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 Solution Manual for Introduction to Robotics
Mechanics and Control 3rd Edition by Craig
full chapter at: https://testbankbell.com/product/solution-manual-for-
introduction-to-robotics-mechanics-and-control-3rd-edition-by-craig/

Chapter 1
Introduction

Exercises

1.1) Here's just an example of a reasonable response:

(ref. [8] in Chap. 1)

1955 Denavit & Hartenberg developed

methodology for describing linkages.
1961 George Devol patents design of rst robot.
1961 First unimate robot installed.
1968 Shakey Robot developed at S.R.I.
1975 Robot institute of America formed.
1975 Unimation becomes rst Robot Co. to be
protable.
1978 First Puma Robot shipped to GM.
1985 Total U.S. market exceeds 500 million
dollars (annual revenue).

Developments might be split into a technical list

and a business list.

1.2) (Based on 1981 numbers)

Source:
L. Conigliaro, "robotics presentation, institutional
■ Other-32.2%

■
investors conf.", May 28, 1981, Bache Newsletter [ea«seas»ss -28%
81-249.

■
Machining - 6.8%

Material Handling - 11.8%

D
■
Assembly - 22.4%

Welding - 23.9%

1.3)
People Are Flexible,
But More Expensive Every Year

$60
U.S. Automotive
$50
$40

$30 $0

$20
$10
1111 1111 1074
1111

10t 1$5

© 2005 Pearson Education, Inc., Upper Saddle River, NJ. All rights reserved. This material is protected under all copyright laws as they currently exist.
No portion of this material may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher.
 1.4) Kinematics is the study of position and derivatives
of position without regard to forces which cause
the motion. Workspace is the locus of positions
and orientations achievable by the end-effector of
a manipulator. Trajectory is a time based function
which specifies the position (and higher deriva•
tives) of the robot mechanism for any value of
time.

1.5) Frame is a coordinate system, usually specified in

position and orientation relative to some imbed•
ding frame. Degrees of freedom is the number
of independent variables which must be specified
in order to completely locate all members of a
(rigid-body) mechanism. Position control implies
the use of a control system, usually in a closed-
loop manner, to control the position of one or
more moving bodies.

1.6) Force control is the use of (usually closed-loop)

algorithms to control the forces of contact gener•
ated when a robot touches its work environment.
A robot programming language is a programming
language intended for use in specifying manipu•
lator actions.

1.7) Structural stiffness is the "Kin F = KAX (A.K.A

"Hooke's law") which describes the rigidity of
some structure. Nonlinear control refers to a closed
loop control system in which either the system
to be controlled, or the control algorithm itself is
nonlinear in nature. Off line programming is the
process of creating a program for a device without
access to that device.

1.8) See references. For example, in 1985 average labor

costs of $15 to $20 per hour are reasonable (depending
how fringe benefits are calculated).

1.9) Obviously it has increased dramatically. Recently

(1988-1990) the ratio doubles or even triples each
year.

1.10) See Figure 1.3, but use latest data you can find.

© 2005 Pearson Education, Inc., Upper Saddle River, NJ. All rights reserved. This material is protected under all copyright laws as they currently exist.
No portion of this material may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher.
 Chapter 2
Spatial Descriptions and Transformations

Exercises

[:
2.1) R =rot(x, ¢) rot(2, 0)

0 co - S0
C¢
S¢ -}:] [ So

0
Co

0 ~]
=
[ c0
Cb$0
S¢$0
-- S0
C¢Co
S¢Co
1] C¢

2.2) R =rot(&,45°) rot0, 30°)

I
0 0 ] [ .866 0
.5 ]
.707 -.707 0 1
.707 .707 -.5 0 £
[ .866 0
.5 ]
= .353 .707 -.612
-.353 .707 .612

2.3) Since rotations are performed about axes of the

frame being rotated, these are Euler-Angle style
rotations:

R =rot(z, 0)rot(x, ¢)

We might also use the following reasoning:

$R(9,¢) ="R',¢)
= [rot(x, -) rot(z, --0)]'

= rot(~, 0) rot(x, b)
Yet another way of viewing the same operation:

1st rotate by rot(z, 0)

2nd rotate by rot(z, 0) rot(8, ) rot'(z,0)

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No portion of this material may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher.
 2.3) ( continued)
(This is a similarity transform)
Composing these two rotations:

= rot(2, 0) rot(8, ) rot'(z, 0)·rot(z, 0)

= rot(~, 0)rot(~, ¢)

=
[C0
si -7
C0
0
0
1
0
0
0
C¢
S¢
t]C¢

• : -- S9C¢
CBC¢
S¢
em]
CBS¢
C¢

2.4) This is the same as 2.3 only with numbers.

