SHELLEY:
Some say that gleams of a remoter world
Visit the soul in sleep, – that death is slumber,
And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber
Of those that wake and live. – I look on high;
Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,
Mont Blanc appears, – still, snowy, and serene –
Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal
Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood
By all, but which the wise, and great, the good
Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.
And what wert thou, and earth, and stars, and sea,
If to the human mind’s imaginings
Silence and solitude were vacancy?
TOURIST GUIDE:
(spoken) Sign please, ladies and gentlemen. Hotel register. Name, profession, destination.
CLAIRE:
(spoken) Claire Clairmont.
MARY:
(spoken) Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin.
SHELLEY:
(spoken) Percy Bysshe Shelley –
(sung) Demokratikos
MARY:
That’s Democrat –
CHORUS:
That’s revolutionary!
SHELLEY:
Philanthropos –
MARY:
Lover in common of all mankind.
CHORUS:
That’s pervert!
SHELLEY:
Atheos –
CHORUS:
That’s atheist.
SHELLEY:
Destination, Hell. Disbeliever in your all-loving God.
CHORUS:
They take the Lord’s Name in vain.
Blasphemers, blasphemers, blasphemers!
They are anarchists, all three. They will tear down our houses, break up our furniture, turn our servants against us. They will sow discord in our hearts. They are practisers of free love.
CLAIRE:
Free love, my brothers and sisters. Could anything be nobler?
Could any two words find a more sacred union on the tongue?
CHORUS:
Like the beasts of the fields. Oh how merciful is our Lord that He does not strike them down in a breath of white, an almighty avalanche.
(MARY and CLAIRE begin to stride about the stage, shouting their message)
MARY:
Oh ye men of England, oh ye women, my brothers and sisters, you are in chains. The golden chains of the mighty weigh down your hands and hang on your soul. The golden chains of the mighty weigh down and cramp the bones of your children. You have only to speak a word, take breath and cry Liberty! And the chains will fade from your lives.
CLAIRE:
Free, ladies and gentlemen – love, oh you wives and husbands. What woman could object to the word love or lean more ardently after a promise than to be free? What man would deny love, or turn his back on the desire of each one of us to live together but on our own terms, in liberty?
CHORUS:
O Lord, protect us from these demons. Protect us from their ways.
Shameless, shameless, shameless! Protect us from these demons. O Lord, protect us! Like the beasts of the fields they practise free love. They will break up our furniture and turn our servants against us. All three, they are anarchists and demons, they are shameless.
Lord, protect us from these demons. Protect us, O Lord. O Lord, protect us from these demons in our midst. Protect us from one another and from ourselves.
SHELLEY:
Thou hast a voice, great mountain –
ECHO 1: – great mountain –
ECHO 2: – great mountain –
(The Mont Blanc music. All fall silent. SHELLEY, MARY and CLAIRE take up the music that began the scene, join hands and begin to turn slowly in their circle. The TOURISTS and the GUIDE exit. The three dreamers go on singing as in a trance, passing the words from one to the other)
SHELLEY/MARY/CLAIRE:
Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,
Mont Blanc appears. Far, far away. Far, far away.
(To covering music Mont Blanc moves back into the distance. MARY exits. We are on the shoreline of Lake Geneva. SHELLEY stands looking out across the lake. CLAIRE, her guitar in her lap, is singing the song BYRON wrote for her)
SCENE I
CLAIRE:
There be none of Beauty’s daughters
With a magic like to thee;
And like the music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me.
SHELLEY:
So, Claire, my dear. It is about to begin,
your little drama. I can see him
coming in over the lake. He is standing
tall in the boat. The other, Polidori,
is at the helm. So this is our great poet,
Childe Harold himself, the outcast among men.
I’ll leave you to greet him –
CLAIRE:
No, Shelley, stay, stay a moment. I don’t want it to begin. Not yet. I don’t want it to end. Nothing must change. You, me and Mary –
(She begins to play. SHELLEY returns, joins her, and they sing)
CLAIRE/SHELLEY:
My spirit like a charmed barque doth swim
In liquid waves of thy sweet singing.
Far, far away into the regions dim
Of rapture – as a boat with swift sail winging
Its way adown some many-winding river,
Speeds through dark forests, o’er the water swinging
Far, far away, far far away –
(BYRON and POLIDORI are heard offstage)
BYRON/POLIDORI:
O we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the night was made for loving
And the moon –
BYRON:
Take the boat, Polidori. I’ll wade ashore.
(He enters, barefooted, in his shirtsleeves, carrying his boots and limping)
CLAIRE:
So you’ve come to me, sir.
This, Shelley, is Lord Byron
Byron, my brother-in-law.
SHELLEY:
I should have known the author of Childe Harold anywhere.
BYRON:
You mean by my cleft chin? The mark on my brow? Or is it the limp? (he laughs) Oh, don’t concern yourself – I’m not sensitive. We should know one another better, sir. It would be my pleasure.
