Others react to the cremations on the beach at Viareggio ...
There are
published reactions from others close to the tragedy. Mary herself wrote about
it repeatedly. In a very long letter on August 15 to family friend Maria
Gisborne (who had known her father back in England), Mary rehearsed all the dire
details of her learning of her husband’s death. She tells about how Trelawny
had gone to Livorno to make his final check about the fate of those aboard Ariel.
About 7 o’clock P.M. he did return—all was
over—all was quiet now, they had been found washed on shore … Today—this
day—the sun shining in the sky—they are gone to the desolate sea coast to
perform the last offices to their earthly remains. Hunt, L[ord] B[yron] &
Trelawny. The quarantine laws would not permit us to remove them sooner—&
now only on condition that we burn them to ashes. That I do not dislike …. I
have seen the spot where he now lies—the sticks that mark the spot where the
sands cover him …. Well, here is my story—the last story I shall have to
tell—all that might have been bright in my life is now despoiled—I shall live
to improve myself, to take care of my child, & render myself worthy to join
him ….[1]
Byron himself
referred to the incident in a number of letters. On August 27 he wrote to
fellow poet Thomas Moore about the day of the cremation. He first told Moore
that, overwhelmed by it all, he went for a long swim from the deck of his vessel
(an ironic account, no? the swimmer swims to cope with his grief; the
non-swimmer buried in sand, waiting to be cremated). He lost track of time, and
a severe sunburn ensued: my whole skin’s
coming off, after going through the process of one large continuous blister ….
I have suffered much pain, not being able to lie on my back, or even side ….
And then he
tells some about the cremation: We have been
burning the bodies of Shelley and Williams on the sea-shore …. You can have no
idea what an extraordinary effect such a funeral pile has, on a desolate shore,
with mountains in the back-ground and the sea before, and the singular
appearance the salt and frankincense gave to the flame.
And then the
detail that has cascaded down through history: All of Shelley was consumed, except his heart, which would not take the flame, and is now preserved in spirits of
wine.[2]
Shelley’s
heart would not burn. And so they preserved it, and a grim contest for its
possession would ensue.
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