Hellenism
and Homoeroticism
in
Shelley and his Circle
Copyright
2008 by John Lauritsen
This article was published in the Journal
of Homosexuality
(Volume 49, Numbers 3/4 2005) and in the book, Same-Sex
Desire and Love in Greco-Roman Antiquity and in the Classical Tradition
of the West
(edited by Beert Verstraete and Vernon Provencal, 2005). It gives a
partial overview of my next book, a work-in-progress, tentatively
titled: Male
Love in the Shelley-Byron Circle.
Same-Sex
Desire... is now available as a Google Book on the
Internet,
but with pages missing! — a practice of which I strongly
disapprove. In response, I am making the article available here, on my
personal web site. It has been revised and expanded slightly; hypertext
links and endnotes have been added.
SUMMARY
This paper discusses two leading English
Romantic poets — Percy Bysshe Shelley and George Gordon, Lord
Byron — and three of their friends, who lived close together
in Italy during the first half of 1822. Despite the censorious efforts
of family, friends and biographers, ample evidence survives to
establish the importance of male love in their lives and works. They
were ardent hellenists, whose reference point for male love was the
homoerotic ethos of Ancient Greece.
KEYWORDS: Shelley, Byron, Romantics, Plato, Poetry, Homoeroticism,
Hellenism
Hellenism
and Homoeroticism
in
Shelley and His Circle
Copyright
2008 by John Lauritsen
He
who beholds the skies of Italy
Sees ancient Rome reflected, sees beyond,
Into more glorious Hellas, nurse of Gods
And godlike men.
(Walter
Savage Landor, “Shelley”)
Male love occupied a place of honor in
Ancient Greece, and was at least accepted in Rome and the rest of pagan
Europe. This changed radically in the 4th century AD, when Christianity
became the state religion of the Roman Empire, bringing with it the
Judaic taboo on sex between males (Holiness Code
of Leviticus, ca. 500 BC). From this time forward, men who
violated this taboo would suffer dishonor, imprisonment, torture and
death. Male love became a sin and a crime: sodomy, which was peccatum
illud horribile inter Christianos non nominandum (the sin
so horrible it must not be named among Christians). (Lauritsen 1998)
With the Renaissance — the
rebirth of classical culture — homoerotic themes begin to
appear in the works of Ariosto, Beccadelli, Marlowe, Michelangelo,
Poliziano, and Shakespeare. The emancipation of male love came on the
historical agenda in the 18th century, as the Enlightenment brought a
secular viewpoint to questions of morality and extended free enquiry to
the peccatum
mutum
(the mute or silent sin). In 1791 the French
Constituent Assembly introduced legislation which left homosexual acts
unpunished (a reform more than two centuries ahead of the United
States), and in 1810 the Code
Napoléon declared that private consensual acts
between adults were not subject to punishment in countries under
Napoleonic jurisdiction. (Lauritsen 1998)
Histories of the early homosexual rights
movement usually begin with the writings of Heinrich Hössli
(1836) and Carl Heinrich Ulrichs (1864), although underground gay
scholarship undoubtedly existed much earlier. This article and my next
book will examine two great English Romantic poets, Percy Bysshe
Shelley and George Gordon, Lord Byron (hereafter Byron), and their
circle of friends in Italy: Thomas Medwin (1788-1869), Edward John
Trelawny (1792-1881), and Edward Ellerker Williams (1793-1822). My
theses are that male love was present in their lives and works, that
these men had what may be considered gay consciousness, and that their
ardent hellenism comprehended Ancient Greece as a spiritual homeland
for male love.
Before going into their story, a few
words about terminology: I shall occasionally use gay
as being in some contexts the least awkward and even least
anachronistic word, defining a gay man as one who acknowledges
homoerotic desire in himself. (Homosexual
is unacceptable for linguistic as well as philosophical
reasons.) Although all the men in the Shelley-Byron circle
had wives and children, they were nevertheless gay (if we understand
that the term encompasses both the bisexual and the exclusively
homosexual categories). Rictor Norton (1997) has demonstrated that by
Byron's time, the words gay and lesbian were already used and
understood in their current, homoerotic sense. [1]
I'll also use camp,
a word that has been discussed often, but seldom well. I define camp as
the unique sense of humor — and style and sensibility
— of gay men. Camp combines elements of theatricality, irony
and hyperbole. At the heart of camp is a mockery of the situation in
which we find ourselves — our predicament as gay men in a
malevolent culture — and so camp includes a mockery of
sex-roles, a mockery of taboos and conventions, a mockery of danger, a
mockery of condemnation.
The term male love,
whose linguistic heritage goes back to classical antiquity, comprises
sex, love and friendship. In some relationships all three components
are present; in others, only one or two.
The lives of the men in the
Shelley-Byron circle have been purged and falsified by their friends,
family and biographers, who attempted to destroy every trace of
homoeroticism, as well as to fabricate spurious signs of
heterosexuality. It is therefore important to recognize and reject two
fallacies: 1) assuming that the evidence we now have (letters,
manuscripts, etc.) is all there was, and 2) assuming that surviving
evidence is representative of what there was.
