And Falkner
goes to jail. Murder is the charge.
Mary gives
us a scene in Falkner’s jail cell. He is feeling rather … down … as Mary
communicates in this sentence with a dazzling ending: Thus doubly imprisoned, his body barred by physical impediments—his
soul shut up in itself—he became, in the energetic language of genius, the
cannibal of his own heart.[1]
But
Elizabeth arrives—and he feels better. While they await his trial (and the
arrival of his principal witness, Osborne, from America), they spend many hours
of their days together. And Falkner grew
to worship the very thought of her.[2]
But then
dark news arrives from America: Osborne has refused to come testify. But
Neville steps forward, volunteering to go to America to nab him: Osborne has
fled, apparently to New Orleans. But a fierce storm keeps Neville in Liverpool,
where, naturally (!), he encounters Osborne in disguise.
But Osborne
avoids Neville—and goes to see Falkner in jail. He agrees to testify once he
learns he will be granted immunity. Meanwhile, Elizabeth gets a post-mortem
letter from her father, who declares he believes Falkner is innocent.
And the jury
agree. They do not even bother to leave the room to deliberate. And Falkner is
free!
And …
happily ever after. Falkner purchases a villa. He lived in retirement: he grew a sage amidst his books, writes
Mary, and his own reflections. But his
heart was true to itself to the end, and his pleasures were derived from the
society of his beloved Elizabeth, of Neville, who was scarcely less dear, and
their beautiful children.[3]
Neville, we
see, has forgiven those who had damaged his childhood, and, reading this, I
remember how Mary believed—no, knew—that
Sir Timothy Shelley would not ever
forgive her for what he viewed as the corruption of his son, Bysshe—a “corruption,”
of course, that would lead to his drowning in Italy at the age of 29. Sir
Timothy lingered until April 24, 1844, nine years
after she published Falkner in 1835.
And after
1835 Mary would never again write a novel. She would live sixteen more years.
[1] Ibid., 243.
Pamela Clemit, who edited Falkner for
The Novels and Selected Works of Mary
Shelley, tells us in a footnote on this page that this is an allusion to Bacon’s
“Of Friendship.” Here’s the passage in Bacon—I found it quickly on the Internet:
“The parable of Pythagoras is dark, but true; Cor ne edito; Eat not the heart. Certainly if a man would give it a
hard phrase, those that want friends, to open themselves unto are cannibals of
their own hearts” (https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/b/bacon/francis/b12e/essay27.html).
And the “parable of Pythagoras”? Pythagoreans, it seems, refrained from eating
the hearts of creatures they were otherwise consuming.
[2] Ibid., 249.
[3] Ibid., 300.
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