:02:01
The crudest, savage, exhibition
of nature at her worst, without,
:02:05
and we three, we elegant three, within.
:02:10
I should like to think that an irate Jehovah
:02:12
was pointing those arrows
of lightning directly at my head.
:02:15
The unbowed head of George Gordon,
Lord Byron, England's greatest sinner.
:02:21
But I cannot flatter myself to that extent.
:02:24
Possibly those thunders
are for our dear Shelley.
:02:26
Heaven's applause
for England's greatest poet.
:02:30
- What of my Mary?
- She is an ángel.
:02:33
You think so?
:02:37
You hear?
:02:39
Come, Mary. Come and watch the storm.
:02:41
You know how lightning alarms me.
:02:44
Shelley, darling, will you please
light these candles for me?
:02:48
Mary, darling.
:02:50
Astonishing creature.
:02:52
- I, Lord Byron?
- Frightened of thunder, fearful of the dark.
:02:57
And yet you have written a tale
that sent my blood into icy creeps.
:03:01
Look at her, Shelley. Can you believe that
lovely brow conceived of Frankenstein?
:03:06
A monster created from
cadavers out of rifled graves.
:03:10
- Isn't it astonishing?
- I don't know why you should think so.
:03:14
What do you expect?
:03:16
Such an audience needs something
stronger than a pretty little love story.
:03:20
So why shouldn't I write of monsters?
:03:22
No wonder Murray's refused to publish
the book. His public would be shocked.
:03:26
It will be published, I think.
:03:28
Then, darling, you will have
much to answer for.
:03:31
The publishers did not see that
my purpose was to write a moral lesson
:03:36
of the punishment that befell
a mortal man who dared to emulate God.
:03:41
Whatever your purpose was, I take great
relish in savouring each separate horror.
:03:46
I roll them over on my tongue.
:03:48
Don't, Lord Byron.
Don't remind me of it tonight.
:03:51
What a setting in that
churchyard to begin with!
:03:55
The sobbing women, the first clod of earth
on the coffin. That was a pretty chill.