In the case of Shelley, the waters have
been muddied by a campaign of disinformation waged by his widow, Mary,
and his son's wife, Lady Jane Shelley — a campaign described
as “the fraudulent and mistaken efforts to turn the romantic,
pagan Shelley, as Hogg, Peacock, and Trelawny knew him in the flesh,
into a Victorian angel suitable for enshrinement among the gods of
respectability and convention.” (Smith 1945) These
two women suppressed and bowdlerized Shelley's writings; destroyed
manuscripts, letters and pages from diaries; and defamed the characters
of Shelley's friends and his first wife, Harriet. The destruction of
evidence, and the manufacture of lies, has been so extensive that,
“no definitive biography of Shelley can now be
written.” (Smith 1945)
Not only Shelley's life received this
treatment. Byron's memoirs, on which he had lovingly worked for years,
were burned after his death. Trelawny's letters also were burned. The
final two volumes of Thomas Jefferson Hogg's Life of
Shelley disappeared, through the treachery of Lady
Shelley. (Seymour) The men in the Shelley-Byron circle who survived
long enough to challenge the “Shelley legend”
— Medwin and Trelawny (as well as Shelley's friends in
England, Hogg and Thomas Love Peacock) — were attacked for
having done so, and to this day are treated unfairly by most Shelley
and Byron biographers. (Peacock, Holmes, Smith, Massingham, Lovell,
Scott 1951, MacCarthy)
The discerning biographer must take
seriously those expressions of homoeroticism that did slip by the
censors. Sometimes these expressions were remarkably direct, but more
often they were in the form of coded language or hints intended only
for the initiated: the “sunetoi”
or “esoteric few” or “discerning
few” — as Shelley referred to his intended readers.
In his 1925 study on Shelley, Edward Carpenter makes this crucial point:
Since the
whole weight of herd-suggestion actively fosters and encourages the
expression of all feelings of love towards the opposite sex and
actively represses any patently homosexual expression, one clear
indication of the latter is worth more as evidence than a dozen
conventional signs of the former. (p. 86)
During the entire lifetime of Shelley
and Byron, males in England, including adolescent boys, were hanged for
having sex with each other. Therefore, when we encounter male love in
their writings, even expressed obscurely or in hints, we should realize
that this took courage. Even camp, or perhaps especially camp, was a
form of defiance.
There is more than enough material on
this topic for a large book. The present essay, with limited space, can
only tell part of the story, and must do so in broad strokes. It will
be structured as follows: the formation of the Shelley-Byron circle;
descriptions of the individual men, with particular attention to
Shelley; hellenism; and the aftermath of the circle.
As told by Edward John Trelawny (1858),
the story begins in Geneva, late 1819 or early 1820: Trelawny, an
ex-sailor, meets Edward Ellerker Williams and Thomas Medwin,
lieutenants on half-pay returned from India. Trelawny and Williams are
in their late twenties, and Medwin a few years older. At the
“pretty villa” where they are living, Medwin often
turns conversations to his cousin, Percy Bysshe Shelley, who is living
in Italy. From Medwin's descriptions of the “inspired boy,
his virtues and his sufferings”, Trelawny and Williams
develop a longing to meet him. Without saying so directly, Trelawny
manages to convey the impression that three gay men are discussing
another gay man.
A letter from Shelley in 1820 urges
Medwin to join him in Italy, “the Paradise of exiles, the
retreat of Pariahs”; and Medwin does so. The two cousins,
reunited after an absence of many years, collaborate intensely in
writing poetry, translating Greek and German, and studying Arabic.
Before long they are joined by Williams, together with his common-law
wife, Jane — and later by Trelawny. The far more famous poet,
Lord Byron, moves his residence to be near Shelley. And so, at the
beginning of 1822 the circle of men living close together in Italy
comprises Shelley, Byron, Medwin, Williams and Trelawny. What brought
them together, and what did they have in common? Biographers have shied
away from asking these and other pertinent questions.
Both Shelley and Byron considered
themselves to be in exile. Shelley in particular was homesick, and
bitter that he was unable to return to England. Why did they choose
Italy? One very good reason might be the disparity between Italian and
English sexual legislation: in England sex between males remained
punishable by death until 1861, but in Italy it was legal, thanks to
the Code Napoléon. In addition, gay men have traditionally
gone to Italy for the boys: famous from time immemorial for their
beauty, their amiability, and their discretion.
Percy
Bysshe
Shelley (1792-1822)
Percy Bysshe Shelley was born in 1792 to
a rich squire in Sussex. In appearance he was tall, slender,
good-looking, and youthful.
In 1925 the gay pioneer Edward Carpenter
observed that Shelley's relations with women were unhappy, transitory
or “up in the air” — whereas he
“certainly attracted the devotion of his men friends ... and
was capable of warm and faithful attachment to them.”
Carpenter comments that “while the love-interest occupies
such a large part of the general field of Shelley's poetry, it occurs
almost always in a very diffused and abstract form.” The many
female characters in his poetry seem peculiarly epicene and sexless. I
would go even further. Although Shelley was a feminist, and seemed to
require sisterly female companionship; although he was married twice,
and fathered several children; there is little evidence that he was
erotically attracted to women. Both of his marriages were unhappy; both
came about through the initiative of the women.
