MARY AND SHELLEY.
We left Godwin about to write in answer to the letter referred to from
Shelley. The correspondence which followed, though very interesting in
itself, is only important here as it led to the increasing intimacy of
the families. These letters are full of sound advice from an elderly
philosopher to an over-enthusiastic youth; and one dated March 14,
1812, begging Shelley to leave Ireland and come to London, ends with
the pregnant phrase, "You cannot imagine how much all the females of
my family, Mrs. Godwin and _three_ daughters, are interested in
your letters and your history." So here, at fourteen, we find Mary
deeply interested in all concerning Shelley; poor Mary, who used to
wander forth, when in London, from the Skinner Street Juvenile Library
northwards to the old St. Pancras Cemetery, to sit with a book beside
her mother's grave to find that sympathy so sadly lacking in her home.
About this time Godwin wrote a letter concerning Mary's education to
some correspondent anxious to be informed on the subject. We cannot do
better than quote from it:--
Your inquiries relate principally to the two daughters of Mary
Wollstonecraft. They are neither of them brought up with an exclusive
attention to the system and ideas of their mother. I lost her in 1797,
and in 1801 I married a second time. One among the motives which led
me to choose this was the feeling I had in myself of an incompetence
for the education of daughters. The present Mrs. Godwin has great
strength and activity of mind, but is not exclusively a follower of
the notions of their mother; and, indeed, having formed a family
establishment without having a previous provision for the support of a
family, neither Mrs. Godwin nor I have leisure enough for reducing
novel theories of education to practice; while we both of us honestly
endeavour, as far as our opportunities will permit, to improve the
mind and characters of the younger branches of our family.
Of the two persons to whom your inquiries relate, my own daughter is
considerably superior in capacity to the one her mother had before.
Fanny, the eldest, is of a quiet, modest, unshowy disposition,
somewhat given to indolence, which is her greatest fault, but sober,
observing, peculiarly clear and distinct in the faculty of memory, and
disposed to exercise her own thoughts and follow her own judgment.
Mary, my daughter, is the reverse of her in many particulars. She is
singularly bold, somewhat imperious, and active of mind. Her desire of
knowledge is great, and her perseverance in everything she undertakes
almost invincible. My own daughter is, I believe, very pretty. Fanny
is by no means handsome, but, in general, prepossessing.
By this letter necessity appears to have been the chief motor in the
education of the children. Constantly increasing difficulties
surrounded the family, who were, however, kept above the lowering
influences of narrow circumstances by the intellect of Godwin and his
friends. Even the speculations into which Mrs. Godwin is considered to
have rashly drawn her husband in the Skinner Street Juvenile Library,
perhaps, for a time, really assisted in bringing up the family and
educating the sons.
Before the meeting with Shelley, Mary was known as a young girl of
strong poetic and emotional nature. A story is still remembered by
friends, proving this: just before her last return from the Highlands
preceding her eventful meetings with Shelley, she visited, while
staying with the Baxters, some of the most picturesque parts of the
Highlands, in company with Mr. Miller, a bookseller of Edinburgh; and
he told of her passionate enthusiasm when taken into a room arranged
with looking-glasses round it to reflect the magic view without of
cascade and cloud-capped mountains; how she fell on her knees,
entranced at the sight, and thanked Providence for letting her witness
so much beauty. This was the nature, with its antecedents and
surroundings, to come shortly into communion with Shelley, at the time
of his despondency at his wife's hardness and supposed desertion;
Shelley then, so far from self-sufficiency, yearning after sympathy
and an ideal in life, with all his former idols shattered. Godwin's
house became for him the home of intellectual intercourse. Godwin,
surrounded by a cultivated family, was not thought less of by Shelley,
owing to the accident of his then having a book-shop to look
after--Shelley, whose childhood, though passed in the comforts of an
English country house, yet lacked the riches of the higher culture.
Through two months of various trials Shelley remained on terms of
great intimacy, visiting Godwin's house and constantly dining there.