R = rot(&, 30°) rot(8, 45)

.866 -.353 .353]
= [ .50 .612 -.612
0 .707 .707

2.5) If V, is an eigenvector of R, then

RV, = 7V,
If the eigenvalue associated with V, is 1, then

RV, = V
Hence the vector is not changed by the rotation R.
So V is the axis of rotation.

2.6) Imagine a frame {A} whose

the direction k:
?

Then, the rotation with rotates vectors about

0 degrees could be written:

R = ';Rrot('£,0)R []
axis is aligned with

k by
A

x,
7°
\A
Yz

We write the description of {A} in {U} as:

F
E
z
K
.
K,

If we multiply out Eq. [1] above, and then simplify

using A + B? +C? =1, D + E?+ F =1,[ABC]
=
[DEF] 0,[ABC][DEF] [K,K,K.] we arrive =
at Eq. (2.80) in the book. Also, see [R. Paul]'
page 25.

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No portion of this material may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
place on the wall above the grave a marble tablet with the words:

To theMemory of Allegra
Daughter of George Gordon Lord Byron
Died at Bagna-Cavallo, the 20th April, 1822.
Aged five years and six months.

I shall go to her, but she

shall not return to me.
II Sam. xii. 23.

But the Rector of Harrow and the church-wardens considered it

immoral to admit into their church the body of an illegitimate child,
more particularly if the epitaph disclosed the name of the father.
Allegra was therefore buried outside the church, and with no
inscription, which was of course the proper thing to do.
Lord Byron, who had never set foot inside the convent of Bagna-
Cavallo while Allegra was alive, went to visit it some time after the
child’s death, for now his regrets lent it a romantic and sentimental
interest, inspired him with a fine meditation on death and on
himself: “I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me.”
The second Samuel was quite right.
 CHAPTER XXXV

THE REFUGE
Shelley was charmed with Casa Magni. He liked the wild solitude
of the place, the forest behind the house, the rocky and wooded
bays and the fisherman’s poor villages.
But Mary felt lost and unhappy. Again pregnant, anxious,
irritable, she would have much preferred to live in a city near a good
doctor. She thought the peasantry uncouth and hateful, their
Genovese jargon disgusted her as much as the dialect of Tuscany
had pleased her. The presence of Jane Williams, so appreciated by
her at Pisa, began to get on her nerves. Housekeeping in common is
for women the acid test. There were stupid quarrels over servants
and frying pans. Shelley spoke too warmly of Jane’s perfection, and
wrote her too divine serenades.
To all Mary’s grumblings he replied with his usual sweetness.
With the utmost tenderness he caressed and consoled her. “Poor
Mary,” he said of her, “it is the curse of Tantalus to be endowed with
such fine qualities, and yet unable to excite the sympathy
indispensable to their application to domestic life.”
He knew he could not change her, that her physical condition
explained a good deal of her peevishness, which he bore with
patient affection. What she constantly reproached him with was his
complete indifference to the things that other men thought worth
while. She still admired him as much as ever, in him alone she found
the strength on which to lean. But why could he never use this
strength to his own advantage? He seemed to have no notion of his
own interests. His personality was not in his own eyes what theirs is
for men in general, something strictly limited by definite boundaries;
no, his poured outwards in a sort of luminous fringe melting into
that of his friends, and even into that of perfect strangers. As to the
customs and cares of human societies he continued to ignore them.
 Every month he went to Leghorn to draw his allowance. He
brought back a bagful of scudi which he emptied out upon the floor.
Then with the fire-shovel he gathered the coins together in a heap,
which he flattened out into a sort of cake with his foot. Always with
the shovel he cut the cake into two parts. One was for Mary: rent
and housekeeping. The other half was again divided into two, of
which one went to Mary as pin-money, and the other remained for
Percy. But Mary knew what was meant by “for Percy”: it was for
Godwin despite all vows, for Claire, for the Hunts. . . .
One day Captain Roberts was expected over to luncheon from
Genoa. Conscious that their anchorite way of living would not suit
ordinary mortals, there was considerable commotion at the villa, but
notwithstanding the bother and turmoil the three women, as is
woman’s wont, seemed to enjoy it. The visitor came and he was
most anxious to see the Poet of whom he had heard so much, but
Shelley had disappeared. They sat down to table without him.
Suddenly one of the trio of ladies cried out, “Oh my gracious!” and
Mary, turning round, saw Shelley completely naked crossing the
room, and trying to hide behind the maid-servant.
“Percy, how dare you!” she cried, which was imprudent, for
Shelley, considering himself unjustly attacked, abandoned his refuge
and came up to the table to explain. The ladies covered their faces
with their hands. Yet he was good to look at, his hair full of
seaweed, his slender body wet and scented with the salt of the sea.
But the daughter of William Godwin had a horror of such
unconventional happenings.

