APRIL-JULY 1882
"Evil news. Not well."
These few words are Mary's record of this frightful blow. She was again in
delicate health, suffering from the same depressing symptoms as before
Percy's birth, and for a like reason.
No wonder she was made downright ill by the shock, and by the sickening
apprehension of the scene to follow when Clare should hear the news.
On the next day but one--the 25th of April--the travellers returned.
Williams says, in his diary for that day--
Meet S., his face bespoke his feelings. C.'s child was dead, and he
had the office to break it to her, or rather not to do so; but,
fearful of the news reaching her ears, to remove her instantly from
this place.
Shelley could not tell Clare at once. Not while they were in Pisa, and
with Byron close by. One, unfurnished, house was to be had, the Casa
Magni, in the Bay of Lerici. Thither, on the chance of getting it, they
must go, and instantly. Mary's indisposition must be ignored; she must
undertake the negotiations for the house. Within twenty-four hours she was
off to Spezzia, with Clare and little Percy, escorted by Trelawny; poor
Clare quite unconscious of the burden on her friends' minds. Shelley
remained behind another day, to pack up the necessary furniture; but, on
the 27th, he with the whole Williams family left Pisa for Lerici. Thence,
while waiting for the furniture to arrive by sea, he wrote to Mary at
Spezzia.
SHELLEY TO MARY.
LERICI, _Sunday, 28th April 1822_.
DEAREST MARY--I am this moment arrived at Lerici, where I am
necessarily detained, waiting the furniture, which left Pisa last
night at midnight, and as the sea has been calm and the wind fair, I
may expect them every moment. It would not do to leave affairs here in
an _impiccio_, great as is my anxiety to see you. How are you, my best
love? How have you sustained the trials of the journey? Answer me this
question, and how my little babe and Clare are. Now to business--
Is the Magni House taken? if not, pray occupy yourself instantly in
finishing the affair, even if you are obliged to go to Sarzana, and
send a messenger to me to tell me of your success. I, of course,
cannot leave Lerici, to which port the boats (for we were obliged to
take two) are directed. But _you_ can come over in the same boat that
brings you this letter, and return in the evening. I hear that
Trelawny is still with you. Tell Clare that, as I must probably in a
few days return to Pisa for the affair of the lawsuit, I have brought
her box with me, thinking she might be in want of some of its
contents.
I ought to say that I do not think there is accommodation for you all
at this inn; and that, even if there were, you would be better off at
Spezzia; but if the Magni House is taken, then there is no possible
reason why you should not take a row over in the boat that will bring
this; but do not keep the men long. I am anxious to hear from you on
every account.--Ever yours,
S.
Mary's answer was that she had concluded for Casa Magni, but that no other
house was to be had in all that neighbourhood. It was in a neglected
condition, and not very roomy or convenient; but, such as it was, it had
to accommodate the Williams', as well as the Shelleys, and Clare.
Considerable difficulty was experienced by Shelley in obtaining leave for
the landing of the furniture; this obstacle got over, they at last took
possession.
EDWARD WILLIAMS' JOURNAL.
_Wednesday, May 1._--Cloudy, with rain. Came to Casa Magni after
breakfast, the Shelleys having contrived to give us rooms. Without
them, heaven knows what we should have done. Employed all day putting
the things away. All comfortably settled by 4. Passed the evening in
talking over our folly and our troubles.
The worst trouble, however, was still impending. Finding how crowded and
uncomfortable they were likely to be, Clare, after a day or two, decided
that it was best for herself and for every one that she should return to
Florence, and announced her intention accordingly. Compelled by the
circumstances, Shelley then disclosed to her the true state of the case.
Her grief was excessive, but was, after the first, succeeded by a calmness
unusual in her and surprising to her friends; a reaction from the fever
of suspense and torment in which she had lived for weeks past, and which
were even a harder strain on her powers of endurance than the truth,
grievous though that was, putting an end to all hope as well as to all
fear. For the present she remained at the Villa Magni.