(SHELLEY bows, looks towards CLAIRE, and exits. BYRON sits and resumes his stockings and his boots)
CLAIRE:
So this is how you come to me. Like music on the waters, like a spirit out of the lake! I have been in this weary hotel for a weary fortnight, waiting. It was unkind, it was cruel of you to treat me with so much indifference.
BYRON:
But Claire, I am the weary one. I’m a hundred years old.
I’m an outcast, a monster. I’ve been driven into exile.
Also, perhaps, my heart is broken.
I’ve flown in the face of England. I’ve dared
to fly in the face of nature. I’ve dared to break its laws.
I too now must be broken. I’m to be hunted
from the sight of men – oh, and good women too.
Do you think I am posing? I am not, Claire Clairmont,
I am not. My sister has borne our child.
(CLAIRE has risen to her feet. She is furious)
CLAIRE:
Do you think I care about that?
You’ve flown in the face of England! You’ve broken
the laws of the little law-makers! Nature
does not know these distinctions – sister, brother,
wife and man. We make and break the laws.
BYRON:
But I was speaking of myself, Claire.
I’m a realist.
CLAIRE:
I thought you were a poet.
(He turns away, amused. She pursues him)
CLAIRE:
&nbs
p; O Byron, my dear Childe Harold –
I hardly know what to call you,
lover, friend, brother – I cannot call you
friend, for though I love you, you do not feel
the least interest in me. Fate has ordained
that the smallest accident that befell you would be agony
to me; but were I to float by your window, all
my long hair adrift, drowned among weeds,
the most that you would say is ‘Ah, Claire Clairmont,
I knew her once. Voila!’
(BYRON is captivated by all this. He clasps and kisses her)
CLAIRE:
A few days ago I was eighteen.
Girls of eighteen always love truly, affectionately.
You did love me once, a little, didn’t you?
(POLIDORI has appeared behind them during this last exchange. He stands watching. BYRON looks round, sees him, and, without releasing CLAIRE, greets him)
BYRON:
Ah, Polidori. (to Claire, releasing her) This man has been paid five hundred pounds to keep a diary of all he sees. Ready, Doctor? I’ll write the entry for you: Geneva, the Villa Diodati, May twenty-sixth, eighteen-sixteen …
(Under covering music the walls of the Villa Diodati come down, with a view through arched windows of Mont Blanc and the lake. BYRON, CLAIRE and POLIDORI remain, SHELLEY and MARY enter. It is night. BYRON and POLIDORI are at a table playing cards)
SCENE II
CLAIRE:
Rain, this rain, this endless rain!
I’m suffocating here. Rain, rain, rain!
SHELLEY:
A hater he came and sat by a ditch
And he took an old cracked lute,
And he sang a song that was more of a screech
’Gainst a woman that was a brute
MARY:
Shelley, if you can’t sing anything decent, be quiet.
It’s bad enough that we should be shut up here.
And Claire, stop mooning!
CLAIRE:
No, I won’t stop mooning as you call it.
I’ll moon all I want. Rain, rain, rain.
POLIDORI:
Perhaps we could tell stories. Mary, could you tell us a story?
CLAIRE:
Rain, rain, rain!
MARY:
Claire, for God’s sake! No sir, I’m afraid I know no story.
(POLIDORI gets up from the card game. BYRON deals a hand of patience)
BYRON:
You’re the story-teller, Polidori.
POLIDORI:
No, no.
BYRON:
Come on now, don’t be modest.
POLIDORI:
Byron, you’re mocking me.
BYRON:
He’s a wonderful story-teller. A poet of story-tellers.
POLIDORI:
Mrs Shelley, our friend is mocking me.
BYRON:
He is, I assure you. Tell us the story of Lenore, and Miss Clairmont – Claire! – Claire will play the part of Lenore, and Shelley can be William.
MARY:
Ah yes, Polidori, please do. For my sake.
(POLIDORI bows)
BYRON:
Now you see your power over him, Mrs Shelley. The poor young man is completely under your spell. Now then, Claire, Shelley, Polidori.
(BYRON lays aside the cards, comes forward, and presents the actors in a kind of dumbshow, then retires to watch. What follows begins as a game but ends on a note of real terror)
POLIDORI:
Lenore, she started from her dream.
CLAIRE:
‘O William, William, my soldier dear,
Do you lie out there on the bloody field?
Are you faithless: Come home, come home!’
POLIDORI:
King and Empress kept their truce
The troops came riding home.
Not he, not William. No greeting came
No word, no sign, no kiss.
She tore her hair, she cursed. Despair
Lay in her veins. Her mother cried:
MARY:
‘Trust God’s dear love, my child, trust Him.’
CLAIRE:
‘No, God loves not Lenore,
And William was life, love, paradise.
He’s lost. I am in hell.’
POLIDORI:
She fell to earth, she lay like death,
And hark! The village bell
Strikes ten, eleven … A horseman rides
In through the arch:
SHELLEY:
‘Lenore,
I’ve come. The wedding room’s prepared,
And made is our wedding bed.’
