Hideous Love: The Story of the Girl Who Wrote Frankenstein (13 page)

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Authors: Stephanie Hemphill

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Biographical, #European, #Family, #General, #Love & Romance

BOOK: Hideous Love: The Story of the Girl Who Wrote Frankenstein
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He calls them the new school of poetry,
which he claims began in excess
like most revolutions, but now
is “a real aspiration after real nature
and original fancy remains
that calls to mind
the finer times of the English Muse.”
My love’s work will now
gain some publicity. And Byron
had so fervently urged Shelley
that he needed publicity this summer.
I am as delighted as a kitten
licking her milk-stained paws.
A bit of sunlight seeps into
what has been darkness as of late.
Hunt and Shelley strike up
a fine friendship and Shelley
visits him.
I continue with
Frankenstein
,
sometimes with the aid of Shelley.
He smiths my language
and offers suggestions
that push the narrative forward.
More than four chapters complete,
I begin to see this book take shape,
less like the monster it describes
pieced together from scraps,
but more as something of a whole.
I dream of a home
like a proper mouse hole
where we can retire to,
that might have a river or a lake.
One that would not contain Claire.
She wears on me,
now eight months pregnant.
She feels a bit like prisoners’ chains,
increasingly difficult to bear.
Claire still writes Lord Byron,
but he is more silent than Fanny.

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HARRIET

December 1816

Harriet’s body was discovered
floating in the Serpentine
in Hyde Park in London
on December 10.
I feel beyond remorse
and reconciliation right now.
I think that this will haunt me
for the rest of my days.
It is as though I helped
push her into the cold depths
and feel directly to blame
for some of her misery.
Harriet’s last letter to her sister Eliza
says that she forgives Shelley
and wants him to enjoy the happiness
she could not without him.
She wishes her daughter
Ianthe to remain with her sister.
Nothing was explicitly indicated
about her son, Charles.
Harriet said she felt so wretched and tired
and lowered in everyone’s opinion
that she could not drag on
a miserable existence.
She lost hope for the future.
The coroner found
that she was again pregnant,
and the baby I do not believe
could have been Shelley’s.
I wish we could have
prevented this.
Shelley takes on an attitude
much like my father did
after the suicide of dear Fanny.
He blames Harriet’s family
for her problems and says
Harriet became a prostitute.
There is no proof of this,
but I do not contradict Shelley.
Shelley files to get custody
of his two children,
who remain in the care
of Harriet’s sister, Eliza.
Shelley shows little promise
of gaining custody however
because we are not married.

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MARRIAGE

December 30, 1816

We marry at the handsome
Wren church in London, much
to the pleasure of my father,
who now welcomes
Shelley and me back
into his Skinner Street home.
So after years of exile
now that I am married
I am once again
my father’s daughter.
Whether this will strengthen
the case against Harriet’s
family, the Westbrooks,
for custody of Shelley’s children
remains a large question mark.
I am ambivalent as the wind
about getting married.
In one great gust I am thrilled
to be united with my love
and that my children
will now be legitimate
and my father will accept us.
But blown around in a second gale
I feel that this has come about
at too great a cost
and may be tainted
like a poison broth
from the start.

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MY ESCAPE

Winter 1816–1817

My writing desk
shelters me like
a cave in a thunderstorm.
As the torrents
of life drop hail
and sleet at my door
I retreat to the world
of my story.
I find serenity
as I sculpt my plot
and search out my words.
And for a time
I forget the chaos
and devastation
that surrounds me.

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TOGETHER

Winter 1817

Does art flourish more
when the artist works
alone in a room with
just her thoughts and her pen
and little distraction
or is it communal contribution
that births the best work?
Shelley has struggled
with this dichotomy
his whole career.
I welcome my love’s
input and instruction.
I sometimes
wish for a world
with less personal turmoil
but know that
I would have less
emotional experience
from which to draw
my characters.
Shelley inserts the sentence,
“It is even possible
that the train of my ideas
might never have received
that fatal impulse which
led me to my ruin,”
into my manuscript
and the paragraph springs to life.
I wrap my arms
around his shoulders.
“That is precisely
what I intended to say,”
I tell him.
He smiles. “I know.
You left a tiny hole
for me to fill,
and I delight
in patching your garden.”

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ALBA

January 12, 1817

Claire gives birth today
to a beautiful baby girl
she calls Alba after
the nickname we gave
to Lord Byron, Albe (for L. B.)
when we were in Geneva.
Claire hopes this baby
will bring her closer
to Byron, but he still
sends no reply
to her letters.
Bryon acknowledges the news
of the birth through Shelley
and requests that Alba’s
name be changed to
Clare Allegra Byron,
so we shall call her Allegra.
Claire takes to motherhood,
like flares illuminate the sky.
She revels in every moment
of it, just as I do.
Sadly my wish for a house
absentia
Claire will not be.
Shelley believes we are responsible
for Claire and her little one
and after what happened
to Fanny and Harriet
I do not offer much complaint.
We lease a house in Marlow,
just far enough away from London
to feel the countryside.
Shelley has a library, and I have a garden.
It is however not a quiet existence.
We entertain many visitors
chief among them
the Hunts, Leigh and Marianne
and their many children,
and Thomas Love Peacock,
who has taken a liking
to Claire and proposed to her.
She turned him down flat,
even though it would be
anyone’s guess what her
other prospects might be.
Unfortunately,
all her hope and ambition
is still tangled up
in Byron
like one caught
in the snares
of a bear trap.

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PRETENSE

Winter 1817

Although the truth
of Allegra
is as well known
among our friends
as is her name, we act
as though the baby belongs
to someone else.
And that Claire is a maiden.
When my father
and stepmother come to call
we allege that Allegra
is a cousin of the Hunts
that Claire helps care for.
I do not enjoy
the deceit I must
employ for the benefit
of Claire. I believe this lying
digs a moat between Shelley and me
where he always bolsters
Claire’s position
and protects her like he’s the king
of her castle, and I play the opposition.

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DEVELOPING A STORY

Winter 1817

I retreat to writing.
In my book

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