In early October of 1814 Shelley wrote
to his friend, Thomas Jefferson Hogg:
“I saw the full extent of the calamity which my rash and
heartless union with Harriet ... had produced. I felt as if a dead
& living body had been linked together in loathsome &
horrible communion.”
This refers to Shelley's wife of three years, Harriet: an intelligent,
well-bred, loving, beautiful young woman, who was only 19 years of age
at the time. It is hard not to interpret Shelley's effusion as
abhorrence of female sexuality in general — and indeed, the
sentiment is that of a gay man trapped in a heterosexual marriage.
In the summer of 1814 Shelley left
Harriet and fled to the Continent with Mary Godwin and her stepsister,
Jane (later Claire) Clairmont. Mainstream Shelley biographers have
assumed that Shelley was so overwhelmed with love for Mary that he
impetuously eloped with her. But if so, why on earth did he take along
her stepsister Jane for the trip? An alternative explanation is that
Mary, raised in a most radical household, had led Shelley to believe
that she (and presumably also Jane) would be sympathetic to and
understanding of his homoerotic desires. Mary's own lesbianism
manifested itself after the death of Shelley. (Seymour)
Harriet Shelley died from drowning in
late 1816, two years after Shelley abandoned her.
Despite Shelley's
principled opposition to marriage, and his desire to respect the memory
of Harriet, he was then coerced into marriage with Mary Godwin, who
threatened suicide. (St. Clair) Shelley's marriage to Mary, a
cold and querulous woman, was not happy; for the last two years of his
life he slept on the sofa and spent as little time as possible in her
company.
If Shelley had one great love in his
life, it was Thomas Jefferson Hogg, who was expelled from Oxford with
him when they were both 18, over a pamphlet they had written together,
The
Necessity of
Atheism. They lived together in London briefly, until
they were separated by their families. Nowhere in Shelley's
correspondence does one find such passion as in his letters to Hogg:
“You have
chosen me, and we are inseparable” ... “Are you not
he whom I love...?” ... “If I thought we were to be
long parted, I should be wretchedly miserable — half
mad!” ... “Will you come; will you share my
fortunes, enter into my schemes, love me as I love you, be inseparable,
as once I fondly hoped we were?” ... “Oh! how I
have loved you! I was even ashamed to tell you how!” ...
“Why did I leave you? I have never doubted you —
you, the brother of my soul, the object of my vivid interest; the theme
of my impassioned panegyric.” (Hogg pp. 206-9, 230-32; Holmes
pp. 91-3)
As a prank Shelley and Hogg published
some poems in 1810, which they had intentionally made ridiculous. The
handsomely produced book, entitled Posthumous
Fragments of Margaret Nicholson: Being Poems found Amongst the Papers
of that Noted Female Who Attempted the Life of the King in 1786,
was published under the pseudonym of John Fitzvictor. (The real Peg
Nicholson, a washerwoman who had attempted to assassinate King George
III with a carving knife, was still alive and residing in Bedlam. [2]) In Hogg's account he states,
tongue-in-cheek:
“I have one copy, if not more,
somewhere or other, but not at hand. There were some verses, I
remember, with a good deal about sucking in them; to these I objected,
as unsuitable to the gravity of a university, but Shelley declared they
would be the most impressive of all.” (Hogg p. 161)
Presumably this refers to the following
stanza, from “FRAGMENT: Supposed to be an Epithalamium of
Francis Ravaillac and Charlotte Cordé”:
“SOFT,
my dearest angel stay,
”Oh! you suck my soul away;
“Suck on, suck on, I glow, I
glow!
85
”Tides of maddening passion
roll,
“And streams of rapture drown
my soul.
”Now give me one more billing
kiss,
“Let your lips now repeat the
bliss,
”Endless kisses steal my
breath,
90
“No life can equal such a
death.”
Death in line 90 is a metaphor for
orgasm, and the rhythmic urgency of line 84 clearly conveys the act of
fellatio.
Though ostensibly heterosexual, the stanza indicates that the
two Oxford freshmen were not unfamiliar with cocksucking.
According to Timothy Webb (p. 2):
“Shelley was a translator of extraordinary range and
versatility, whose acquaintance with European literature makes most
English poets between Dryden and Eliot look provincial.” He
had a penchant for translating works with homoerotic content, including
elegies of Bion and Moschus and epigrams of Plato. Here is his
translation of the Plato epigram, Kissing
Agathon:
Kissing
Agathon, together
With the kiss, my spirit was
Upon my lips and there I kept it
—
For the poor thing had come thither
As if it were departing.
Shelley was not naïve. He knew quite well that in 19th century
Christendom two males could not kiss each other in an amorous context.
And so, “Kissing Agathon” was reluctantly changed
to “Kissing Helena” in the third revision. (Webb)
In another epigram Plato expresses love
and mourning for the boy Aster, whose name means
“star” in Greek. Shelley renders it as follows:
To Aster
Thou wert the morning star among the
living,
Ere thy
fair light had fled —
Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus,
giving
New
splendour to the dead.