This was during his wife's voluntary withdrawal to Bath, from
May--when he seems to have entreated her to be reconciled to him--till
July, when she, in her turn, becoming anxious at a four days'
cessation of news, wrote an imploring letter to Hookham, the Bond
Street bookseller, for information about her husband.
In the meantime, what had been passing in Godwin's house? The
Philosopher, whom Shelley loved and revered, was becoming inextricably
involved in money matters. What was needed but this to draw still
closer the sympathies of the poet, who had not been exempt from like
straits? He was thus in the anomalous position of an heir to twenty
thousand a year, who could wish to raise three thousand pounds on his
future expectations, not for discreditable gambling debts, or worse
extravagances, but to save his beloved master and his family from dire
distress.
What a coil of circumstances to be entangling all concerned! Mary
returning from the delights of her Scottish home to find her father,
whom she always devotedly loved, on the verge of bankruptcy, with all
the hopeless vista which her emotional and highly imaginative nature
could conjure up; and then to find this dreaded state of distress
relieved, and by her hero--the poet who, for more than two years, "all
the women of her family had been profoundly interested in."
And for Shelley, the contrast from the desolate home, where sulks and
ill-humour assailed him, and which, for a time, was a deserted home
for him; where facts, or his fitful imagination, ran riot with his
honour, to the home where all showed its roseate side for him; where
all vied to please the young benefactor, who was the humble pupil of
its master; where Mary, in the expanding glow of youth and intellect,
could talk on equal terms with the enthusiastic poet.
Were not the eyes of Godwin and his wife blinded for the time, when
still reconciliation with Harriet was possible? Surely gratitude came
in to play honour false. The one who--were it only from personal
feeling--might have tried to turn the course of the rushing torrent
was not there. Fanny, who had formerly written of Shelley as a hero of
romance, was in Wales during this period.
So, step by step, and day by day, the march of fate continued, till,
by the time that Hookham apparently unbandaged Godwin's eyes, on
receiving Harriet's letter on July 7, 1814, passion seemed to have
subdued the power of will; and the obstacle now imposed by Godwin only
gave added impetus to the torrent, which nothing further could check.
Such times as these in a life seem to exemplify the contrasting
doctrines of Calvin and of Schopenhauer; of two courses, either is
open. But at that time Shelley was more the being of emotion than of
will--unless, indeed, will be confounded with emotion.
We have seen enough to gather that Shelley did not need to enter
furtively the house of his benefactor to injure him in his nearest
tie, but that circumstances drew Shelley to Mary with equal force as
her to him. The meetings by her mother's grave seemed to sanctify the
love which should have been another's. They vaguely tried to justify
themselves with crude principles. But self-deception could not endure
much longer; and when Godwin forbade Shelley his house on July 8,
Shelley, ever impetuous and headstrong, whose very virtues became for
the time vices, thrust all barriers aside.
What deceptions beside self-deception must have been necessary to
carry out so wild a project can be imagined; for certainly neither
Godwin nor, still less, his wife, was inclined to sanction so illegal
and unjust an act. We see, from Hogg's description, how impassioned
was a meeting between Mary and Shelley, which he chanced to witness;
and later on Shelley is said to have rushed into her room with
laudanum, threatening to take it if she would not have pity on him.
These and such like scenes, together with the philosophical notions
which Mary must have imbibed, led up to her acting at sixteen as she
certainly would not have done at twenty-six; but now her knowledge of
the world was small, her enthusiasm great--and evidently she believed
in Harriet's faithlessness--so that love added to the impatience of
youth, which could not foresee the dreadful future. Without doubt,
could they both have imagined the scene by the Serpentine three years
later, they would have shrunk from the action which was a strong link
in the chain that conduced to it.
But now all thoughts but love and self, or each for the other, were
set aside, and on July 20, 1814, we find Mary Godwin leaving her
father's house before five o'clock in the morning, much as Harriet had
left her home three years earlier.