The ground floor of this habitation was appropriated, as is often done
in Italy, for stowing the implements and produce of the land, as rent
is paid in kind there. In the autumn you find casks of wine, jars of
oil, tools, wood, occasionally carts, and, near the sea, boats and
fishing-nets. Over this floor were a large saloon and four bedrooms
(which had once been whitewashed), and nothing more; there was an
out-building for cooking, and a place for the servants to eat and
sleep in. The Williams had one room, and Shelley and his wife occupied
two more, facing each other.[47]
Facing the sea, and almost over it, a verandah or open terrace ran the
whole length of the building; it was over the projecting ground floor, and
level with the inhabited story.
The surrounding scenery was magnificent, but wild to the last degree, and
there was something unearthly in the perpetual moaning and howling of
winds and waves. Poor Mary now began to feel the ill effects of her
enforced over-exertions. She became very unwell, suffering from utter
prostration of strength and from hysterical affections. Rest, quiet, and
freedom from worry were essential to her condition, but none of these
could she have, nor even sleep at night. The absence of comfort and
privacy, added to the great difficulty of housekeeping, and the melancholy
with which Clare's misfortune had infected the whole party, were all very
unfavourable to her.
After staying for three weeks, Clare returned for a short visit to
Florence. Shelley's letters to her during her absence afford occasional
glimpses, from which it is easy to infer more, into the state of affairs
at Casa Magni. Mrs. Williams was "by no means acquiescent in the present
system of things." The plan of having all possessions in common does not
work well in the kitchen; the respective servants of the two families were
always quarrelling and taking each other's things. Jane, who was a good
housekeeper, had the defects of her qualities, and "pined for her own
house and saucepans." "It is a pity," remarks Shelley, "that any one so
pretty and amiable should be so selfish." Not that these matters troubled
him much. Such little "squalls" gave way to calm, "in accustomed
vicissitude" (to use his own words); and Mrs. Williams had far too much
tact to dwell on domestic worries to him. His own nerves were for a time
shaken and unstrung, but he recovered, and, after the first, was unusually
well. He was in love with the wild, beautiful place, and with the life at
sea; for to his boat he escaped whenever any little breezes ruffled the
surface of domestic life so that its mirror no longer reflected his own
unwontedly bright spirits. At first he and Williams had only the small
flat-bottomed boat in which they had navigated the Arno and Serchio, but
in a fortnight there arrived the little schooner which Captain Roberts had
built for Shelley at Genoa, and then their content was perfect.
For Mary no such escape from care and discomfort was open; she was too
weak to go about much, and it is no wonder that, after the Williams'
installation, she merely chronicles, "The rest of May a blank."
Williams' diary partly fills this blank; and it is so graphic in its
exceeding simplicity that, though it has been printed before, portions may
well be included here.
EXTRACTS FROM WILLIAMS' DIARY.
_Thursday, May 2._--Cloudy, with intervals of rain. Went out with
Shelley in the boat--fish on the rocks--bad sport. Went in the evening
after some wild ducks--saw nothing but sublime scenery, to which the
grandeur of a storm greatly contributed.
_Friday, May 3._--Fine. The captain of the port despatched a vessel
for Shelley's boat. Went to Lerici with S., being obliged to market
there; the servant having returned from Sarzana without being able to
procure anything.
_Sunday, May 5._--Fine. Kept awake the whole night by a heavy swell,
which made a noise on the beach like the discharge of heavy artillery.
Tried with Shelley to launch the small flat-bottomed boat through the
surf; we succeeded in pushing it through, but shipped a sea on
attempting to land. Walk to Lerici along the beach, by a winding path
on the mountain's side. Delightful evening,--the scenery most sublime.
_Monday, May 6._--Fine. Some heavy drops of rain fell to-day, without
a cloud being visible. Made a sketch of the western side of the bay.
