] At this point (f. 56 of the notebook) begins a long passage,
continuing through Chapter V, in which Mary’s emotional disturbance in
writing about the change in Mathilda’s father (representing both
Shelley and Godwin?) shows itself on the pages of the MS. They look
more like the rough draft than the fair copy. There are numerous slips
of the pen, corrections in phrasing and sentence structure, dashes
instead of other marks of punctuation, a large blot of ink on f. 57,
one major deletion (see note 32).
[27] In the margin of _F of F--A_ Mary wrote, “Lord B’s Ch’de Harold.”
The reference is to stanzas 71 and 72 of Canto IV. Byron compares the
rainbow on the cataract first to “Hope upon a death-bed” and finally
Resembling, ’mid the torture of the scene, Love watching Madness with
unalterable mien.
[28] In _F of F--A_ Mathilda “took up Ariosto & read the story of
Isabella.” Mary’s reason for the change is not clear. Perhaps she
thought that the fate of Isabella, a tale of love and lust and death
(though not of incest), was too close to what was to be Mathilda’s
fate. She may have felt--and rightly--that the allusions to Lelia and
to Myrrha were ample foreshadowings. The reasons for the choice of the
seventh canto of Book II of the _Faerie Queene_ may lie in the
allegorical meaning of Guyon, or Temperance, and the “dread and
horror” of his experience.
[29] With this speech, which is not in _F of F--A_, Mary begins to
develop the character of the Steward, who later accompanies Mathilda
on her search for her father. Although he is to a very great extent
the stereptyped faithful servant, he does serve to dramatize the
situation both here and in the later scene.
[30] This clause is substituted for a more conventional and less
dramatic passage in _F of F--A_: “& besides there appeared more of
struggle than remorse in his manner although sometimes I thought I saw
glim[p]ses of the latter feeling in his tumultuous starts & gloomy
look.”
[31] These paragraphs beginning Chapter V are much expanded from _F of
F--A_. Some of the details are in the _S-R fr_. This scene is recalled
at the end of the story. (See page 80) Cf. what Mary says about places
that are associated with former emotions in her _Rambles in Germany
and Italy_ (2 vols., London: Moxon, 1844), II, 78-79. She is writing
of her approach to Venice, where, twenty-five years before, little
Clara had died. “It is a strange, but to any person who has suffered,
a familiar circumstance, that those who are enduring mental or
corporeal agony are strangely alive to immediate external objects, and
their imagination even exercises its wild power over them.... Thus the
banks of the Brenta presented to me a moving scene; not a palace, not
a tree of which I did not recognize, as marked and recorded, at a
moment when life and death hung upon our speedy arrival at Venice.”
[32] The remainder of this chapter, which describes the crucial scene
between Mathilda and her father, is the result of much revision from
_F of F--A_. Some of the revisions are in _S-R fr_. In general the
text of _Mathilda_ is improved in style. Mary adds concrete, specific
words and phrases; e.g., at the end of the first paragraph of
Mathilda’s speech, the words “of incertitude” appear in _Mathilda_ for
the first time. She cancels, even in this final draft, an
over-elaborate figure of speech after the words in the father’s reply,
“implicated in my destruction”; the cancelled passage is too flowery
to be appropriate here: “as if when a vulture is carrying off some
hare it is struck by an arrow his helpless victim entangled in the
same fate is killed by the defeat of its enemy. One word would do all
this.” Furthermore the revised text shows greater understanding and
penetration of the feelings of both speakers: the addition of “Am I
the cause of your grief?” which brings out more dramatically what
Mathilda has said in the first part of this paragraph; the analysis of
the reasons for her presistent questioning; the addition of the final
paragraph of her plea, “Alas! Alas!... you hate me!” which prepares
for the father’s reply.
[33] Almost all the final paragraph of the chapter is added to _F of
F--A_. Three brief _S-R fr_ are much revised and simplified.
[34] _Decameron_, 4th day, 1st story. Mary had read the _Decameron_ in
May, 1819. See _Journal_, p. 121.
[35] The passage “I should fear ... I must despair” is in _S-R fr_ but
not in _F of F--A_. There, in the margin, is the following: “Is it not
the prerogative of superior virtue to pardon the erring and to weigh
with mercy their offenses?” This sentence does not appear in
_Mathilda_. Also in the margin of _F of F--A_ is the number (9), the
number of the _S-R fr_.
[36] The passage “enough of the world ... in unmixed delight” is on a
slip pasted over the middle of the page. Some of the obscured text is
visible in the margin, heavily scored out. Also in the margin is
“Canto IV Vers Ult,” referring to the quotation from Dante’s
_Paradiso_. This quotation, with the preceding passage beginning “in
whose eyes,” appears in _Mathilda_ only.
[37] The reference to Diana, with the father’s rationalization of his
love for Mathilda, is in _S-R fr_ but not in _F of F--A_.
[38] In _F of F--A_ this is followed by a series of other gloomy
concessive clauses which have been scored out to the advantage of the
text.
[39] This paragraph has been greatly improved by the omission of
elaborate over-statement; e.g., “to pray for mercy & respite from my
fear” (_F of F--A_) becomes merely “to pray.”
[40] This paragraph about the Steward is added in _Mathilda_. In _F of
F--A_ he is called a servant and his name is Harry. See note 29.
[41] This sentence, not in _F of F--A_, recalls Mathilda’s dream.
[42] This passage is somewhat more dramatic than that in _F of F--A_,
putting what is there merely a descriptive statement into quotation
marks.
[43] A stalactite grotto on the island of Antiparos in the Aegean Sea.
[44] A good description of Mary’s own behavior in England after
Shelley’s death, of the surface placidity which concealed stormy
emotion. See Nitchie, _Mary Shelley_, pp. 8-10.