⁂
Shelley and Williams waited for their boat with the impatience of
schoolboys, and the moment a strange sail, coming from the
direction of Leghorn, doubled the point of Lerici, they rushed down
to the beach.
After Allegra’s death Shelley had written to Roberts to change the
name of his boat from the Don Juan to the Ariel. Everything which
reminded him of Byron was now hateful to him. Great therefore was
his surprise and anger, when on the arrival of his little yacht, he saw
painted in enormous letters in the middle of the mainsail: Don Juan.
Byron, told of the change of name, had forced Roberts, in spite of
Shelley’s orders, to print the sign of the Devil upon the Platonic bark.
Armed with hot water, soap and brushes, Shelley and Williams set to
work to wash out the infamy from their poor boat. They had no
success. They tried turpentine, which failed equally. Then they
consulted specialists, who were of opinion that a bit of sail would
have to be cut clean out and a new piece inserted; nothing short of
this could mend the case. Shelley had the operation performed at
once.
The Genoese captain who had sailed the boat to Lerici, said that
she sailed and worked well, but was a ticklish boat to manage.
Shelley and Williams, enthusiastic but incompetent yachtsmen, had
insisted on having her built to a design made by a naval officer for
Williams, before he left England. The lovely sweeping lines of the
model enchanted them, but the boat when built to plan required a
couple of tons of iron ballast to bring her down to her bearings, and
even then was very crank in a breeze.
The two owners of the Ariel determined to man her themselves,
with the help of Charles Vivian, a young sailor. Shelley was awkward
as a woman in all things appertaining to boats, but full of good
intentions. He tangled himself up in the rigging, read Sophocles
while trying to steer, and several times just missed falling overboard.
But never in his life had he been so happy. When Trelawny saw his
seamanship, he took Williams by the arm and advised him to add to
the crew a Genoese accustomed to the coast. Williams was hurt . . .
three seasoned sailors such as they . . . and was he not Captain?
And had he not Shelley?
“Shelley! You’ll never do any good with him until you shear the
wisps of hair that hang over his eyes, heave his Greek Poets
overboard, and plunge his arms up to the elbow in a tar-bucket.”
The Ariel drew too much water to be run on shore at Casa Magni,
so Williams with the aid of a carpenter built a tiny dinghy of
basketwork, covered with tarred canvas. It was a fragile toy which
upset at a touch. The Poet was delighted with it, although it
capsized continually, and gave him many a ducking.
One evening, as he dragged the skiff out from the house, he saw
Jane and her two children on the sands. He invited her to bring
them for a row. “With careful stowage,” said he, “there is room for
us all in my barge.” She squatted in the bottom of the frail skiff with
her babies, and the gunwale sank to within six inches of the water; a
puff of wind, the smallest movement of any one of them, and it
must cant over, fill, and glide from under them.
Jane understood that Percy intended to float on the water near
the shore, but he, proud to show a lovely woman how well he
sculled, bent to his oars, and they were soon out on the blue waters
of the bay. Then, shipping the oars, he fell into a deep reverie. Jane
was seized with the most awful terror. There was no eye watching
