Valperga
So … Mathilda and Maurice were
two of her writing projects during her sad sojourn in Italy, 1818–1823. But
these were smaller in scope and required nothing like the effort she expended
to research and write a novel published in February 1823 (several months before
she left to return to England) as Valperga:
Or, the Life and Adventures of Castruccio, Prince of Lucca.
In the scholarly edition of the
novel, editor Nora Cook notes that Mary had originally thought of the idea
before they’d left for Italy, but the idea
took shape at Naples in early 1819; but there, reports Crook, the research
materials were not sufficient, so it was in Pisa and the nearby Bagni de Pisa
(Baths of Pisa—about 3.5 miles northeast) that Mary did the bulk of her work.[1]
It is a long novel—more than 325
pages in Crook’s edition (which features a smallish font!)—and deals with some
historical events and figures in medieval Italy. I’ll confess that I didn’t
know very much (okay, nothing
at all) about these events—and had never heard of Castruccio—before I read her
book between March 20–31, 1997, very early in my “Mary Shelley period.” I had
retired from public school teaching only about two months earlier and had really just begun
working full-time on Mary and her work. So I have to say that I was a bit …
ignorant … when I read the novel.
I compensated, though, as I just
discovered when I checked my file on Valperga:
fifteen single-spaced pages of notes. That’s what one (I) does (do) when one
(I) doesn’t (don’t) know very much: Write down everything.
But do not despair. I am not
going to summarize the story in detail (something that, I know, is a very
powerful narcotic). But I’ll give you a swift, sort of Wikipedian notion of
what her novel is about—a novel, I confess, that I read because I knew I should rather than because I was
mesmerized.
It deals with the war between
the Guelphs and Ghibellines (contending forces in northern Italy … want to know
more? Look it up yourself!) and the rise of Castruccio, who would lead the
winners (the Ghibellines, defending Florence) and would have relationships with
two key women—Euthanasia (scary name—so close) and Beatrice. (Dante, by the way,
was living at the time, though he appears only allusively in the novel).
Euthanasia doesn’t fare well.
Near the end of the novel (spoiler alert!), sent away by Castruccio, she boards
a ship, which encounters a storm with huge,
dark columns, descending from heaven and a bunch of other bad stuff. The ship
is lost—with all on board. Among the ruins that wash up? A broken mast, round which, tangled with some of its
cordage, was a white silk handkerchief, such a one as had bound the tresses of
Euthanasia the night before she had
embarked, and in its knot were a few golden hairs. … She slept in the oozy
cavern of the ocean; the sea-week was tangled with her shining hair ….[2]
Again, let’s be careful about
reading too much autobiography into an author's novel. But … only seven months before publication, Percy Bysshe Shelley had drowned
during a storm at sea.
And, while we’re at it, a lock
of Mary Shelley’s hair survives and was on display at the New York Public
Library in 2011 (link to story).[3]
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