Here he bowdlerized only the title, changing the masculine name Aster
to the feminine name Stella.
During the summer of 1818, when he was
26 years old, Shelley translated Plato's Dialogue on Love, The Banquet
(or Symposium).
Judged as a work of literature in its own right, it is by far the best
translation in the English language. (Plato 2001)
Shelley had lived with the dialogue for
many years. While still a schoolboy at Eton, he was introduced to it by
his mentor, Dr. James Lind (“that divine old man”),
about whom he always spoke with reverence. Why did Dr. Lind introduce
Shelley to this particular dialogue? Perhaps it was to inform his
teenaged protégé,
by means of the Symposium,
that
male love is a part of human nature, which had been highly esteemed by
the Greeks. The significance of Dr. Lind's tutelage can be gauged
through comparison with an event that occurred several decades later.
In the 1850s, another English schoolboy, John Addington Symonds, read
the Symposium
for the first time. Alone in his room at Harrow, he
experienced the great epiphany of his life:
Harrow
vanished into unreality. I had touched solid ground. I had obtained the
sanction of the love which had been ruling me from childhood. Here was
the poetry, the philosophy of my own enthusiasm for male beauty,
expressed with all the magic of unrivalled style. And, what was more, I
now became aware that the Greek race — the actual historical
Greeks of antiquity — treated this love seriously, invested
it with moral charm, endowed it with sublimity. (Symonds 1984, p. 99)
Realizing that a stumbling block for
readers would be the fact that male love lies at the heart of the
dialogue, Shelley wrote an introductory essay, A Discourse
on the
Manners of the Antient Greeks Relative to the Subject of Love.
It is
only the second in English (after an unpublished 1785 essay by Jeremy
Bentham) to address male-to-male sexuality. (Crompton 1985)
The first part of Shelley's essay is an
eloquent expression of hellenism. It begins: “The period
which intervened between the birth of Pericles and the death of
Aristotle, is undoubtedly, whether considered in itself or with
reference to the effects which it has produced upon the subsequent
destinies of civilised man, the most memorable in the history of the
world.” For several pages, he describes the Greek miracle, in
the realms of art, poetry, drama, philosophy, and science. (Plato 2001)
Unfortunately, when Shelley comes to his
main topic, he flinches: he maintains untenably that the degraded
status of women in Ancient Greece caused the males to turn to each
other for sex, and he almost hysterically denies that
“disgusting” acts or acts associated with
“pain and horror” could have been practised by the
Greeks. These references are obviously to anal intercourse: either he
was afraid that it would hurt, or he knew from a bad experience that it
did. Hinting at his own preference, Shelley, after alluding to the wet
dreams of puberty, conceives of orgasms as “the almost
involuntary consequences of a state of abandonment in the society of a
person of surpassing attractions” — which suggests
that Shelley preferred frottage
or full-body contact, known in the vernacular as “the
Princeton Rub”. (Plato 2001)
At any rate, Shelley doubted that he
could publish either translation or essay in the foreseeable future,
though he showed them to his friends. In 1822, just short of his 30th
birthday, he was drowned in a boating accident. The translation was not
published until 1841, and then in a bowdlerized form. His widow Mary
mutilated the text to bring it into conformity with Victorian standards
of decency. She changed “men” to “human
beings”, “love” to
“friendship”, and so on; she truncated the
Alcibiades episode. Her travesty was the only version the world would
know for almost a century, until essay and translation were finally
published in their entirety in 1931. (Ingpen, Notopoulos)
In the fall of 1818 Shelley visited
Byron in Venice, renewing their friendship after a hiatus of two years.
Delighted with each other's company, they talked nonstop, from three in
the afternoon until five the next morning. For days the two of them
talked, dined, rode horseback, and travelled in gondolas together. Out
of these experiences came Julian and
Maddalo, a highly autobiographical and problematic work.
There are three main characters in the poem: Julian, Maddalo, and the
Maniac. Julian is Shelley, and Count Maddalo is Lord Byron, but who or
what is the Maniac? In his introduction to the poem, Shelley writes:
Of the
Maniac I can give no information. He seems, by his own account, to have
been disappointed in love. He was evidently a very cultivated and
amiable person when in his right senses. His story,
told at length,
might be like many other stories of the same kind.
(Emphasis added.)
This is a very great, under-appreciated,
and misinterpreted poem. Its deeper meaning can best be appreciated by
knowledgeable gay men (the “discerning few”), who
can apprehend the coded references, and who can respond to the poem
from their own experience. For them it is a beautiful and moving
expression of alienation and undeserved suffering. A heterosexual red
herring involving a “lady” is thrown in, but the
references to her serve no purpose other than mystification; Shelley
himself slyly indicates that the “lady” should not
be taken seriously.