[45] _Job_, 17: 15-16, slightly misquoted.
[46] Not in _F of F--A_. The quotation should read:
Fam. Whisper it, sister! so and so! In a dark hint, soft and slow.
[47] The mother of Prince Arthur in Shakespeare’s _King John_. In the
MS the words “the little Arthur” are written in pencil above the name
of Constance.
[48] In _F of F--A_ this account of her plans is addressed to Diotima,
and Mathilda’s excuse for not detailing them is that they are too
trivial to interest spirits no longer on earth; this is the only
intrusion of the framework into Mathilda’s narrative in _The Fields of
Fancy_. Mathilda’s refusal to recount her stratagems, though the
omission is a welcome one to the reader, may represent the flagging of
Mary’s invention. Similarly in _Frankenstein_ she offers excuses for
not explaining how the Monster was brought to life. The entire
passage, “Alas! I even now ... remain unfinished. I was,” is on a slip
of paper pasted on the page.
[49] The comparison to a Hermitess and the wearing of the “fanciful
nunlike dress” are appropriate though melodramatic. They appear only
in _Mathilda_. Mathilda refers to her “whimsical nunlike habit” again
after she meets Woodville (see page 60) and tells us in a deleted
passage that it was “a close nunlike gown of black silk.”
[50] Cf. Shelley, _Prometheus Unbound_, I, 48: “the wingless, crawling
hours.” This phrase (“my part in submitting ... minutes”) and the
remainder of the paragraph are an elaboration of the simple phrase in
_F of F--A_, “my part in enduring it--,” with its ambiguous pronoun.
The last page of Chapter VIII shows many corrections, even in the MS
of _Mathilda_. It is another passage that Mary seems to have written
in some agitation of spirit. Cf. note 26.
[51] In _F of F--A_ there are several false starts before this
sentence. The name there is Welford; on the next page it becomes
Lovel, which is thereafter used throughout _The Fields of Fancy_ and
appears twice, probably inadvertently, in _Mathilda_, where it is
crossed out. In a few of the _S-R fr_ it is Herbert. In _Mathilda_ it
is at first Herbert, which is used until after the rewritten
conclusion (see note 83) but is corrected throughout to Woodville. On
the final pages Woodville alone is used. (It is interesting, though
not particularly significant, that one of the minor characters in
Lamb’s _John Woodvil_ is named Lovel. Such mellifluous names rolled
easily from the pens of all the romantic writers.) This, her first
portrait of Shelley in fiction, gave Mary considerable trouble:
revisions from the rough drafts are numerous. The passage on
Woodville’s endowment by fortune, for example, is much more concise
and effective than that in _S-R fr_. Also Mary curbed somewhat the
extravagance of her praise of Woodville, omitting such hyperboles as
“When he appeared a new sun seemed to rise on the day & he had all the
benignity of the dispensor of light,” and “he seemed to come as the
God of the world.”
[52] This passage beginning “his station was too high” is not in _F of
F--A_.
[53] This passage beginning “He was a believer in the divinity of
genius” is not in _F of F--A_. Cf. the discussion of genius in
“Giovanni Villani” (Mary Shelley’s essay in _The Liberal_, No. IV,
1823), including the sentence: “The fixed stars appear to abberate
[_sic_]; but it is we that move, not they.” It is tempting to conclude
that this is a quotation or echo of something which Shelley said,
perhaps in conversation with Byron. I have not found it in any of his
published writings.
[54] Is this wishful thinking about Shelley’s poetry? It is well known
that a year later Mary remonstrated with Shelley about _The Witch of
Atlas_, desiring, as she said in her 1839 note, “that Shelley should
increase his popularity.... It was not only that I wished him to
acquire popularity as redounding to his fame; but I believed that he
would obtain a greater mastery over his own powers, and greater
happiness in his mind, if public applause crowned his endeavours....
Even now I believe that I was in the right.” Shelley’s response is in
the six introductory stanzas of the poem.
[55] The preceding paragraphs about Elinor and Woodville are the
result of considerable revision for the better of _F of F--A_ and _S-R
fr_. Mary scored out a paragraph describing Elinor, thus getting rid
of several clichés (“fortune had smiled on her,” “a favourite of
fortune,” “turning tears of misery to those of joy”); she omitted a
clause which offered a weak motivation of Elinor’s father’s will (the
possibility of her marrying, while hardly more than a child, one of
her guardian’s sons); she curtailed the extravagance of a rhapsody on
the perfect happiness which Woodville and Elinor would have enjoyed.
[56] The death scene is elaborated from _F of F--A_ and made more
melodramatic by the addition of Woodville’s plea and of his vigil by
the death-bed.
[57] _F of F--A_ ends here and _F of F--B_ resumes.
[58] A similar passage about Mathilda’s fears is cancelled in _F of
F--B_ but it appears in revised form in _S-R fr_. There is also among
these fragments a long passage, not used in _Mathilda_, identifying
Woodville as someone she had met in London. Mary was wise to discard
it for the sake of her story. But the first part of it is interesting
for its correspondence with fact: “I knew him when I first went to
London with my father he was in the height of his glory &
happiness--Elinor was living & in her life he lived--I did not know
her but he had been introduced to my father & had once or twice
visited us--I had then gazed with wonder on his beauty & listened to
him with delight--” Shelley had visited Godwin more than “once or
twice” while Harriet was still living, and Mary had seen him. Of
course she had seen Harriet too, in 1812, when she came with Shelley
to call on Godwin. Elinor and Harriet, however, are completely unlike.
[59] Here and on many succeeding pages, where Mathilda records the
words and opinions of Woodville, it is possible to hear the voice of
Shelley. This paragraph, which is much expanded from _F of F--B_, may
be compared with the discussion of good and evil in _Julian and
Maddalo_ and with _Prometheus Unbound_ and _A Defence of Poetry_.
