Mary Shelley Page #2

---

for an occasion.

[giggles]

[wind rustling]

[Coleridge, reciting] I looked upon

the rotting sea And drew my eyes away

I looked upon the rotting deck

And there the dead men lay

I looked to Heaven

and tried to pray

But before a prayer had gushed

A wicked whisper came...

[Baxter] Come in. Come in.

You must be freezing.

If I could just give you

a couple of my essays.

[Servant woman

speaks indistinctly]

My contribution to this

evening's entertainment.

- [Baxter] How are you?

- [Shelley] Good. How's the party?

Isabel... who is that?

Oh, that's Shelley.

Beautiful, isn't he?

He's a radical poet.

He thinks poetry

should reform society,

and so he's often in trouble.

[Mary]

Sounds like quite a catch.

Come, let me introduce you

to some friends.

[Baxter] There is someone

I would like you to meet.

Good luck.

Percy, may I present Mary.

Mary-

[Coleridge]

Baxter! Come and join us!

Oh, it's Coleridge.

Mary, could you put

these nameplates out, please?

[party chatter]

Let me get those for you.

[giggles]

I'm Percy Bysshe Shelley.

I am

Mary Wollstonecraft-Godwin.

Of course.

Baxter mentioned you'd

be joining the family here.

I am a great admirer

of both your parents' work.

[Mary] I hope I can entrust you

to this task, Mr. Shelley.

Or will you try to incite me

to revolution?

[Shelley]

My reputation precedes me.

Won't you welcome a change

from the deafening quiet?

[Mary]

I've grown accustomed to it.

In London I spend most of my

time in my father's bookshop.

So the deafening quiet is not

as dramatic as you may think.

Baxter does his best

for these gatherings.

Any lover of poetry will surely

find a great thrill in the work

that is being presented here.

So surely

you are a writer yourself?

Not really.

Nothing substantial.

I hope to, someday.

And what, may I ask,

would you constitute

as "substantial" in your eyes?

Anything that curdles the blood

and quickens the beatings

of the heart.

[Baxter]

Ah, perfect!

Now may I

steal Mr. Shelley away?

We would love a poem, sir.

Certainly, sir.

Without an audience, ideas

remain mere words on a page.

[Servant woman]

Mr. Shelley, your essay.

Oh, I have no need for those.

Thank you.

I shall trust in the spark

of new found inspiration.

[guests chattering]

Oh, not the visioned poet

in his dreams

When silvery clouds float

through the wildered brain

When every sight of lovely,

wild and grand

Astonishes

Enraptures

Elevates

So bright...

...so fair, so wild a shape

Hath ever yet beheld

As that which reined

the coursers of the air

And poured the magic

of her gaze

Upon the maiden's sleep

[dramatic, romantic music ]

[guests chatter]

[Coleridge, reciting]

Rate this script:4.0 / 1 vote