At home in Count Maddalo's palazzo
in
the evening, Maddalo and Julian decide to camp a bit less and have a
serious talk about something they find difficult to discuss:
Our talk grew somewhat serious, as may be
As mocks itself, because it cannot scorn
The thoughts it would extinguish:
— 'twas forlorn,
Yet pleasing, such as once, so poets
tell,
The devils held within the dales of
Hell....
Julian and Maddalo discuss religion and philosophy until late in the
night, and the next day they sail to “the island where the
madhouse stands” to visit the Maniac, who is known to
Maddalo. They listen to his long soliloquy, in which the references to
male love, to the unnameable sin (what Lord Alfred Douglas would later
term “the love that dare not speak its name”) are
clear and unmistakable. The Maniac speaks of having to “wear
this mask of falsehood even to those/Who are most dear.” He
is bound to silence: “And not to speak my grief —
O, not to dare/To give a human voice to my despair.” He
refers to “deeds too dreadful for a name”. In the
following passage, the Maniac touches on the love that is friendship:
“O Thou, my
spirit's mate
Who, for thou art compassionate and wise,
Wouldst pity me from thy most gentle eyes
If this sad writing thou shouldst ever see —
My secret groans must be unheard by thee,
Thou wouldst weep tears bitter as blood to know
Thy lost friend's incommunicable woe.”
Note “spirit's mate” — a concept, the
soul mate, which will be discussed below with regard to the later poem,
Epipsychidion.
The Maniac associates his form of love
with the dungeon, shame, and the scaffold:
“Heap on me
soon, O grave, thy welcome dust!
Till then the dungeon may demand its prey,
And Poverty and Shame may meet and say —
Halting beside me on the public way —
“That love-devoted youth is ours — let's sit
Beside him — he may live some six months yet.”
Or the red scaffold, as our country bends,
May ask some willing victim....”
Shame,
which Shelley has capitalized, is a gay code word which surfaced
towards the end of the 19th century, most famously in the poems of Lord
Alfred Douglas, “Two Loves” and “In
Praise of Shame” (McKenna). The “red
scaffold” and “our country” can only
refer to England, where men and boys were still being hanged for making
love to each other. What the maniac personifies, then, is the suffering
of gay men, who are unjustly despised and persecuted. He is a literary
cousin of Frankenstein's Monster (discussed below).
The last love of Shelley's life, his
inseparable companion for the last one-and-a-half years of their lives,
was the handsome and sensitive Edward Ellerker Williams, the same age
as himself. Their relationship is charmingly depicted in The Boat on
the Serchio, in which “Melchior” and
“Lionel” represent Shelley and Williams, and the
boat symbolizes their relationship. (Medwin 1847/1913) The playful
banter of the two friends, as they prepare for a boating excursion,
could be that of a present-day male couple sailing in Provincetown in
the summer. It is perhaps the happiest poem that Shelley ever wrote.
Lionel and Melchior are obviously very
fond of and at ease with each other. One line hints that they share a
common bed, and in the final stanza Shelley communicates to the
“discerning few” that their relationship is sexual.
The “death which lovers love” can only mean orgasm,
which not coincidentally rhymes with the terminal words in lines 3, 5,
and 7. This may be the grandest portrayal of orgasm in literature:
The Serchio, twisting forth
Between the marble barriers which it
clove
At
Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm
The wave that died the death which
lovers love,
Living in
what it sought; as if this spasm
Had not yet passed, the toppling
mountains cling,
But the
clear stream in full enthusiasm
Pours itself on the plain....
In 1822 Shelley and Williams died in a
boating accident, together with “a smart sailor
lad” named Charles Vivian. (Trelawny 1858) Shortly
before this Shelley had written an epitaph expressing his desire to be
united with Williams, both in life and after death [3]
:
They
were two friends, whose life was undivided.
So let them mingle. Sweetly they had
glided
Under the grave. Let not their dust be
parted,
For their two hearts in life were
single-hearted.
(Medwin 1847/1913)
The late poem Epipsychidion
is particularly interesting for some additional lines, which were found
and printed in 1903. Never intended for publication, they indicate that
disguised male love is a theme of the poem, and that heterosexual red
herrings (akin to “Helena” and
“Stella”) have been employed. In a letter to his
publisher, Charles Ollier, Shelley insisted the poem be published in
strict anonymity, in an edition of only 100 copies: “It is to
be published simply for the esoteric few.” In the passages
below, “friend” and “mistress”
are counterparts, meaning male and female lovers respectively. Note
Shelley's reference to Shakespeare's sonnets, and his contempt for the
“dull intelligence” of those readers who are not
among his sunetoi:
Here,
my dear friend, is a new book for you
I have already dedicated two
To other friends, one female and one
male, — -
What you are, is a thing that I must
veil;
What can this be to those who praise or
rail?
I never was attached to that great sect
Whose doctrine is that each one should
select
Out of the world a mistress or a friend,
And all the rest, though fair and wise,
commend
To cold oblivion....
If any should be curious to discover
Whether to you I am a friend or lover,
Let them read Shakespeare's sonnets,
taking thence
A whetstone for their dull
intelligence....