them, no boat within a mile, the shore was fast receding, the water
deepening, and the Poet dreaming. She made several remarks, but
they met with no response.
Suddenly he raised his head, his face brightened as with a bright
thought, and he exclaimed, joyfully, “Now let us together solve the
great mystery!”
Had Jane uttered a cry, her children were lost. Shelley might
made a sudden movement, the bark would capsize, the waters wrap
them round as a winding-sheet. . . . Suppressing her terror, she
answered promptly, “No, thank you, not now, I should like my dinner
first and so would the children. . . . And look, there is Edward
coming on shore with Trelawny . . . they’ll be so surprised at our
being out at this time, and Edward says this boat is not safe.”
“Safe!” cried the Poet, “I’d go to Leghorn or anywhere in her.”
Jane felt that the Angel of Death, who always attended the Poet
on the water, now spread his wings and vanished.
“You haven’t yet written the words for the Indian air,” she said
carelessly.
“Yes, I have,” he answered, “but you must play me the air again,
and I’ll try and make the thing better.”
Meanwhile he had paddled his cockleshell into shallow water; as
soon as Jane saw the sandy bottom, she snatched up her babies,
and clambered out so hurriedly that the punt was turned over and
the Poet pinned down underneath it. He rose with it on his back, like
a hermit-crab in any old empty shell.
“Jane, are you mad?” cried her husband, surprised at her
lubberly way of getting out of a boat. “Had you waited a moment,
we would have hauled the boat up.”
“No, thank you. Oh, I have escaped the most dreadful fate!
Never will I put my foot in that horrid coffin again. ‘Solve the great
mystery!’ . . . Why, he is the greatest of all mysteries! Who can
predict what he will do? . . . He is seeking after what we all avoid—
death. I wish we were away. I shall always be in terror.”
But the Poet’s boyish face wore its accustomed innocent and
radiant expression. During this glorious summer, nothing seemed
able to mar his joy. Of an evening he liked to go sailing in the Ariel
by moonlight. Mary sitting at his feet, her head against his knees,
remembered how she had sat thus on the stormy cross-channel
journey ten years ago. Ten years . . . what quantities of things had
happened in ten years. How much subtler, crueller, and more
treacherous Life had been, than either of them had then imagined.
Sitting in the stern, Jane sang an Indian serenade, accompanying
it on the guitar, while Shelley gazed up into the dark blue sky of
June, where the moon burned inextinguishably beautiful, suffusing
the mountain-clouds with intolerable brilliancy. His mind was
emptied of thought, his senses annihilated in a delicious ecstasy, his
soul clipt in a net woven of dew-beams, seemed to be floating on
waves of love and odour and deep melody. He walked again among
the splendid visions, the crystalline palaces, the iridescent vapours,
which during so long a time had appeared to him the sole reality. He
knew to-day that there existed another universe, a harsh and
inflexible one but in these higher regions, only animated by the
liquid and undulating sweetness of song, by the invisible movement
of luminous spheres, in these regions the jealousy of women,
money-worries, political quarrels, appeared so infinitely petty that
they could hot touch his wild, sweet, incommunicable happiness. He
would have liked to swoon away in ravishment while saying with
Faust to the passing moment, “Verweile doch! Du bist so schön.”
 CHAPTER XXXVI

