"Simply put, she’s Bens best friend"
The Cellist, Carl Kricheldorf
It’s often a mistake to trust paintings as faithful records of events.
Shocking as it may seem that Shelley’s body is being cremated in the open in Louis Edouard Fournier’s 1889 The Funeral of Shelley, it’s actually a prettier picture than the funeral itself.
I won’t appall you with the details—Edward John Trelawny, a friend of Shelley’s and the closest figure in the trio by his body, gave a thorough enough account in Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and Byron—but suffice it to say that both his drowning and his cremation took a greater toll on his body than the picture reflects.
Of the recognizable mourners, Trelawny’s the only one actually to have been present the entire time (by his own account, anyway). Leigh Hunt, the white-haired man beside him, had stayed in the carriage. Byron left not long after it began. And, for reasons of contemporary manners, Mary Shelley—the woman kneeling on the far left—hadn’t attended at all.
Plus, the day was miserably hot, not to mention sunny.
Besides that, though. I mean, it’s practically the same. Really.