James A. Notopoulos considers the
meaning of “epipsychidion” in the context of
Shelley's other writings to be “soul of my soul” or
“soul mate”. Shelley took the concept from the
speech of Aristophanes in Plato's Symposium
(Plato 2001), in which lovers are “two incomplete parts of a
pristine whole, which, after being separated by Apollo, have been
forever seeking their counterpart soul mates.” (Notopoulos
pp. 278-81) It should be clear that “spirit's mate”
from Julian
and Maddalo perfectly fits Shelley's conception of
"epipsychidion". I hereby submit that both poems are concerned with the
love of males for their male soul mates. [4]
Powerful expressions of male love are
found in the novel Frankenstein,
which was published anonymously in 1818. That this was not recognized
long ago is due to the absurd belief that Mary Shelley, a hack writer
at best, is the author — a belief fostered by Mary and her
father, William Godwin, and by feminists who shamelessly tout her as a
major writer. Mary did do the clerical work, and perhaps a trivial
amount of the writing, but the basic conception, the autobiographical
elements, the imagination, and the splendid prose passages are
unmistakably the work of Shelley himself. The topic is too large to
explore here: suffice it to say that romantic male friendship is a
major theme of Frankenstein.
(Lauritsen 2007, Rieger, Zimmerman) [5]
Byron
(1788-1824)
Biographers and critics, with very few
exceptions, have refused to acknowledge homoeroticism in the life and
work of Shelley. This is not the case with Byron, whose sexual
proclivities were known in gay circles at least as early as 1821.
(Hirschfeld) A recently published biography by Fiona
MacCarthy, the best to date, treats Byron's sexuality candidly and
sympathetically. [6] In her
Introduction MacCarthy makes two important points: “Our
understanding of Byron's bisexuality, an open secret within his own
close circle, throws important light on the pattern of his
life.” Yes, indeed, it is necessary to acknowledge Byron's
homoeroticism in order to understand his life and his work; and yes, of
course, those in Byron's circle — especially including
Shelley, Trelawny, Medwin and Williams — knew that he was gay
(as they themselves were).
Byron was a bundle of contradictions. A
wealthy peer of the Realm, his early childhood was spent in poverty.
Shy, pale and effeminate, short and with a strong tendency to become
fat, crippled with a foot deformity, he nevertheless became the
reigning male sex symbol of the 19th century. To this day the Byronic
hero is the archetype of the swaggering male adventurer, with his
sardonic and defiant virility. Byron had an abundance of character
defects — he could be mean and petty to even his best friends
— but he also had charm and a gift for empathy, which gained
lasting devotion from those close to him.
Byron had what may be called
“gay consciousness”: he had gay friends from
Cambridge, with whom he corresponded using private code words derived
from Greek myth and Roman literature (for example, hyacinths, referring
to the myth of Apollo and his love for the beautiful youth, Hyacinth).
(Crompton 1985)
Byron was an adept at camp.
Accused of carrying off a girl from a convent, he wrote, in an 1819
letter to Richard Belgrave Hoppner: “I should like to know
who has been carried off — except poor dear me — I
have been more ravished myself than anybody since the Trojan
war.” Fiona MacCarthy comments (p. xiii): “Here is
Byron as progenitor of a high camp English manner of expression that
extends to Oscar Wilde, Ronald Firbank, Noël
Coward.”
Byron strongly preferred all-male
company. From 1816 in Switzerland: “the evenings at Diodati
were masculine ones. Shelley came alone, but Byron pacified the ladies
by calling occasionally at Shelley's cottage.” (Marchand p.
249) By 1821, when Byron and the Shelley circle were living
in Pisa, there were no longer even token visits to Shelley's residence.
Instead, Shelley, Medwin, Williams, and Trelawny visited Byron's palazzo
on an almost daily basis for pistol shooting, billiards and
conversation. In December Byron began giving weekly stag parties for
his small circle of friends, with fine food and wine; often he and his
guests “talked over their wine until two or three in the
morning.” The ladies were never invited. (Marchand, Medwin
1966)
Byron's biographers have strained
mightily to heterosexualize his life, for example, by overemphasizing
his boyhood crush on Mary Chaworth, a girl several years older than he.
The time has come to re-evaluate this and other relationships, such as
his famous affair with Countess Teresa Guiccioli.
The young Countess Teresa, or
“La Guiccioli” as Byron and his friends
affectionately called her, left her husband — the
“evil” Count Guiccioli, a man 40 years older than
herself — for Byron. Though their affair is always assumed to
be sexual, it may not have been. In her old age Teresa commented on
Byron's biographers:
“In all
their writings they have romanticized my person, and converted into
love and passion a sentiment which no one has the right to see in any
other light than that of a warm and enthusiastic friendship.”
(Origo p. 463)
Perhaps she was telling the truth. There are subtle indications in her
reminiscences of Byron, that she knew he loved other males, and
accepted this. (Guiccioli) Perhaps she was one of those women
who are especially attracted to gay men: Teresa was fond of Byron's
friends, and they were fond of her. Teresa neither lived in Byron's
palazzo
in Pisa nor entered it; when he wished to see her, he went to
her residence. (Marchand)
Biographers tend to neglect Teresa's
handsome younger brother, Count Pietro Gamba, who was Byron's constant
companion for the last four years of his life. On 29 July 1820, Byron
wrote Teresa: “I like your little brother very
much.” Within two months Pietro had become
“Pierino” to Byron, and closer to him than Teresa.