ARIEL SET FREE

For a long time, Shelley had wished to bring out to Italy his
friends the Hunts, to whom their creditors and political enemies gave
a hard life in England. He offered to pay the journey, but he would
not be able, naturally, to support them and their seven children. He
had talked so much about this to Byron that he had obtained from
him a promise to found with Hunt a liberal newspaper to be
published in Italy, and which would enjoy copyright of all Byron’s
works, a privilege sufficient in itself to assure the success of the
newspaper, and to make Hunt’s fortune. It was a very generous offer
on Byron’s part, who had nothing to gain by the association with
Hunt, but a good deal to lose. He did more, however; he would
allow the Hunts to occupy the ground floor of the Palazzo
Lanfranchi, which Shelley on his side undertook to furnish.
Everything being thus settled, the whole Hunt tribe set out.
After incredible difficulties and delays they arrived at Leghorn by
the end of June, 1822. Trelawny on the Bolivar was waiting for them
in the harbour. Shelley and Williams arrived on the Ariel, scudding
into port in fine style. Shelley was inexpressibly delighted to see
Hunt, and set off with him and the tribe for Pisa. Williams remained
at Leghorn to await the return of his friend when they would sail
home together.
Unfortunately Hunt’s immediate contact with Byron was far from
pleasant. Although Byron considered Hunt’s political ideas extreme,
nevertheless he had a sort of protective affection for him,
considering him an honest writer, a good father and husband, a
decent sort of fellow. But he had never been able to endure Hunt’s
wife, whom he considered a dowdy and disagreeable woman as
impertinent as she was silly. Marianne Hunt was a type of the
equalitarian who can never for a moment forget inequalities. To
show that she was not impressed by Byron’s wealth and position,
she treated him with an insolence that a chimney-sweep would not
have tolerated. With the kind-hearted and charming Countess
Guiccioli she put on the airs and graces of an outraged British
matron.
Byron remained courteous, but became glacial. At the end of
twenty-four hours he could endure no more. Seven disorderly
children romped up and down the Palazzo, spoiling everything. “A
Kraal of Hottentots, dirtier and more mischievous than Yahoos.” He
looked with disgust on such human vermin, and put his big bull-dog
to guard the staircase: “Don’t let any little cockneys pass our way!”
he told him and patted his head.
Already he was sick of the newspaper.
Shelley, who should have left the same day, could not forsake
Hunt without having settled the business. He got round Byron,
lectured Marianne, consoled poor Hunt, and delayed his departure
from day to day until everything was arranged. His tenacity always
triumphed over Byron’s haughty lassitude.
He obtained the promise that the first number of the new paper
should have the copyright of The Vision of Judgment which Byron
had recently finished. This would give Hunt a first-rate send-off.
Williams, waiting at Leghorn, grew impatient and testy. Never
before, he complained, had he been separated from his wife for so
many days. Shelley sent him letter after letter to explain the delay.
The July heat was suffocating; “le soleil d’ltalie au rire
impitoyable.” The peasants stopped working in the fields from ten to
five. There was a water shortage, and processions of priests carried
round miraculous statues and prayed for rain.
On the morning of the 8th, Trelawny and Shelley arrived from
Pisa. They went to Shelley’s bank, made purchases for the
housekeeping at Casa Magni, and then the two friends and Williams
went down to the harbour. Trelawny wanted to accompany the Ariel
on the Bolivar. The sky was clouding over, and a light wind blowing
in the direction of Lerici. Captain Roberts predicted a storm.
Williams, who was in a hurry to be off, declared that in seven hours
they would be at home.
 At midday Shelley, Williams, and Charles Vivian were on board
the Ariel. Trelawny on the Bolivar was getting ready too. The guard-
boat boarded them to overhaul their papers: “La barchetta Don
Juan? Il capitano Percy Shelley? Va bene.”
Trelawny, who had not got his port-clearance, tried to brazen it
out. The officer of the Health Office threatened him with fourteen
days’ quarantine. He proposed to go instantly and obtain the
clearance papers, but Williams, fretting and fuming, would not hear
another word. There was no more time to be lost. It was two o’clock
already, and there was so little wind they would have great difficulty
in reaching home before night.
Between two and three o’clock the Ariel sailed out of harbour
almost at the same moment with two feluccas. Trelawny re-anchored
sullenly, furled his sails, and with the ship’s glass watched the
progress of their friends. His Genovese mate said to him, “They
should have sailed this morning at three or four a.m. instead of
three p.m. She is standing too much in-shore; the current will fix her
there.”
Trelawny replied, “She will soon have the land-breeze.”
“Maybe she will soon have too much breeze,” remarked the mate.
“That gaff top-sail is foolish in a boat with no deck and no sailor on
board. . . . Look at those black lines and the dirty rags hanging on
them out of the sky, look at the smoke on the water! The Devil is
brewing mischief.”
Standing on the end of the mole Captain Roberts also kept the
boat in view. When he could see her no longer, he got leave to
ascend the lighthouse-tower whence he could again discern her
about ten miles out at sea. A storm was visibly coming from the Gulf,
and he perceived that the Ariel was taking in her top-sail. Then the
haze of the storm hid her completely.
In the harbour it was oppressively sultry. The heaviness of the
atmosphere and an unwonted stillness benumbed the senses.
Trelawny went to his cabin and fell asleep in spite of himself. He was
aroused by noises overhead: the men were getting up a chain cable
to let go another anchor. There was a general stir amongst the
shipping, getting-down yards and masts, veering out cables, letting-
go anchors. It was very dark. The sea looked as solid and smooth as
a sheet of lead and was covered with an oily scum: gusts of wind
swept over it without ruffling it, and big drops of rain fell on its
surface rebounding as if they could not penetrate it. Fishing-craft
under bare poles rushed by in shoals running foul of the ships in the
harbour. But the din and hubbub made by men and their shrill
pipings were suddenly silenced by the crashing voice of a thunder-
squall that burst right overhead.
When twenty minutes later the horizon was in some degree
cleared, Trelawny and Roberts looked anxiously seaward in the
hopes of descrying Shelley’s boat amongst the many small craft
scattered about. No trace of her was to be seen.