CLAIRE:
‘O William, William what room is that?
And where is our wedding bed?’
SHELLEY:
‘Far off, but cool and light, it’s six
Feet long and two feet broad.
But there’s room, my love, and room to spare,
Tuck up your skirt and ride with me.
We’ll ride like the dead. The wedding guests
Attend, the priest is there.’
POLIDORI:
Lenore tucked up her skirt and rode
Behind, and bridge and field
Flew by, the pale moon shone above.
SHELLEY:
‘My love, aren’t you afraid of the dead?
My love, aren’t you afraid?’
CLAIRE:
‘No, William, let them rest in their graves
But bring me quick to the room, the bed …’
SHELLEY:
‘My dear one, yes, my dear one, yes
Before the midnight bell.’
POLIDORI:
On past the gallows high they rode.
Dead feet danced in a row.
SHELLEY:
‘Come, good fellows, you like to dance.
Come dance at our wedding.
Now, My dear, still not afraid?’
CLAIRE:
‘Oh leave the dead in peace and ride.’
SHELLEY:
‘The dead ride fast, Lenore, the dead
Ride fast, I hear the cock.
Lenore, my love, we’re there.’
POLIDORI:
He rode at the gate, and bolt and lock
Flew free. He rode on through
And over the stones and the empty graves
As the hand of midnight struck.
And look, a wonder! Piece by piece,
The coat it rotted, rib and bone
Poked through, his skull it grinned,
With worms on his breath and in his hand
The hour-glass and scythe.
CHORUS (offstage)
Ah, ah, etc.
SHELLEY:
And now, my dear, are you afraid?
And now, my dear, are you afraid:
Are you? Answer me.
CLAIRE:
Those are not the words, Shelley. Keep to the words, keep to the words.
SHELLEY:
Answer me. Are you afraid, my love, afraid?
CLAIRE:
Polidori, make him keep to the words.
Byron, he’s changing the words, he’s changing the words.
MARY:
Answer him, Claire. Answer him, Claire. Answer him.
SHELLEY:
Look at my hand. Look at my hand, Claire, look at my hand.
CLAIRE:
Mary, make him stop. Make him, Mary. Byron, Polidori, he’s changing the words.
BYRON:
Mad. Mad. They’re all mad.
POLIDORI:
Shelley, this is impossible. Stop tormenting the girl, Shelley.
MARY:
Answer him. Answer him.
SHELLEY:
You’re afraid, Claire, you’re afraid.
Say it, Claire. Say it. You’re afraid.
POLIDORI:
Are you mad? This is impossible, simply impossible.
CLAIRE:
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He’s changing the words. Make him keep to the words.
BYRON:
They’re all mad. Mad. Mad. They’re all mad.
CLAIRE:
Mary, make him stop.
MARY:
Answer him, Claire. Answer him.
POLIDORI:
Stop tormenting the girl, Shelley.
(Suddenly there is silence. CLAIRE and SHELLEY face one another, he with his arms out, she in a kind of trance. She takes a step towards him, lets out a high scream, faints)
MARY:
There now. Are you satisfied? There’s your answer.
SCENE III
Under covering music, CLAIRE, BYRON and POLIDORI exit. MARY, centre stage, begins to move to where a bed appears.
MARY SHELLEY’s bedroom. MARY lies on the bed, SHELLEY is half-lying beside her. Windows with a view of white.
MARY:
Shelley, are you there? Shelley?
SHELLEY:
I’m here, my dear one. I’m here, don’t be afraid. Try to sleep. I’m here, I’ll stay with you. Try to sleep.
MARY:
It’s the light that unnerves me, the light off the icy peaks. It’s like some great, sleepy beast that dreams half-awake, and stirs, then settles back again. I can feel the stony bulk of it soften a little, and the ice in its veins begins to loosen and shift and inch along … an inch in a century, that’s all it would take.
SHELLEY:
Sshh, Mary. Try to sleep now. Try to sleep, my dear one, try to sleep.
(He sings her a lullaby)
SHELLEY:
‘A pale dream came to a lady fair,
And said, a boon, a boon, I pray,
I know the secrets of the air,
And things are lost in the glare of day,
Which I can make the sleeping see
If they will put their trust in me.’
MARY:
Shelley … Ahhh, I see, I see.
SHELLEY:
‘And thou shalt know of things unknown,
If you will let me rest between
The veiny lids, whose fringe is thrown
Over thine eyes so dark and sheen;
And half in hope and half in fright
The lady closed her eyes so bright.’
MARY:
No, Shelley, don’t make me. Ahhh … I see, I see, I see.
SHELLEY:
What is it, Mary? What do you see?
MARY:
I see the beginning. Life. It is beginning.
It begins to move. It begins to stir.
There is a quiver, a quiver in the limbs.
The great hulk of it stirs; it has taken the spark.
It is shocked into being by the flow of the vital current.
Look, look, how its chest begins to heave.