Read a little. Walked with Jane up the mountain.
After tea walking with Shelley on the terrace, and observing the
effect of moonshine on the waters, he complained of being unusually
nervous, and stopping short, he grasped me violently by the arm, and
stared steadfastly on the white surf that broke upon the beach under
our feet. Observing him sensibly affected, I demanded of him if he
were in pain. But he only answered by saying, "There it is
again--there"! He recovered after some time, and declared that he saw,
as plainly as he then saw me, a naked child (Allegra) rise from the
sea, and clap its hands as in joy, smiling at him. This was a trance
that it required some reasoning and philosophy entirely to awaken him
from, so forcibly had the vision operated on his mind. Our
conversation, which had been at first rather melancholy, led to this;
and my confirming his sensations, by confessing that I had felt the
same, gave greater activity to his ever-wandering and lively
imagination.
_Sunday, May 12._--Cloudy and threatening weather. Wrote during the
morning. Mr. Maglian called after dinner, and, while walking with him
on the terrace, we discovered a strange sail coming round the point of
Porto Venere, which proved at length to be Shelley's boat. She had
left Genoa on Thursday, but had been driven back by prevailing bad
winds, a Mr. Heslop and two English seamen brought her round, and they
speak most highly of her performances. She does, indeed, excite my
surprise and admiration. Shelley and I walked to Lerici, and made a
stretch off the land to try her, and I find she fetches whatever she
looks at. In short, we have now a perfect plaything for the summer.
_Monday, May 13._--Rain during night in torrents--a heavy gale of wind
from S.W., and a surf running heavier than ever; at 4 gale unabated,
violent squalls....
... In the evening an electric arch forming in the clouds announces a
heavy thunderstorm, if the wind lulls. Distant thunder--gale
increases--a circle of foam surrounds the bay--dark, evening, and
tempestuous, with flashes of lightning at intervals, which give us no
hope of better weather. The learned in these things say, that it
generally lasts three days when once it commences as this has done. We
all feel as if we were on board ship--and the roaring of the sea
brings this idea to us even in our beds.
_Wednesday, May 15._--Fine and fresh breeze in puffs from the land.
Jane and Mary consent to take a sail. Run down to Porto Venere and
beat back at 1 o'clock. The boat sailed like a witch. After the late
gale, the water is covered with purple nautili, or as the sailors call
them, Portuguese men-of-war. After dinner Jane accompanied us to the
point of the Magra; and the boat beat back in wonderful style.
_Wednesday, May 22._--Fine, after a threatening night. After breakfast
Shelley and I amused ourselves with trying to make a boat of canvas
and reeds, as light and as small as possible. She is to be 8-1/2 feet
long, and 4-1/2 broad....
_Wednesday, June 12._--Launched the little boat, which answered our
wishes and expectations. She is 86 lbs. English weight, and stows
easily on board. Sailed in the evening, but were becalmed in the
offing, and left there with a long ground swell, which made Jane
little better than dead. Hoisted out our little boat and brought her
on shore. Her landing attended by the whole village.
_Thursday, June 13._--Fine. At 9 saw a vessel between the straits of
Porto Venere, like a man-of-war brig. She proved to be the _Bolivar_,
with Roberts and Trelawny on board, who are taking her round to
Livorno. On meeting them we were saluted by six guns. Sailed together
to try the vessels--in speed no chance with her, but I think we keep
as good a wind. She is the most beautiful craft I ever saw, and will
do more for her size. She costs Lord Byron L750 clear off and ready
for sea, with provisions and conveniences of every kind.
In the midst of this happy life one anxiety there was, however, which
pursued Shelley everywhere; and neither on shore nor at sea could he
escape from it,--that of Godwin's imminent ruin.
The first of the letters which follow had reached Mary while still at
Pisa. The next letter, and that of Mrs. Godwin were, at Shelley's request,
intercepted by Mrs. Mason and sent to him. He could not and would not show
them to Mary, and wrote at last to Mrs. Godwin, to try and put a stop to
them.