An entry made by Mary in a copy of _Queen Mab_ given to her by
Shelley, and dated in July 1814, shows us how a few days before their
departure they had not settled on so desperate a move. The words are
these:--"This book is sacred to me, and as no other creature shall
ever look into it, I may write in it what I please. Yet what shall I
write--that I love the author beyond all powers of expression, and
that I am parted from him? Dearest and only love, by that love we have
promised to each other, although I may not be yours I can never be
another's. But I am thine, exclusively thine."
Mary in her novel of _Lodore_, published in 1835, gave a version
of the differences between Harriet and Shelley. Though Lord Lodore is
more an impersonation of Mary's idea of Lord Byron than of Shelley,
Cornelia Santerre, the heroine, may be partly drawn from Harriet,
while Lady Santerre, her match-making mother, is taken from Eliza
Westbrook. Lady Santerre, when her daughter is married, still keeps
her under her influence. She is described as clever, though
uneducated, with all the petty manoeuvring which frequently
accompanies this condition. When differences arise between Lodore and
his wife the mother, instead of counselling conciliation, advises her
daughter to reject her husband's advances. Under these circumstances
estrangements lead to hatred, and Cornelia declares she will never
quit her mother, and desires her husband to leave her in peace with
her child. This Lodore will not consent to, but takes the child with
him to America. The mother-in-law speaks of desertion and cruelty, and
instigates law proceedings. By these proceedings all further hope is
lost. We trace much of the history of Shelley and Harriet in this
romance, even to the age of Lady Lodore at her separation, which is
nineteen, the same age as Harriet's. Lady Lodore henceforth is
regarded as an injured and deserted wife. This might apply equally to
Lady Byron; but there are traits and descriptions evidently applicable
to Harriet. Lady Santerre encourages her to expect submission later
from her husband, but the time for that is passed. We here trace the
period when Shelley also begged his wife to be reconciled to him in
May, and likewise Harriet's attempt at reconciliation with Shelley,
all too late, in July, when Shelley had an interview with his wife and
explanations were given, which ended in Harriet apparently consenting
to a separation. The interview resulted in giving Harriet an illness
very dangerous in her state of health; she was even then looking
forward to the birth of a child. It is true that Shelley is said to
have believed that this child was not his, though later he
acknowledged this belief was not correct. The name of a certain Major
Ryan figures in the domestic history of the Shelleys at this time; but
certainly there seems no evidence to convict poor Harriet upon,
although Godwin at a later date informed Shelley that he had evidence
of Harriet having been false to him four months before he left her.
This evidence is not forthcoming, and the position of his daughter
Mary may have made slender evidence seem more weighty at the time to
Godwin; in fact, the small amount of evidence of any kind respecting
Shelley's and Harriet's disagreements and separation seems to point to
the curious anomaly in Shelley's character, that while he did not
hesitate to act upon his avowed early and crude opinions as to the
duration of marriage--opinions which he later expressed disapproval of
in his own criticism of _Queen Mab_--yet the innate feeling of a
gentleman forbade him to talk of his wife's real or supposed defects
even to his intimate friends. Thus when Peacock cross-questioned him
about his liking for Harriet, he only replied, "Ah, but you do not
know how I hated her sister."
However more or less faulty, or sinned against, or sinning, we must
now leave Harriet for a while and accompany Shelley and Mary on that
28th of July when she left her father's house with Jane, henceforth
called "Claire" Clairmont, to meet Shelley near Hatton Garden about
five in the morning. Of the subsequent journey we have ample records,
for with this tour Mary also began a life of literary work, in which
she was fortunately able to confide much to the unknown friend, the
public, which though not always directly grateful to those who open
their hearts to it, is still eager for their works and influenced by
them. And so from Mary herself we learn all that she cared to publish
from her journal in the _Six Weeks' Tour_, and now we have the
original journal by Mary and Shelley, as given by Professor Dowden. We
must repeat for Mary the oft-told tale of Shelley; for henceforth,
till death separates them, their lives are together.