(Origo) When Byron departed for Greece in 1823, to fight for Greek
independence, he took Pietro with him, but left Teresa behind. A
sobbing Pietro was at Byron's bedside when he died in 1824, aged 36.
Pietro accompanied Byron's remains back to England, where he wrote an
account of the poet's last year. Then Pietro returned to Greece, where
he died in 1827, only about 24 years of age. (Marchand, Gamba, Origo,
MacCarthy)
Byron's greatest poem, the very long Don Juan,
is a unique mixture of satire, irony, whimsy, insouciance, and other
qualities not easily defined. The poem is camp, and as such can be
appreciated best by gay men, who know the conventions, rhythms, and
language of camp. Double entendres abound. Throughout are hints and sly
references to male love, for example (referring to Virgil's Second Eclogue,
where the shepherd Corydon expresses his love for his master's darling,
Alexis): “But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one
/ Beginning with ‘Formosum Pastor
Corydon’” (Don Juan,
Canto I: XLII).
What critics fail to grasp is that Don Juan
is, on one level, a pederastic poem. The eponymous hero, Don Juan, is a
teenaged boy, who is the object of erotic desire. He is pursued, but
does not pursue. Always others (usually and ostensibly female) take the
initiative. The male narrator is clearly in love with him, which is
pure narcissism: since Don Juan
is partly autobiographical, representing Byron as a boy, the love
between narrator and hero is self-love; and to compound the matter, Don
Juan is in love with himself: “He, on the other hand, if not
in love, / Fell into that no less imperious passion, /
Self-love....” (Canto IX: LXVIII).
After Byron's death, his memoirs were
burned by his publisher and literary executor. Testimony concerning the
memoirs, from those who claimed to have read them, is so extremely
contradictory that we can only speculate as to their contents. In my
opinion, they probably dealt with male love, and included a plea for
its emancipation.
Medwin
(1788-1869) and Trelawny (1792-1881)
Both Medwin and Trelawny deserve, and in
my book will receive, at least a chapter apiece. In brief, Medwin's
life was a mess: he was disinherited by his father, and lived the last
half of his life in near poverty. Nevertheless, he was a good and
prolific writer, a fine classical scholar. His pioneering translations
of Aeschylus, Agamemnon
in particular, have great dramatic power and beauty of language. Medwin
wrote the first biographies of both Byron (1824) and Shelley (1843),
discreetly hinting the homoerotic tastes of his subjects. He died in
1869, at the age of 81. (Lovell 1962)
Trelawny wrote two masterpieces of 19th
century English literature: his partly autobiographical novel, Adventures of
a Younger Son (1831), in which male love is expressed with
passion and candor, and his Recollections
of Shelley and Byron (1858), in which he says directly
that Shelley and Williams loved each other, and that he loved both of
them. When he met and fell in love with Shelley, Trelawny was tall,
dark, handsome, and athletic. He kept his looks for the rest of his
life. A man who saw him strip for a swim, when he was in his eighties,
said he still had a fine, muscular physique. He died in 1881, at the
age of 89. His ashes are buried next to Shelley's in the Protestant
Cemetery in Rome. (Massingham)
Hogg
(1792-1862) and Peacock (1785-1866)
Although outside the Italian
Shelley-Byron circle, a few words should be said about Shelley's two
best English friends. Thomas Jefferson Hogg was born into a wealthy
professional family in 1792. He matriculated at Oxford in 1810, where
he soon became Shelley's bosom friend. Though their personalities were
complementary, they shared a contempt for superstition and conventional
opinion. Hogg's reminiscences of Shelley, written 36 years after his
death, are a loving tribute, and include numerous hints as to male love
— for example, a decidedly campy episode where a French duke
expresses to Hogg his admiration for the “truly charming
physiognomy” of the young Shelley, and recommends:
“Eau de Luce should be frequently rubbed on his chest by a
soft, warm hand.” (Hogg p. 499)
Thomas Love Peacock was born in 1785.
During Shelley's lifetime, Peacock was a good friend; a mentor,
especially in Greek literature; and his literary agent. After Shelley's
death, Peacock was the executor of his will. Peacock was a close friend
of the philosophers John Stuart Mill and Jeremy Bentham. It is
interesting that his friends included both the first English writer
(Bentham) and the second (Shelley) to discuss sex between males.
