The subsequent history of the manuscript is recorded in letters and journals.  When the Gisbornes went to England on May 2, 1820, they took Mathilda with them; they read it on the journey and recorded their admiration of it in their journal.[vi] They were to show it to Godwin and get his advice about publishing it.  Although Medwin heard about the story when he was with the Shelleys in 1820[vii] and Mary read it—­perhaps from the rough draft—­to Edward and Jane Williams in the summer of 1821,[viii] this manuscript apparently stayed in Godwin’s hands.  He evidently did not share the Gisbornes’ enthusiasm:  his approval was qualified.  He thought highly of certain parts of it, less highly of others; and he regarded the subject as “disgusting and detestable,” saying that the story would need a preface to prevent readers “from being tormented by the apprehension ... of the fall of the heroine,”—­that is, if it was ever published.[ix] There is, however, no record of his having made any attempt to get it into print.  From January 18 through June 2, 1822, Mary repeatedly asked Mrs. Gisborne to retrieve the manuscript and have it copied for her, and Mrs. Gisborne invariably reported her failure to do so.  The last references to the story are after Shelley’s death in an unpublished journal entry and two of Mary’s letters.  In her journal for October 27, 1822, she told of the solace for her misery she had once found in writing Mathilda.  In one letter to Mrs. Gisborne she compared the journey of herself and Jane to Pisa and Leghorn to get news of Shelley and Williams to that of Mathilda in search of her father, “driving—­(like Matilda), towards the sea to learn if we were to be for ever doomed to misery."[x] And on May 6, 1823, she wrote, “Matilda foretells even many small circumstances most truly—­and the whole of it is a monument of what now is."[xi]

These facts not only date the manuscript but also show Mary’s feeling of personal involvement in the story.  In the events of 1818-1819 it is possible to find the basis for this morbid tale and consequently to assess its biographical significance.

On September 24, 1818, the Shelleys’ daughter, Clara Everina, barely a year old, died at Venice.  Mary and her children had gone from Bagni di Lucca to Este to join Shelley at Byron’s villa.  Clara was not well when they started, and she grew worse on the journey.  From Este Shelley and Mary took her to Venice to consult a physician, a trip which was beset with delays and difficulties.  She died almost as soon as they arrived.  According to Newman Ivey White,[xii] Mary, in the unreasoning agony of her grief, blamed Shelley for the child’s death and for a time felt toward him an extreme physical antagonism which subsided into apathy and spiritual alienation.  Mary’s black moods made her difficult to live with, and Shelley himself fell into deep dejection.  He expressed his sense of their estrangement in some of the lyrics of 1818—­“all my saddest poems.”  In one fragment of verse, for example, he lamented that Mary had left him “in this dreary world alone.”