relationship. (Ironically, the novel appears to have been roughly
based on Mary Wollstonecraft’s own life; life and art constantly intersected for Shelley.) On August 25, Shelley and Harriet,
aged nineteen and sixteen respectively, met in London and spent the day hiding in a coffeehouse. They took the night coach
to Scotland, where after three days of travel they married.
Because Shelley was low on money, he wrote Hogg, asking him to meet them in Edinburgh. Hogg was enchanted with Shelley’s wife,
finding her “radiant with youth, health and beauty.” Shelley departed to attempt to pry more money from his family, and in
his absence Hogg made an attempt to seduce Harriet. She turned him down. After Shelley heard of the refusal, he was strangely
disturbed because he cared as much about Hogg as Harriet and did not want to lose his friendship. After Hogg left, Shelley
wrote to him, “Jealousy has no place in my bosom. I am indeed at times very much inclined to think that the Godwinian plan
is best. . . . But Harriet does not think so. She is prejudiced: tho I hope she will not always be so—And on her opinions
of right and wrong alone does the morality of the present case depend.” Clearly Shelley would have shared Harriet with Hogg
if she had agreed. His second wife would face similar problems.
Joined by Harriet’s sister Eliza, the newlyweds traveled around, trying to find a place to settle. Eliza was twelve years
older than Harriet, and Shelley resented her influence on her sister; he referred to Eliza as a “loathsome worm.” Their travels
included a stop in the Lake District, where they visited the poet Robert Southey, a flaming radical in his youth, now turned
conservative. Shelley had once loved the older man’s poetry but came away unimpressed. They moved on.
Shelley had thought about establishing a community in which people would live according to Godwin’s principles, with the goal
of providing an example to guide the world to a higher form of civilization. In early 1812 Shelley and Harriet became part
of a commune in Wales; a little later he tried to form his own commune in Lynmouth. Failing at these efforts, he and Harriet
went to Dublin, where they distributed in the streets copies of a tract Shelley had written in support of home rule for Ireland.
Sometimes Shelley threw the pamphlet into the windows of passing carriages; he knew that the wealthy passengers might not
read it, but hoped their sons and daughters might. Next the earnest couple moved to the north coast of Devon, where Shelley
tucked into bottles copies of a manifesto titled
Declaration of Rights,
based on the American and French revolutionary documents, and set them adrift in the sea. A local official found one of the
bottles and reported that it appeared “intended to fall into the hands of the Sea-faring part of the People . . . and do incalculable
mischief among them.” Shelley seemed to take up almost any popular cause that presented itself: protesting the executions
of Yorkshire workmen who had deliberately destroyed spinning machines that put hand laborers out of work; protesting the prison
sentences meted out to writer Leigh Hunt and his brother for “libelling” the prince regent in their magazine. The causes and
places went by in a blur. All this activity must have been a strain on Harriet, but she loyally stuck by her husband through
every new enthusiasm.
Even those who sympathized with Shelley sometimes found his radical sentiments a little extreme. His friend Thomas Love Peacock
satirized him in his novel
Nightmare Abbey
as a perpetual do-gooder:
He now became troubled with the
passion for reforming the world
. He built many castles in the air, and peopled them with secret tribunals, and bands of illuminati. . . . As he intended
to institute a perfect republic, he invested himself with absolute sovereignty over these mystical dispensers of liberty.
He slept with
based on Mary Wollstonecraft’s own life; life and art constantly intersected for Shelley.) On August 25, Shelley and Harriet,
aged nineteen and sixteen respectively, met in London and spent the day hiding in a coffeehouse. They took the night coach
to Scotland, where after three days of travel they married.
Because Shelley was low on money, he wrote Hogg, asking him to meet them in Edinburgh. Hogg was enchanted with Shelley’s wife,
finding her “radiant with youth, health and beauty.” Shelley departed to attempt to pry more money from his family, and in
his absence Hogg made an attempt to seduce Harriet. She turned him down. After Shelley heard of the refusal, he was strangely
disturbed because he cared as much about Hogg as Harriet and did not want to lose his friendship. After Hogg left, Shelley
wrote to him, “Jealousy has no place in my bosom. I am indeed at times very much inclined to think that the Godwinian plan
is best. . . . But Harriet does not think so. She is prejudiced: tho I hope she will not always be so—And on her opinions
of right and wrong alone does the morality of the present case depend.” Clearly Shelley would have shared Harriet with Hogg
if she had agreed. His second wife would face similar problems.
Joined by Harriet’s sister Eliza, the newlyweds traveled around, trying to find a place to settle. Eliza was twelve years
older than Harriet, and Shelley resented her influence on her sister; he referred to Eliza as a “loathsome worm.” Their travels
included a stop in the Lake District, where they visited the poet Robert Southey, a flaming radical in his youth, now turned
conservative. Shelley had once loved the older man’s poetry but came away unimpressed. They moved on.
Shelley had thought about establishing a community in which people would live according to Godwin’s principles, with the goal
of providing an example to guide the world to a higher form of civilization. In early 1812 Shelley and Harriet became part
of a commune in Wales; a little later he tried to form his own commune in Lynmouth. Failing at these efforts, he and Harriet
went to Dublin, where they distributed in the streets copies of a tract Shelley had written in support of home rule for Ireland.
Sometimes Shelley threw the pamphlet into the windows of passing carriages; he knew that the wealthy passengers might not
read it, but hoped their sons and daughters might. Next the earnest couple moved to the north coast of Devon, where Shelley
tucked into bottles copies of a manifesto titled
Declaration of Rights,
based on the American and French revolutionary documents, and set them adrift in the sea. A local official found one of the
bottles and reported that it appeared “intended to fall into the hands of the Sea-faring part of the People . . . and do incalculable
mischief among them.” Shelley seemed to take up almost any popular cause that presented itself: protesting the executions
of Yorkshire workmen who had deliberately destroyed spinning machines that put hand laborers out of work; protesting the prison
sentences meted out to writer Leigh Hunt and his brother for “libelling” the prince regent in their magazine. The causes and
places went by in a blur. All this activity must have been a strain on Harriet, but she loyally stuck by her husband through
every new enthusiasm.
Even those who sympathized with Shelley sometimes found his radical sentiments a little extreme. His friend Thomas Love Peacock
satirized him in his novel
Nightmare Abbey
as a perpetual do-gooder:
He now became troubled with the
passion for reforming the world
. He built many castles in the air, and peopled them with secret tribunals, and bands of illuminati. . . . As he intended
to institute a perfect republic, he invested himself with absolute sovereignty over these mystical dispensers of liberty.
He slept with
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