Peacock is an excellent poet in his own right, judging from his long
poem, Rhododaphne,
and one of the best satirists in the English
language. A passage on “Uranian Love” from Crochet
Castle is not only a marvelous specimen of high camp, but
a
vigorous assault on sexual prudery. [7]
(Later
in the 19th century Uranian
became a favored code word of gay men in England. [d'Arch Smith])
Good friends of each other, Hogg and
Peacock were excellent classical scholars. When Trelawny returned to
England, he became friends with both of them. It is significant that
Greek references were used for coded communication on gay topics, not
only by Byron and his friends (Crompton 1985), but also by Shelley and
his friends. In a letter from Hogg to Shelley of 21 May 1820, we note
the phrase, noctes
atticae (“Attic nights”):
Peacock has lately
married, and in my opinion very judiciously; notwithstanding his
various
occupations, we sometimes find time for noctes atticae,
or long
walks. [emphasis in original] (Shelley/Jones)
This is almost certainly related to the phrase, the Attic Mode,
which Jeremy Bentham and his friends secretly used to refer to male
love. (Crompton 2003) Peacock was a personal friend of
Bentham, and Hogg was an intimate and life-long friend of a Bentham
protégé and bachelor, Walter Coulson. (Scott
1951) In addition, Hogg and Peacock may have used Athenian
as a gay code word. (Scott 1943)
In their correspondence Hogg and Shelley
used the words, philautia
and philautian,
both in Greek characters and transliterated, as code words for
something. (Hogg pp. 224, 241) Etymologically, philautian
can mean both self-lover and lover of his own kind; it is a synonym of
sorts for homophile,
the preferred word of the gay movement from 1950 to 1969. In addition,
it probably relates to John Lyly's novel, Euphues,
the Anatomy of Wit (1579), which portrays the romantic
male friendship of Euphues and Philautus.
Hellenism
of
the Circle
All of the men in the Shelley-Byron
circle were ardent hellenists. In addition to the translations, essay,
and covert language already discussed, Shelley's hellenism was
expressed in many of his poems, most notably Hellas.
The preface to Hellas
contains the familiar passage:
We are all Greeks. Our
laws, our literature, our religion, our arts have their roots in
Greece. But for Greece — Rome, the instructor, the conqueror,
or the metropolis of our ancestors, would have spread no illumination
with her arms, and we might still have been savages and idolaters; or,
what is worse, might have arrived at such a stagnant and miserable
state of social institution as China and Japan possess.
Hellenism also pervades Byron's poetry,
most memorably the paean to Ancient Greece in Canto II of Childe
Harold's Pilgrimage, which contains the famous line:
“Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground.”
Byron spent the last year of his life attempting to aid the Greeks in
their fight for independence. He did what he could, though his grisly
death in Greece, at the age of 36, came not from combat, but from a
combination of excessive dieting, alcoholism, laxatives and medical
treatment, which consisted of bleedings. (MacCarthy) Trelawny also
fought, and was seriously wounded, in the Greek war.
Aftermath
The Shelley-Byron circle in Italy lasted
for only half a year, before it was blown apart by the deaths of
Shelley and Williams, the departure of Byron and Trelawny to fight for
Greek independence, and the death of Byron.
Male love was an important part of their
lives and work. They had a serious concern for justice. In the many
hours they spent together, they surely must have discussed male love
and its emancipation. Could the circle have been a gay think-tank? If
so, they would have been forerunners of Heinrich Hössli, Karl
Heinrich Ulrichs, John Addington Symonds, Sir Richard Burton, Edward
Carpenter, the Gemeinschaft
der Eigenen (the Community of
Self-Owners/Homophiles/Autonomous
Men), the
Wissenschaftlich-humanitäre
Komitee (Scientific Humanitarian
Committee), and the homophile and gay liberation movements of the 20th
century.
No doubt much was lost, through the
destruction of letters, manuscripts, etc. But some of their efforts may
have gone into a Uranian underground, to surface later in the works of
others. I now believe that the Shelley-Byron circle, directly or
indirectly, was behind Don Leon,
the first published work in English to
argue for abolishing sodomy laws. At any rate, it is now time, as the
21st century begins, to cast off the blinders of theological prejudice
and academic correctness; it is time to read the surviving work of
these men boldly, to allow their muffled voices finally to be heard.
Notes
1. I do not wish to put labels
on the men in the Shelley-Byron circle. When I say they were gay, this
means that they were aware of their homoerotic desires and accepted
them, but this does not imply that they were in any way abnormal or
“queer”. These men were indeed exceptional
— for intelligence, creativity and courage — but
not because they experienced male love. My considered opinion, based on
a half century of study and experience, is that human males are
erotically attracted to each other — and almost all males,
not just a minority. This is a phylogenetic characteristic of our
species, a product of evolution. If some men seem to lack this
affinity, this is a defect on their part, or the result of
psycho-social conditioning, or both.
2. Bedlam is abbreviation and
popular name for St. Mary Bethlehem Hospital, the world's oldest
lunatic asylum. This was a priory in the 13th century, then became a
hospital in 1330; it began admitting the mentally ill in 1403. Until
modern times the conditions there were appallingly bad. In the 18th
century, spectators paid admission to view and torment the inmates, who
were treated as freaks in a carnival side show.
3. For a brief article on this
topic, “Shelley's Ashes”, click
here.
4. For more on Epipsychidion,
including my annotated version of the final lines, click here.
5. To see my Frankenstein Pages
click here.
6. To read my review of Fiona
MacCarthy's biography of Byron click
here.
7. To read this excerpt from
Crochet
Castle click here.
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