⁂
On the other side of the bay two women waited for news. Mary
was uneasy and depressed. The excessive heat of the summer
frightened her. It was during such a summer that little Willie had
died, and she looked at the baby in her arms with terror. He seemed
certainly in the best of health, nevertheless, standing on the terrace
gazing on one of the most lovely views in the world, she was
oppressed with wretchedness. Her eyes kept filling with tears she
knew not why. “Yet,” thought she, “when he, when my Shelley
returns, I shall be happy—he will comfort me; if my boy be ill, he will
restore him and encourage me.”
On the Monday, Jane had a letter from her husband dated
Saturday. He said that Shelley was still detained at Pisa, “but if he
should not come by Monday, I will come in a felucca, and you may
expect me on Thursday evening at furthest.” This Monday was the
fatal Monday, the day of the storm.
But Mary and Jane never imagined for a moment that the Ariel
could have put to sea in such weather. On Tuesday it rained all day,
and the sea was calm. On Wednesday the wind was fair from
Leghorn, and several feluccas arrived thence. The skipper of one of
these said that the Ariel had sailed on the Monday, but neither Jane
nor Mary believed him. Thursday was another day of fair wind, and
the two women kept continuous watch from the terrace. Every
instant they hoped to see the tall sails of the little boat double the
promontory. At midnight they were still watching and still without
any sight of the boat, and they began to fear—not the truth—but
that some illness, some disagreeable occurrence, had detained their
husbands in Leghorn. As the hours went on, Jane became so
miserable that she determined to hire a boat next day and go to
Leghorn herself. But next day brought with it a heavy sea and a
contrary wind. No boatman would venture out.
At midday came letters. There was one from Hunt for Shelley.
Mary opened it trembling all over. Hunt said: “Pray write to tell us
how you got home, for they say that you had bad weather after you
sailed on Monday, and we are anxious.”
The letter fell from her hands. Jane picked it up, read it, and
said, “Then it is all over!”
“No, my dear Jane, it is not all over, but this suspense is dreadful!
Come with me—we will go to Leghorn. We will post to be swift and
learn our fate.”
The road from Lerici to Leghorn passes by Pisa. They stopped at
Lord Byron’s house to see if there was any news. They knocked at
the door, and some one called out “Chi è?” for it was already late in
the evening. It was the Guiccioli’s maid. Lord Byron was in bed, but
the Countess, all smiles, came down to meet them. On seeing the
terrifying aspect of Mary’s face, very white, looking like marble, she
stopped astonished.
“Where is he? Sapete alcuna cosa di Shelley?” said Mary. Byron
who followed his dama knew nothing more than that Shelley had left
Pisa the preceding Sunday, and had sailed on Monday in bad
weather.
It was now midnight, but refusing to rest the two women went
on to Leghorn, which they reached at two o’clock in the morning.
Their coachman took them to the wrong inn where they found
neither Trelawny nor Captain Roberts. They threw themselves
dressed on their beds and waited for daylight. At six o’clock they
visited all the inns of the town one after the other, and at the Globe
Roberts came down to them with a face which told them that the
worst was true. They learned from him all that occurred during that
agonizing week.
Yet hope was not entirely extinct. The Ariel might have been
blown to Corsica, or Elba, or even farther. They sent a courier from
tower to tower along the coast as far as Nice to know if anything
had been seen or found, and at 9 a.m. they quitted Leghorn for
Casa Magni. Trelawny went with them. At Via Reggio they were told
that a punt, a water-keg, and some bottles had been cast up on the
beach. Trelawny went to look at them and recognized the little skiff
of the Ariel. But there was the possibility that, finding it cumbersome
in bad weather, they had thrown it overboard.
When Jane and Mary reached home, the village was holding high
festival. The noise of dancing, laughing and singing kept them
awake the whole night through.