[60] In the revision of this passage Mathilda’s sense of her pollution
is intensified; for example, by addition of “infamy and guilt was
mingled with my portion.”
[61] Some phrases of self-criticism are added in this paragraph.
[62] In _F of F--B_ this quotation is used in the laudanum scene, just
before Level’s (Woodville’s) long speech of dissuasion.
[63] The passage “air, & to suffer ... my compassionate friend” is on
a slip of paper pasted across the page.
[64] This phrase sustains the metaphor better than that in _F of
F--B_: “puts in a word.”
[65] This entire paragraph is added to _F of F--B_; it is in rough
draft in _S-R fr_.
[66] This is changed in the MS of _Mathilda_ from “a violent
thunderstorm.” Evidently Mary decided to avoid using another
thunderstorm at a crisis in the story.
[67] The passage “It is true ... I will” is on a slip of paper pasted
across the page.
[68] In the revision from _F of F--B_ the style of this whole episode
becomes more concise and specific.
[69] An improvement over the awkward phrasing in _F of F--B_: “a
friend who will not repulse my request that he would accompany me.”
[70] These two paragraphs are not in _F of F--B_; portions of them are
in _S-R fr_.
[71] This speech is greatly improved in style over that in _F of
F--B_, more concise in expression (though somewhat expanded), more
specific. There are no corresponding _S-R fr_ to show the process of
revision. With the ideas expressed here cf. Shelley, _Julian and
Maddalo_, ll. 182-187, 494-499, and his letter to Claire in November,
1820 (Julian _Works_, X, 226). See also White, _Shelley_, II, 378.
[72] This solecism, copied from _F of F--B_, is not characteristic of
Mary Shelley.
[73] This paragraph prepares for the eventual softening of Mathilda’s
feeling. The idea is somewhat elaborated from _F of F--B_. Other
changes are necessitated by the change in the mode of presenting the
story. In _The Fields of Fancy_ Mathilda speaks as one who has already
died.
[74] Cf. Shelley’s emphasis on hope and its association with love in
all his work. When Mary wrote _Mathilda_ she knew _Queen Mab_ (see
Part VIII, ll. 50-57, and Part IX, ll. 207-208), the _Hymn to
Intellectual Beauty_, and the first three acts of _Prometheus
Unbound_. The fourth act was written in the winter of 1819, but
Demogorgon’s words may already have been at least adumbrated before
the beginning of November:
To love and bear, to hope till hope creates From its own wreck the
thing it contemplates.
[75] Shelley had written, “Desolation is a delicate thing”
(_Prometheus Unbound_, Act I, l. 772) and called the Spirit of the
Earth “a delicate spirit” (_Ibid._, Act III, Sc. iv, l. 6).
[76] _Purgatorio_, Canto 28, ll. 31-33. Perhaps by this time Shelley
had translated ll. 1-51 of this canto. He had read the _Purgatorio_ in
April, 1818, and again with Mary in August, 1819, just as she was
beginning to write _Mathilda_. Shelley showed his translation to
Medwin in 1820, but there seems to be no record of the date of
composition.
[77] An air with this title was published about 1800 in London by
Robert Birchall. See _Catalogue of Printed Music Published between
1487 and 1800 and now in the British Museum_, by W. Barclay Squire,
1912. Neither author nor composer is listed in the _Catalogue_.
[78] This paragraph is materially changed from _F of F--B_. Clouds and
darkness are substituted for starlight, silence for the sound of the
wind. The weather here matches Mathilda’s mood. Four and a half lines
of verse (which I have not been able to identify, though they sound
Shelleyan--are they Mary’s own?) are omitted: of the stars she says,
the wind is in the tree
But they are silent;--still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; & the vault
Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds
Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
[79] If Mary quotes Coleridge’s _Ancient Mariner_ intentionally here,
she is ironic, for this is no merciful rain, except for the fact that
it brings on the illness which leads to Mathilda’s death, for which
she longs.
[80] This quotation from _Christabel_ (which suggests that the
preceding echo is intentional) is not in _F of F--B_.
[81] Cf. the description which opens _Mathilda_.
[82] Among Lord Abinger’s papers, in Mary’s hand, are some comparable
(but very bad) fragmentary verses addressed to Mother Earth.
[83] At this point four sheets are cut out of the notebook. They are
evidently those with pages numbered 217 to 223 which are among the
_S-R fr_. They contain the conclusion of the story, ending, as does _F
of F--B_ with Mathilda’s words spoken to Diotima in the Elysian
Fields: “I am here, not with my father, but listening to lessons of
wisdom, which will one day bring me to him when we shall never part.
THE END.” Some passages are scored out, but not this final sentence.
Tenses are changed from past to future. The name _Herbert_ is changed
to _Woodville_. The explanation must be that Mary was hurrying to
finish the revision (quite drastic on these final pages) and the
transcription of her story before her confinement, and that in her
haste she copied the pages from _F of F--B_ as they stood. Then,
realizing that they did not fit _Mathilda_, she began to revise them;
but to keep her MS neat, she cut out these pages and wrote the fair
copy. There is no break in _Mathilda_ in story or in pagination. This
fair copy also shows signs of haste: slips of the pen, repetition of
words, a number of unimportant revisions.
[84] Here in _F of F--B_ there is an index number which evidently
points to a note at the bottom of the next page. The note is omitted
in _Mathilda_. It reads:
“Dante in his Purgatorio describes a grifon as remaining unchanged but
his reflection in the eyes of Beatrice as perpetually varying (Purg.