On July 27, 1814, having previously arranged a plan with Mary, which
must have been also known to Claire in spite of her statement that she
only thought of taking an early walk, Shelley ordered the postchaise,
and, as Claire says, he and Mary persuaded her to go too, as she knew
French, with which language they were unfamiliar. Shelley gives the
account of the subsequent journey to Dover and passage to Calais, of
the first security they felt in each other in spite of all risk and
danger. Mary suffered much physically, and no doubt morally, having to
pause at each stage on the road to Dover in spite of the danger of
being overtaken, owing to the excessive heat causing faintness. On
reaching Dover they found the packet already gone at 4 o'clock, so,
after bathing in the sea and dining, they engaged a sailing boat to
take them to Calais, and once more felt security from their pursuers;
for, undoubtedly, had they been found in England, Shelley would have
been unable to carry out his plan.
They were not allowed to pass the Channel together without danger, for
after some hours of calm, during which they could make no progress, a
violent squall broke, and the sails of the little boat were well nigh
shattered, the lightning and thunder were incessant, and the imminent
danger gave Shelley cause for serious thought, as he with difficulty
supported the sleeping form of Mary in his arms. Surely all this scene
is well described in "The Fugitives"--
While around the lashed ocean.
Though Mary woke to hear they were still far from land, and might be
forced to make for Boulogne if they could not reach Calais, still with
the dawn of a fresh day the lightning paled, and at length they were
landed on Calais sands, and walked across them to their hotel. The
fresh sights and sounds of a new language soon restored Mary, and she
was able to remark the different costumes; and the salient contrast
from the other side of the Channel could not fail to charm three young
people so open to impressions. But before night they were reminded
that there were others whom their destiny affected, for they were
informed that a "fat lady" had been inquiring for them, who said that
Shelley had run away with her daughter. It was poor Mrs. Godwin who
had followed them through heat and storm, and who hoped at least to
induce her daughter Claire to return to the protection of Godwin's
roof; but this, after mature deliberation, which Shelley advised, she
refused to do. Having escaped so far from the routine and fancied
dulness of home life, the impetuous Claire was not to be so easily
debarred from sharing in the magic delight of seeing new countries and
gaining fresh experience. So Mrs. Godwin returned alone, to make the
best story she could so as to satisfy the curious about the strange
doings in her family.
Meanwhile the travellers proceeded by diligence on the evening of the
30th to Boulogne, and then, as Mary was far from well, hastened on
their journey to Paris, where by a week's rest, in spite of many
annoyances through want of money and difficulty in procuring it, Mary
regained sufficient strength to enjoy some of the interesting sights.
A pedestrian tour was undertaken across France into Switzerland. In
Paris the entries in the diary are chiefly Shelley's; he makes some
curious remarks about the pictures in the Louvre, and mentions with
pleasure meeting a Frenchman who could speak English who was some
help, as Claire's French does not seem to have stood the test of a
lengthy discussion on business at that time. At length a remittance of
sixty pounds was received, and they forthwith settled to buy an ass to
carry the necessary portmanteau and Mary when unable to walk; and so
they started on their journey in 1814, across a country recently
devastated by the invading armies of Europe. They were not to be
deterred by the harrowing tales of their landlady, and set out for
Charenton on the evening of August 8, but soon found their ass needed
more assistance than they did, which necessitated selling it at a loss
and purchasing a mule the next day. On this animal Mary set out
dressed in black silk, accompanied by Claire in a like dress, and by
Shelley who walked beside. This primitive way of travelling was not
without its drawbacks, especially after the disastrous wars. Their
fare was of the coarsest, and their accommodation frequently of the
most squalid; but they were young and enthusiastic, and could enter
with delight into the fact that Napoleon had slept in their room at
one inn. And the picturesque though frequently ruined French towns,
with their ramparts and old cathedrals, gave them happiness and
content; on the other hand, the dirt, discomfort, and ignorance they
met with were extreme. At one wretched village, Echemine, people would
not rebuild their houses as they expected the Cossacks to return, and
they had not heard that Napoleon was deposed; while two leagues
farther, at Pavillon, all was different, showing the small amount of
communication between one town and another in France at that time.