⁂
Five or six days later Trelawny, who had promised a reward to
any of the coastguard who should send him news, was called to Via
Reggio where a body had been washed up by the sea. It was a
corpse terrible to look upon, for the face and hands and those parts
of the body not protected by the clothes had been eaten away by
the fish. But the tall slight figure, the jacket, the volume of
Sophocles in one pocket and Keats’ poems in the other, doubled
back as if the reader, in the act of reading, had hastily thrust it away,
were all too familiar to Trelawny to leave a doubt on his mind that
this mutilated body was any other than Shelley’s. Almost at the same
time the corpse of Williams was found not far off, more mutilated
still, and three weeks later a third body was found, that of Charles
Vivian, the sailor boy, about four miles from the other two. It was a
mere skeleton.
Trelawny had the remains buried temporarily in the sand to
preserve them from the sea, and galloped off towards Casa Magni.
 At the threshold of the house he stopped. There was no one to
be seen . . . a lamp burned in the big room . . . perhaps the two
widows were suggesting to one another new grounds for hope. . . .
Trelawny thought of his last visit there. Then the two families had all
been on the terrace overhanging a sea so calm and clear that every
star was reflected in the waters. Williams had cried “Buona notte!”
and Trelawny had rowed himself on board the Bolivar at anchor in
the bay. From afar he had listened to Jane singing some merry tune
to the accompaniment of her guitar. Shelley’s shrill laugh had pierced
the quiet night, and Trelawny had looked back with regret on a set
of human beings who had seemed to him the happiest and most
united in the whole world.
His reverie was broken by a shriek from the nurse Caterina, as
crossing the hall she saw him in the doorway. He went upstairs and
unannounced entered the room where Mary and Jane sat waiting.
He could not speak a word. Mary Shelley’s hazel eyes fixed
themselves on his with a terrible intensity. She cried out: “Is there
no hope?” Trelawny, without answering, left the room, and told the
servant to take the children to the two poor mothers.
 CHAPTER XXXVII

LAST LINKS
Mary wished to have Shelley buried near their little boy in the
Roman cemetery which he had thought so beautiful, but the sanitary
laws forbade that bodies once buried in quicklime on the sands,
should be transferred elsewhere. Trelawny suggested, therefore, that
the remains should be burned on the shore, according to the custom
of the ancient Greeks. When the day was fixed for this ceremony, he
sent word to Byron and Hunt, who wished to be present, and came
himself on the Bolivar. The Tuscan authorities had provided a squad
of soldiers armed with mattocks and spades.
The remains of Williams were dug out first. Standing round on
the loose sand that scorched their feet his friends watched the
soldiers at work and waited with curiosity and horror the first
appearance of the body. A black silk handkerchief was pulled out,
then some shreds of linen, a boot with the bone of the leg and the
foot in it, then a shapeless mass of bones and flesh. The limbs
separated from the trunk on being touched. The soldiers performed
their work with long-handled tongs, nippers, poles, with iron hooks,
spikes, and divers other tools all resembling implements of torture.
“Is that a human body?” exclaimed Byron. “Why, it’s more like
the carcase of a sheep!”
He was greatly moved, and tried to hide his emotion, which he
thought maudlin and unmanly, under an air of indifference. When
they were lifting the skull, “Stop a moment, let me see the jaw,” he
said. “I can recognize by the teeth anyone with whom I have talked.
I always watch the mouth, it tells me what the eyes try to conceal.”
A funeral pyre had been prepared, Trelawny applied the fire, and
the materials being dry and resinous the pine-wood flamed furiously,
and the heat drove the spectators back. The body and skull, burning
fiercely, gave the flames a silvery and wavy look of indescribable
brightness and purity. When the heat was a little diminished Byron
and Hunt threw on to the fire frankincense, salt and wine.
“Come,” said Byron suddenly, “let us try the strength of these
waters that drowned our friends. . . . How far out do you think they
were when their boat sunk?”
Perhaps mingled with his grief was the thought that he, who had
swum the Hellespont, would not have let himself be drowned in this
less dangerous sea.
He stripped, went into the water, and swam out. Trelawny and
Hunt followed him. When they turned to look back at the pyre it
seemed a mere little glittering patch upon the sand.