Cant. 31) So nature is ever the same but seen differently by almost
every spectator and even by the same at various times. All minds, as
mirrors, receive her forms--yet in each mirror the shapes apparently
reflected vary & are perpetually changing--”
[85] See note 20. Mary Shelley had suffered this torture when Clara
and William died.
[86] See the end of Chapter V.
[87] This sentence is not in _F of F--B_ or in _S-R fr_.
THE FIELDS OF FANCY[88]
It was in Rome--the Queen of the World that I suffered a misfortune
that reduced me to misery & despair[89]--The bright sun & deep azure
sky were oppressive but nought was so hateful as the voice of Man--I
loved to walk by the shores of the Tiber which were solitary & if the
sirocco blew to see the swift clouds pass over St. Peters and the many
domes of Rome or if the sun shone I turned my eyes from the sky whose
light was too dazzling & gay to be reflected in my tearful eyes I
turned them to the river whose swift course was as the speedy
departure of happiness and whose turbid colour was gloomy as grief--
Whether I slept I know not or whether it was in one of those many
hours which I spent seated on the ground my mind a chaos of despair &
my eyes for ever wet by tears but I was here visited by a lovely
spirit whom I have ever worshiped & who tried to repay my adoration by
diverting my mind from the hideous memories that racked it. At first
indeed this wanton spirit played a false part & appearing with sable
wings & gloomy countenance seemed to take a pleasure in exagerating
all my miseries--and as small hopes arose to snatch them from me &
give me in their place gigantic fears which under her fairy hand
appeared close, impending & unavoidable--sometimes she would cruelly
leave me while I was thus on the verge of madness and without
consoling me leave me nought but heavy leaden sleep--but at other
times she would wilily link less unpleasing thoughts to these most
dreadful ones & before I was aware place hopes before me--futile but
consoling[90]--
One day this lovely spirit--whose name as she told me was Fantasia
came to me in one of her consolotary moods--her wings which seemed
coloured by her tone of mind were not gay but beautiful like that of
the partridge & her lovely eyes although they ever burned with an
unquenshable fire were shaded & softened by her heavy lids & the black
long fringe of her eye lashes--She thus addressed me--You mourn for
the loss of those you love. They are gone for ever & great as my power
is I cannot recall them to you--if indeed I wave my wand over you you
will fancy that you feel their gentle spirits in the soft air that
steals over your cheeks & the distant sound of winds & waters may
image to you their voices which will bid you rejoice for that they
live--This will not take away your grief but you will shed sweeter
tears than those which full of anguish & hopelessness now start from
your eyes--This I can do & also can I take you to see many of my
provinces my fairy lands which you have not yet visited and whose
beauty will while away the heavy time--I have many lovely spots under
my command which poets of old have visited and have seen those sights
the relation of which has been as a revelation to the world--many
spots I have still in keeping of lovely fields or horrid rocks peopled
by the beautiful or the tremendous which I keep in reserve for my
future worshippers--to one of those whose grim terrors frightened
sleep from the eye I formerly led you[91] but you now need more
pleasing images & although I will not promise you to shew you any new
scenes yet if I lead you to one often visited by my followers you will
at least see new combinations that will sooth if they do not delight
you--Follow me--
Alas! I replied--when have you found me slow to obey your voice--some
times indeed I have called you & you have not come--but when before
have I not followed your slightest sign and have left what was either
of joy or sorrow in our world to dwell with you in yours till you have
dismissed me ever unwilling to depart--But now the weight of grief
that oppresses me takes from me that lightness which is necessary to
follow your quick & winged motions alas in the midst of my course one
thought would make me droop to the ground while you would outspeed me
to your Kingdom of Glory & leave me here darkling
Ungrateful! replied the Spirit Do I not tell you that I will sustain &
console you My wings shall aid your heavy steps & I will command my
winds to disperse the mist that over casts you--I will lead you to a
place where you will not hear laughter that disturbs you or see the
sun that dazzles you--We will choose some of the most sombre walks of
the Elysian fields--
The Elysian fields--I exclaimed with a quick scream--shall I then see?
I gasped & could not ask that which I longed to know--the friendly
spirit replied more gravely--I have told you that you will not see
those whom you mourn--But I must away--follow me or I must leave you
weeping deserted by the spirit that now checks your tears--
Go--I replied I cannot follow--I can only sit here & grieve--& long to
see those who are gone for ever for to nought but what has relation to
them can I listen--
The spirit left me to groan & weep to wish the sun quenched in eternal
darkness--to accuse the air the waters all--all the universe of my
utter & irremediable misery--Fantasia came again and ever when she
came tempted me to follow her but as to follow her was to leave for a
while the thought of those loved ones whose memories were my all
although they were my torment I dared not go--Stay with me I cried &
help me to clothe my bitter thoughts in lovelier colours give me hope
although fallacious & images of what has been although it never will
be again--diversion I cannot take cruel fairy do you leave me alas all
my joy fades at thy departure but I may not follow thee--
One day after one of these combats when the spirit had left me I
wandered on along the banks of the river to try to disperse the
excessive misery that I felt untill overcome by fatigue--my eyes
weighed down by tears--I lay down under the shade of trees & fell
asleep--I slept long and when I awoke I knew not where I was--I did
not see the river or the distant city--but I lay beside a lovely
fountain shadowed over by willows & surrounded by blooming myrtles--at
a short distance the air seemed pierced by the spiry pines & cypresses
and the ground was covered by short moss & sweet smelling heath--the