Shelley was now obliged to ride the mule, having sprained his ankle,
and on reaching Troyes Mary and Claire were thoroughly fatigued with
walking. There they had to reconsider ways and means; the mule, no
longer sufficing, was sold and a _voiture_ bought, and a man and
a mule engaged for eight days to take them to Neuchatel. But their
troubles did not end here, for the man turned out far more obstinate
than the mule, and was determined to enjoy the sweets of tyranny: he
stopped where he would, regardless of accommodation or no
accommodation, and went on when he chose, careless whether his
travellers were in or out of the carriage. Mary describes how they had
to sit one night over a wretched kitchen fire in the village of Mort,
till they were only too glad to pursue their journey at 3 A.M. In
fact, in those days Mary was able, in the middle of France, to
experience the same discomforts which tourists have now to go much
farther to find out. Their tour was far different from a later one
described by Mary, when comfortable hotels are chronicled; but, oh!
how she then looked back to the happy days of this time. The trio
would willingly have prolonged the present state of things; but, alas!
money vanished in spite of frugal fare, and they decided, on arriving
in Switzerland, and with difficulty raising about thirty-eight pounds
in silver, that their only expedient was to return to England in the
least expensive way possible. They first tried, however, to live
cheaply in an old chateau on the lake of Arx, which they hired at a
guinea a month; but the discomfort and difficulties were too great,
and even the customary resources of reading and writing failed to
induce them to remain in these circumstances. They at one time
contemplated a journey south of the Alps, but, only twenty-eight
pounds remaining to live on from September till December, they
naturally felt it would be safer to return to England, and decided to
travel the eight hundred miles by water as the cheapest mode of
transit. They proceeded from Lucerne by the Reuss, descending several
falls on the way, but had to land at Loffenberg as the falls there
were impassable. The next day they took a rude kind of canoe to Mumph,
when they were forced to continue their journey in a return cabriolet;
but this breaking down, they had to walk some distance to the nearest
place for boats, and were fortunate in meeting with some soldiers to
carry their box. Having procured a boat they reached Basle by the
evening, and leaving there for Mayence the next morning in a boat
laden with merchandise. This ended their short Swiss tour; but they
passed the time delightfully, Shelley reading Mary Wollstonecraft's
letters from Norway, and then, again, perfectly entranced, as night
approached, with the magic effects of sunset sky, hills surmounted
with ruined castles, and the reflected colours on the changing stream.
They proceeded in this manner, staying for the night at inns, and
taking whatever boat could be found in the morning. Thus they reached
Cologne, passing the romantic scenery of the Rhine, recalled to
them later when reading _Childe Harold_. From this point they
proceeded through Holland by diligence, as they found travelling by
the canals and winding rivers would be too slow, and consequently more
expensive. Mary does not appear to have been impressed with the
picturesque flat country of Holland, and gladly reached Rotterdam; but
they were unfortunately detained two days at Marsluys by contrary
winds, spending their last guinea, but feeling triumphant in having
travelled so far for less than thirty pounds.
The captain, being an Englishman, ventured to cross the bar of the
Rhine sooner than the Dutch would have done, and consequently they
returned to England in a severe squall, which must have recalled the
night of their departure and banished tranquillity from their minds,
if they had for a time been soothed by the changing scenes and their
trust in each other.
This account, taken chiefly from Mary's _Six Weeks' Tour_,
published in 1817 first, differs in some details from the diary made
at the time. In the published edition the names are suppressed. Nor
does Mary refer to the extraordinary letter written by Shelley from
Troyes on August 13, to the unfortunate Harriet, inviting her to come
and stay with them in Switzerland, writing to her as his "dearest
Harriet," and signing himself "ever most affectionately yours."
Fortunately the proposal was not carried out; probably neither Harriet
nor Mary desired the other's company, and Shelley was saved the
ridicule, or worse, of this arrangement.