⁂
The ceremony was repeated next day for Shelley, who had been
buried in the sand, nearer to Via Reggio, between the sea and a
pine-wood.
The weather was glorious. In the strong sunlight, the yellow
sands and the deep violet sea made a wonderful contrast. Above the
trees, the snow-capped Appenines paved the sky with a cloudy and
marmoreal background such as Shelley would have loved. All the
children of the country-side were gathered round to witness so
unusual a spectacle, but not a word was spoken among them. Byron
himself was silent and thoughtful. “Ah, Will of iron! This then is all
that remains of your splendid courage. . . . Like Prometheus you
defied Jupiter, and behold . . .”
The soldiers dug for nearly an hour without finding the exact
place. Suddenly a dull hollow sound following the blow of a mattock
warned them that the iron had struck a skull. Byron shuddered. He
thought of Shelley during the storm on Lake Leman, whose crossed
arms, heroic yet impotent, had seemed to him at the time an
accurate symbol of his life. “How brutally mistaken men have been
about him! He was without exception the best and least selfish man
I ever knew. And as perfect a gentleman as ever crossed a drawing-
room.”
 The body had been covered with lime, which had almost
completely carbonized it. Once more incense, oil and salt were
thrown upon the flames, and more wine was poured over Shelley’s
dead body than he had ever consumed during life. The intense heat
made the atmosphere tremulous and wavy. At the end of three
hours the heart, which was unusually big, remained unconsumed.
Trelawny snatched it from the fiery furnace, burning his hand
severely in doing so. The frontal bone of the skull where it had been
struck by the mattock fell off, and the brains literally seethed,
bubbled and boiled as in a cauldron for a very long time.
Byron could not face this scene. As on the previous day he
stripped and swam to the Bolivar, which was anchored in the bay.
Trelawny gathered together the fragments of bone and human
ashes, and placed them in an oaken casket lined with black velvet,
which he had brought with him.
The village children, looking on with all their eyes, told each
other that from these bones, once they reached England, the dead
man would come to life.

⁂
Now to tell what became of the other actors in this story.
Sir Timothy Shelley lived to the age of ninety-one, dying in 1844.
He made Mary a small allowance, but she had to promise not to
publish her husband’s posthumous poems, nor any biography of him
so long as the old baronet lived. At his death, Percy Florence came
into the title and the fortune, Harriet’s son Charles having died in his
eleventh year.
A common misfortune had united the two widows, Mary and
Jane. For a long time they lived together in Italy, and afterwards in
London. Shelley’s friends were so faithful to them that Trelawny
asked the hand of Mary in marriage, and a little later Hogg, the
sceptic, asked the hand of Jane. Mary refused, saying that she
thought Mary Shelley so pretty a name she wished to have it on her
tombstone. Jane accepted, but then had to confess she had never
been married to Williams. She still had a husband somewhere in
India. This did not trouble Hogg, and freed them both from any
ceremony. They never left each other, and lived under decorous
appearances. Although Hogg was accurate and a hard worker, he
was considered mediocre at the Bar, where he pleaded without
warmth or eloquence. Towards the end of his life he became a
timorous, disillusioned old gentleman, reading Greek and Latin all
day long to kill time and cheat his immense boredom.
Claire remained on the Continent, was a governess in Russia, and
at the death of Sir Timothy inherited the twelve thousand pounds
left her by Shelley, and was freed from poverty.
The older they grew the more these three women quarrelled
amongst themselves. Jane declared to everyone that during the last
months at Casa Magni Shelley had loved her alone. These assertions
repeated to Mary exasperated her so much that she refused to see
Jane again. Little by little Miranda became an old woman, a trifle
deaf, but always charming. Her eyes would still sparkle when she
spoke of the Poet.
During many years Claire occupied herself in writing a book in
which she intended to point out, by the examples of Shelley, Byron
and herself, how necessary it is to have only conventional ideas on
the question of love. But, having had a mental illness, she was
obliged to give up work during a long period. She passed the end of
her life in Florence, where she became a Roman Catholic and
occupied herself in charities.
One day in the spring of 1878 a young man searching for
documents on Byron and Shelley came to ask her for reminiscences
of them. When he pronounced these two names, there appeared
beneath the old lady’s wrinkles one of those smiles, girlish yet full of
promises, which had made her so fascinating at eighteen.
“Come,” she said, “I suppose you are as crass as most men, and
think that I loved Byron?”
Then, as he looked at her with surprise:
“My young friend,” said she, “no doubt you will know a woman’s
heart better some day. I was dazzled, but that does not mean love.
It might perhaps have grown into love, but it never did.”
 There was a silence. The visitor, hesitating a little, asked:
“Have you never loved, Madame?”
A delicate blush suffused the withered cheeks, and this time she
made no reply, gazing on the ground.
“Shelley?” he murmured.
“With all my heart and soul,” she replied, without raising her
eyes.
Then with a charming coquetry she gave him a tap on the cheek
with her closed fan.

The End
 Transcriber’s Notes
Minor changes to spelling and punctuation have been made
silently to achieve consistency.
[The end of Ariel (A Shelley Romance) by Maurois, André (Emile
Salomon Wilhelm Herzog), and Ella D’Arcy (translator)]
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARIEL: A SHELLEY
ROMANCE ***

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