sky was blue but not dazzling like that of Rome and on every side I
saw long allies--clusters of trees with intervening lawns & gently
stealing rivers--Where am I? [I] exclaimed--& looking around me I
beheld Fantasia--She smiled & as she smiled all the enchanting scene
appeared lovelier--rainbows played in the fountain & the heath flowers
at our feet appeared as if just refreshed by dew--I have seized you,
said she--as you slept and will for some little time retain you as my
prisoner--I will introduce you to some of the inhabitants of these
peaceful Gardens--It shall not be to any whose exuberant happiness
will form an u[n]pleasing contrast with your heavy grief but it shall
be to those whose chief care here is to acquired knowledged [_sic_] &
virtue--or to those who having just escaped from care & pain have not
yet recovered full sense of enjoyment--This part of these Elysian
Gardens is devoted to those who as before in your world wished to
become wise & virtuous by study & action here endeavour after the
same ends by contemplation--They are still unknowing of their final
destination but they have a clear knowledge of what on earth is only
supposed by some which is that their happiness now & hereafter depends
upon their intellectual improvement--Nor do they only study the forms
of this universe but search deeply in their own minds and love to meet
& converse on all those high subjects of which the philosophers of
Athens loved to treat--With deep feelings but with no outward
circumstances to excite their passions you will perhaps imagine that
their life is uniform & dull--but these sages are of that disposition
fitted to find wisdom in every thing & in every lovely colour or form
ideas that excite their love--Besides many years are consumed before
they arrive here--When a soul longing for knowledge & pining at its
narrow conceptions escapes from your earth many spirits wait to
receive it and to open its eyes to the mysteries of the universe--many
centuries are often consumed in these travels and they at last retire
here to digest their knowledge & to become still wiser by thought and
imagination working upon memory [92]--When the fitting period is
accomplished they leave this garden to inhabit another world fitted
for the reception of beings almost infinitely wise--but what this
world is neither can you conceive or I teach you--some of the spirits
whom you will see here are yet unknowing in the secrets of
nature--They are those whom care & sorrow have consumed on earth &
whose hearts although active in virtue have been shut through
suffering from knowledge--These spend sometime here to recover their
equanimity & to get a thirst of knowledge from converse with their
wiser companions--They now securely hope to see again those whom they
love & know that it is ignorance alone that detains them from them. As
for those who in your world knew not the loveliness of benevolence &
justice they are placed apart some claimed by the evil spirit & in
vain sought for by the good but She whose delight is to reform the
wicked takes all she can & delivers them to her ministers not to be
punished but to be exercised & instructed untill acquiring a love of
virtue they are fitted for these gardens where they will acquire a
love of knowledge
As Fantasia talked I saw various groupes of figures as they walked
among the allies of the gardens or were seated on the grassy plots
either in contemplation or conversation several advanced together
towards the fountain where I sat--As they approached I observed the
principal figure to be that of a woman about 40 years of age her eyes
burned with a deep fire and every line of her face expressed
enthusiasm & wisdom--Poetry seemed seated on her lips which were
beautifully formed & every motion of her limbs although not youthful
was inexpressibly graceful--her black hair was bound in tresses round
her head and her brows were encompassed by a fillet--her dress was
that of a simple tunic bound at the waist by a broad girdle and a
mantle which fell over her left arm she was encompassed by several
youths of both sexes who appeared to hang on her words & to catch the
inspiration as it flowed from her with looks either of eager wonder or
stedfast attention with eyes all bent towards her eloquent countenance
which beamed with the mind within--I am going said Fantasia but I
leave my spirit with you without which this scene wd fade away--I
leave you in good company--that female whose eyes like the loveliest
planet in the heavens draw all to gaze on her is the Prophetess
Diotima the instructress of Socrates[93]--The company about her are
those just escaped from the world there they were unthinking or
misconducted in the pursuit of knowledge. She leads them to truth &
wisdom untill the time comes when they shall be fitted for the journey
through the universe which all must one day undertake--farewell--
And now, gentlest reader--I must beg your indulgence--I am a being too
weak to record the words of Diotima her matchless wisdom & heavenly
eloquence[.] What I shall repeat will be as the faint shadow of a tree
by moonlight--some what of the form will be preserved but there will
be no life in it--Plato alone of Mortals could record the thoughts of
Diotima hopeless therefore I shall not dwell so much on her words as
on those of her pupils which being more earthly can better than hers
be related by living lips[.]
Diotima approached the fountain & seated herself on a mossy mound near
it and her disciples placed themselves on the grass near her--Without
noticing me who sat close under her she continued her discourse
addressing as it happened one or other of her listeners--but before I
attempt to repeat her words I will describe the chief of these whom
she appeared to wish principally to impress--One was a woman of about
23 years of age in the full enjoyment of the most exquisite beauty her
golden hair floated in ringlets on her shoulders--her hazle eyes were
shaded by heavy lids and her mouth the lips apart seemed to breathe
sensibility[94]--But she appeared thoughtful & unhappy--her cheek was
pale she seemed as if accustomed to suffer and as if the lessons she
now heard were the only words of wisdom to which she had ever
listened--The youth beside her had a far different aspect--his form
was emaciated nearly to a shadow--his features were handsome but thin
& worn--& his eyes glistened as if animating the visage of decay--his
forehead was expansive but there was a doubt & perplexity in his looks
that seemed to say that although he had sought wisdom he had got
entangled in some mysterious mazes from which he in vain endeavoured
to extricate himself--As Diotima spoke his colour went & came with
quick changes & the flexible muscles of his countenance shewed every
impression that his mind received--he seemed one who in life had
studied hard but whose feeble frame sunk beneath the weight of the
mere exertion of life--the spark of intelligence burned with uncommon
strength within him but that of life seemed ever on the eve of
fading[95]--At present I shall not describe any other of this groupe
but with deep attention try to recall in my memory some of the words
of Diotima--they were words of fire but their path is faintly marked
on my recollection--[96]
It requires a just hand, said she continuing her discourse, to weigh &
divide the good from evil--On the earth they are inextricably
entangled and if you would cast away what there appears an evil a
multitude of beneficial causes or effects cling to it & mock your
labour--When I was on earth and have walked in a solitary country
during the silence of night & have beheld the multitude of stars, the
soft radiance of the moon reflected on the sea, which was studded by
lovely islands--When I have felt the soft breeze steal across my cheek
& as the words of love it has soothed & cherished me--then my mind
seemed almost to quit the body that confined it to the earth & with a
quick mental sense to mingle with the scene that I hardly saw--I
felt--Then I have exclaimed, oh world how beautiful thou art!--Oh
brightest universe behold thy worshiper!--spirit of beauty & of
sympathy which pervades all things, & now lifts my soul as with wings,
how have you animated the light & the breezes!--Deep & inexplicable
spirit give me words to express my adoration; my mind is hurried away
but with language I cannot tell how I feel thy loveliness! Silence or
the song of the nightingale the momentary apparition of some bird that
flies quietly past--all seems animated with thee & more than all the
deep sky studded with worlds!”--If the winds roared & tore the sea and
the dreadful lightnings seemed falling around me--still love was
mingled with the sacred terror I felt; the majesty of loveliness was
deeply impressed on me--So also I have felt when I have seen a lovely
countenance--or heard solemn music or the eloquence of divine wisdom
flowing from the lips of one of its worshippers--a lovely animal or
even the graceful undulations of trees & inanimate objects have
excited in me the same deep feeling of love & beauty; a feeling which
while it made me alive & eager to seek the cause & animator of the
scene, yet satisfied me by its very depth as if I had already found
the solution to my enquires [_sic_] & as if in feeling myself a part
of the great whole I had found the truth & secret of the universe--But
when retired in my cell I have studied & contemplated the various
motions and actions in the world the weight of evil has confounded
me--If I thought of the creation I saw an eternal chain of evil linked
one to the other--from the great whale who in the sea swallows &
destroys multitudes & the smaller fish that live on him also & torment
him to madness--to the cat whose pleasure it is to torment her prey I
saw the whole creation filled with pain--each creature seems to exist
through the misery of another & death & havoc is the watchword of the
animated world--And Man also--even in Athens the most civilized spot
on the earth what a multitude of mean passions--envy, malice--a
restless desire to depreciate all that was great and good did I
see--And in the dominions of the great being I saw man [reduced?][97]
far below the animals of the field preying on one anothers [_sic_]
hearts; happy in the downfall of others--themselves holding on with
bent necks and cruel eyes to a wretch more a slave if possible than
they to his miserable passions--And if I said these are the
consequences of civilization & turned to the savage world I saw only
ignorance unrepaid by any noble feeling--a mere animal, love of life
joined to a low love of power & a fiendish love of destruction--I saw
a creature drawn on by his senses & his selfish passions but untouched
by aught noble or even Human--
And then when I sought for consolation in the various faculties man is
possessed of & which I felt burning within me--I found that spirit of
union with love & beauty which formed my happiness & pride degraded
into superstition & turned from its natural growth which could bring
forth only good fruit:--cruelty--& intolerance & hard tyranny was
grafted on its trunk & from it sprung fruit suitable to such
grafts--If I mingled with my fellow creatures was the voice I heard
that of love & virtue or that of selfishness & vice, still misery was
ever joined to it & the tears of mankind formed a vast sea ever blown
on by its sighs & seldom illuminated by its smiles--Such taking only
one side of the picture & shutting wisdom from the view is a just
portraiture of the creation as seen on earth
But when I compared the good & evil of the world & wished to divide
them into two seperate principles I found them inextricably intwined
together & I was again cast into perplexity & doubt--I might have
considered the earth as an imperfect formation where having bad
materials to work on the Creator could only palliate the evil effects
of his combinations but I saw a wanton malignity in many parts &
particularly in the mind of man that baffled me a delight in mischief
a love of evil for evils sake--a siding of the multitude--a dastardly
applause which in their hearts the crowd gave to triumphant
wick[ed]ness over lowly virtue that filled me with painful sensations.
Meditation, painful & continual thought only encreased my doubts--I
dared not commit the blasphemy of ascribing the slightest evil to a
beneficent God--To whom then should I ascribe the creation? To two
principles? Which was the upermost? They were certainly independant
for neither could the good spirit allow the existence of evil or the
evil one the existence of good--Tired of these doubts to which I could
form no probable solution--Sick of forming theories which I destroyed
as quickly as I built them I was one evening on the top of Hymettus
beholding the lovely prospect as the sun set in the glowing sea--I
looked towards Athens & in my heart I exclaimed--oh busy hive of men!
What heroism & what meaness exists within thy walls! And alas! both to
the good & to the wicked what incalculable misery--Freemen ye call
yourselves yet every free man has ten slaves to build up his
freedom--and these slaves are men as they are yet d[e]graded by their
station to all that is mean & loathsome--Yet in how many hearts now
beating in that city do high thoughts live & magnanimity that should
methinks redeem the whole human race--What though the good man is
unhappy has he not that in his heart to satisfy him? And will a
contented conscience compensate for fallen hopes--a slandered name
torn affections & all the miseries of civilized life?--
Oh Sun how beautiful thou art! And how glorious is the golden ocean
that receives thee! My heart is at peace--I feel no sorrow--a holy
love stills my senses--I feel as if my mind also partook of the
inexpressible loveliness of surrounding nature--What shall I do? Shall
I disturb this calm by mingling in the world?--shall I with an aching
heart seek the spectacle of misery to discover its cause or shall I
hopless leave the search of knowledge & devote myself to the pleasures
they say this world affords?--Oh! no--I will become wise! I will study
my own heart--and there discovering as I may the spring of the virtues
I possess I will teach others how to look for them in their own
souls--I will find whence arrises this unquenshable love of beauty I
possess that seems the ruling star of my life--I will learn how I may
direct it aright and by what loving I may become more like that beauty
which I adore And when I have traced the steps of the godlike feeling
which ennobles me & makes me that which I esteem myself to be then I
will teach others & if I gain but one proselyte--if I can teach but
one other mind what is the beauty which they ought to love--and what
is the sympathy to which they ought to aspire what is the true end of
their being--which must be the true end of that of all men then shall
I be satisfied & think I have done enough--
Farewell doubts--painful meditation of evil--& the great, ever
inexplicable cause of all that we see--I am content to be ignorant of
all this happy that not resting my mind on any unstable theories I
have come to the conclusion that of the great secret of the universe I
_can know nothing_--There is a veil before it--my eyes are not
piercing enough to see through it my arms not long enough to reach it
to withdraw it--I will study the end of my being--oh thou universal
love inspire me--oh thou beauty which I see glowing around me lift me
to a fit understanding of thee! Such was the conclusion of my long
wanderings I sought the end of my being & I found it to be knowledge
of itself--Nor think this a confined study--Not only did it lead me to
search the mazes of the human soul--but I found that there existed
nought on earth which contained not a part of that universal beauty
with which it [was] my aim & object to become acquainted--the motions
of the stars of heaven the study of all that philosophers have
unfolded of wondrous in nature became as it where [_sic_] the steps by
which my soul rose to the full contemplation & enjoyment of the
beautiful--Oh ye who have just escaped from the world ye know not
what fountains of love will be opened in your hearts or what exquisite
delight your minds will receive when the secrets of the world will be
unfolded to you and ye shall become acquainted with the beauty of the
universe--Your souls now growing eager for the acquirement of
knowledge will then rest in its possession disengaged from every
particle of evil and knowing all things ye will as it were be mingled
in the universe & ye will become a part of that celestial beauty that
you admire--[98]
Diotima ceased and a profound silence ensued--the youth with his
cheeks flushed and his eyes burning with the fire communicated from
hers still fixed them on her face which was lifted to heaven as in
inspiration--The lovely female bent hers to the ground & after a deep
sigh was the first to break the silence--
Oh divinest prophetess, said she--how new & to me how strange are your
lessons--If such be the end of our being how wayward a course did I
pursue on earth--Diotima you know not how torn affections & misery
incalculable misery--withers up the soul. How petty do the actions of
our earthly life appear when the whole universe is opened to our
gaze--yet there our passions are deep & irrisisbable [_sic_] and as we
are floating hopless yet clinging to hope down the impetuous stream
can we perceive the beauty of its banks which alas my soul was too
turbid to reflect--If knowledge is the end of our being why are
passions & feelings implanted in us that hurries [_sic_] us from
wisdom to selfconcentrated misery & narrow selfish feeling? Is it as a
trial? On earth I thought that I had well fulfilled my trial & my last
moments became peaceful with the reflection that I deserved no
blame--but you take from me that feeling--My passions were there my
all to me and the hopeless misery that possessed me shut all love &
all images of beauty from my soul--Nature was to me as the blackest
night & if rays of loveliness ever strayed into my darkness it was
only to draw bitter tears of hopeless anguish from my eyes--Oh on
earth what consolation is there to misery?
Your heart I fear, replied Diotima, was broken by your sufferings--but
if you had struggled--if when you found all hope of earthly happiness
wither within you while desire of it scorched your soul--if you had
near you a friend to have raised you to the contemplation of beauty &
the search of knowledge you would have found perhaps not new hopes
spring within you but a new life distinct from that of passion by
which you had before existed[99]--relate to me what this misery was
that thus engroses you--tell me what were the vicissitudes of feeling
that you endured on earth--after death our actions & worldly interest
fade as nothing before us but the traces of our feelings exist & the
memories of those are what furnish us here with eternal subject of
meditation.
A blush spread over the cheek of the lovely girl--Alas, replied she
what a tale must I relate what dark & phre[n]zied passions must I
unfold--When you Diotima lived on earth your soul seemed to mingle in
love only with its own essence & to be unknowing of the various
tortures which that heart endures who if it has not sympathized with
has been witness of the dreadful struggles of a soul enchained by dark
deep passions which were its hell & yet from which it could not
escape--Are there in the peaceful language used by the inhabitants of
these regions--words burning enough to paint the tortures of the human
heart--Can you understand them? or can you in any way sympathize with
them--alas though dead I do and my tears flow as when I lived when my
memory recalls the dreadful images of the past--
--As the lovely girl spoke my own eyes filled with bitter drops--the
spirit of Fantasia seemed to fade from within me and when after
placing my hand before my swimming eyes I withdrew it again I found
myself under the trees on the banks of the Tiber--The sun was just
setting & tinging with crimson the clouds that floated over St.
Peters--all was still no human voice was heard--the very air was quiet
I rose--& bewildered with the grief that I felt within me the
recollection of what I had heard--I hastened to the city that I might
see human beings not that I might forget my wandering recollections
but that I might impress on my mind what was reality & what was either
dream--or at least not of this earth--The Corso of Rome was filled
with carriages and as I walked up the Trinita dei’ Montes I became
disgusted with the crowd that I saw about me & the vacancy & want of
beauty not to say deformity of the many beings who meaninglessly
buzzed about me--I hastened to my room which overlooked the whole city
which as night came on became tranquil--Silent lovely Rome I now gaze
on thee--thy domes are illuminated by the moon--and the ghosts of
lovely memories float with the night breeze among thy ruins--
contemplating thy loveliness which half soothes my miserable heart I
record what I have seen--Tomorrow I will again woo Fantasia to lead me
to the same walks & invite her to visit me with her visions which I
before neglected--Oh let me learn this lesson while yet it may be
useful to me that to a mind hopeless & unhappy as mine--a moment of
forgetfullness a moment [in] which it can pass out of itself is worth
a life of painful recollection.
CHAP. 2
The next morning while sitting on the steps of the temple of
Aesculapius in the Borghese gardens Fantasia again visited me &
smilingly beckoned to me to follow her--My flight was at first heavy
but the breezes commanded by the spirit to convoy me grew stronger as
I advanced--a pleasing languour seized my senses & when I recovered I
found my self by the Elysian fountain near Diotima--The beautiful
female who[m] I had left on the point of narrating her earthly history
seemed to have waited for my return and as soon as I appeared she
spoke thus--[100]
NOTES TO _THE FIELDS OF FANCY_
[88] Here is printed the opening of _F of F--A_, which contains the
fanciful framework abandoned in _Mathilda_. It has some intrinsic
interest, as it shows that Mary as well as Shelley had been reading
Plato, and especially as it reveals the close connection of the
writing of _Mathilda_ with Mary’s own grief and depression. The first
chapter is a fairly good rough draft. Punctuation, to be sure,
consists largely of dashes or is non-existent, and there are some
corrections. But there are not as many changes as there are in the
remainder of this MS or in _F of F--B_.
[89] It was in Rome that Mary’s oldest child, William, died on June 7,
1819.
[90] Cf. two entries in Mary Shelley’s journal. An unpublished entry
for October 27, 1822, reads: “Before when I wrote Mathilda, miserable
as I was, the inspiration was sufficient to quell my wretchedness
temporarily.” Another entry, that for December 2, 1834, is quoted in
abbreviated and somewhat garbled form by R. Glynn Grylls in _Mary
Shelley_ (London: Oxford University Press, 1938), p. 194, and
reprinted by Professor Jones (_Journal_, p. 203). The full passage
follows: “Little harm has my imagination done to me & how much
good!--My poor heart pierced through & through has found balm from
it--it has been the aegis to my sensibility--Sometimes there have been
periods when Misery has pushed it aside--& those indeed were periods I
shudder to remember--but the fairy only stept aside, she watched her
time--& at the first opportunity her ... beaming face peeped in, & the
weight of deadly woe was lightened.”
[91] An obvious reference to _Frankenstein_.
[92] With the words of Fantasia (and those of Diotima), cf. the
association of wisdom and virtue in Plato’s _Phaedo_, the myth of Er
in the _Republic_, and the doctrine of love and beauty in the
_Symposium_.
[93] See Plato’s _Symposium_. According to Mary’s note in her edition
of Shelley’s _Essays, Letters from Abroad, etc_. (1840), Shelley
planned to use the name for the instructress of the Stranger in his
unfinished prose tale, _The Coliseum_, which was written before
_Mathilda_, in the winter of 1818-1819. Probably at this same time
Mary was writing an unfinished (and unpublished) tale about Valerius,
an ancient Roman brought back to life in modern Rome. Valerius, like
Shelley’s Stranger, was instructed by a woman whom he met in the
Coliseum. Mary’s story is indebted to Shelley’s in other ways as well.
[94] Mathilda.
[95] I cannot find a prototype for this young man, though in some ways
he resembles Shelley.
[96] Following this paragraph is an incomplete one which is scored out
in the MS. The comment on the intricacy of modern life is interesting.
Mary wrote: “The world you have just quitted she said is one of doubt
& perplexity often of pain & misery--The modes of suffering seem to
me to be much multiplied there since I made one of the throng &
modern feelings seem to have acquired an intracacy then unknown but
now the veil is torn aside--the events that you felt deeply on earth
have passed away & you see them in their nakedness all but your
knowledge & affections have passed away as a dream you now wonder at
the effect trifles had on you and that the events of so passing a
scene should have interested you so deeply--You complain, my friends
of the”
[97] The word is blotted and virtually illegible.
[98] With Diotima’s conclusion here cf. her words in the _Symposium_:
“When any one ascending from a correct system of Love, begins to
contemplate this supreme beauty, he already touches the consummation
of his labour. For such as discipline themselves upon this system, or
are conducted by another beginning to ascend through these transitory
objects which are beautiful, towards that which is beauty itself,
proceeding as on steps from the love of one form to that of two, and
from that of two, to that of all forms which are beautiful; and from
beautiful forms to beautiful habits and institutions, and from
institutions to beautiful doctrines; until, from the meditation of
many doctrines, they arrive at that which is nothing else than the
doctrine of the supreme beauty itself, in the knowledge and
contemplation of which at length they repose.” (Shelley’s translation)
Love, beauty, and self-knowledge are keywords not only in Plato but in
Shelley’s thought and poetry, and he was much concerned with the
problem of the presence of good and evil. Some of these themes are
discussed by Woodville in _Mathilda_. The repetition may have been one
reason why Mary discarded the framework.
[99] Mathilda did have such a friend, but, as she admits, she profited
little from his teachings.
[100] In _F of F--B_ there is another, longer version (three and a
half pages) of this incident, scored out, recounting the author’s
return to the Elysian gardens, Diotima’s consolation of Mathilda, and
her request for Mathilda’s story. After wandering through the alleys
and woods adjacent to the gardens, the author came upon Diotima seated
beside Mathilda. “It is true indeed she said our affections outlive
our earthly forms and I can well sympathize in your disappointment
that you do not find what you loved in the life now ended to welcome
you here[.] But one day you will all meet how soon entirely depends
upon yourself--It is by the acquirement of wisdom and the loss of the
selfishness that is now attached to the sole feeling that possesses
you that you will at last mingle in that universal world of which we
all now make a divided part.” Diotima urges Mathilda to tell her
story, and she, hoping that by doing so she will break the bonds that
weigh heavily upon her, proceeds to “tell this history of strange
woe.”