GODWIN TO MARY.
SKINNER STREET, _19th April 1822_.
MY DEAREST MARY--The die, so far as I am concerned, seems now to be
cast, and all that remains is that I should entreat you to forget that
you have a father in existence. Why should your prime of youthful
vigour be tarnished and made wretched by what relates to me? I have
lived to the full age of man in as much comfort as can reasonably be
expected to fall to the lot of a human being. What signifies what
becomes of the few wretched years that remain?
For the same reason, I think I ought for the future to drop writing to
you. It is impossible that my letters can give you anything but
unmingled pain. A few weeks more, and the formalities which still
restrain the successful claimant will be over, and my prospects of
tranquillity must, as I believe, be eternally closed.--Farewell,
WILLIAM GODWIN.
GODWIN TO MARY.
SKINNER STREET, _3d May 1822_.
DEAR MARY--I wrote to you a fortnight ago, and professed my intention
of not writing again. I certainly will not write when the result shall
be to give pure, unmitigated pain. It is the questionable shape of
what I have to communicate that still thrusts the pen into my hand.
This day we are compelled, by summary process, to leave the house we
live in, and to hide our heads in whatever alley will receive us. If
we can compound with our creditor, and he seems not unwilling to
accept L400 (I have talked with him on the subject), we may emerge
again. Our business, if freed from this intolerable burthen, is more
than ever worth keeping.
But all this would, perhaps, have failed in inducing me to resume the
pen, but for _one extraordinary accident_. Wednesday, 1st May, was the
day when the last legal step was taken against me; and Wednesday
morning, a few hours before this catastrophe, Willats, the man who,
three or four years before, lent Shelley L2000 at two for one, called
on me to ask whether Shelley wanted any more money on the same terms.
What does this mean? In the contemplation of such a coincidence, I
could almost grow superstitious. But, alas! I fear--I fear--I am a
drowning man, catching at a straw.--Ever most affectionately, your
father,
WILLIAM GODWIN.
Please to direct your letters, till you hear further, to the care of
Mr. Monro, No. 60 Skinner Street.
MRS. MASON TO SHELLEY.
_May 1822._
I send you in return for Godwin's letter one still worse, because I
think it has more the appearance of truth. I was desired to convey it
to Mary, but that I should not think right. At the same time, I don't
well know how you can conceal all this affair from her; they really
seem to want assistance at present, for their being turned out of the
house is a serious evil. I rejoice in your good health, to which I
have no doubt the boat and the Williams' much contribute, and wish
there may be no prospect of its being disturbed.
Mary ought to know what is said of the novel, and how can she know
that without all the rest? You will contrive what is best. In the part
of the letter which I do send, she (Mrs. Godwin) adds, that at this
moment Mr. Godwin does not offer the novel to any bookseller, lest his
actual situation might make it be supposed that it would be sold
cheap. Mrs. Godwin also wishes to correspond directly with Mrs.
Shelley, but this I shall not permit; she says Godwin's health is much
the worse for all this affair.
I was astonished at seeing Clare walk in on Tuesday evening, and I
have not a spare bed now in the house, the children having outgrown
theirs, and been obliged to occupy that which I had formerly; she
proposed going to an inn, but preferred sleeping on a sofa, where I
made her as comfortable as I could, which is but little so; however,
she is satisfied. I rejoice to see that she has not suffered so much
as you expected, and understand now her former feelings better than at
first. When there is nothing to hope or fear, it is natural to be
calm. I wish she had some determined project, but her plans seem as
unsettled as ever, and she does not see half the reasons for
separating herself from your society that really exist. I regret to
perceive her great repugnance to Paris, which I believe to be the
place best adapted to her. If she had but the temptation of good
letters of introduction!--but I have no means of obtaining them for
her--she intends, I believe, to go to Florence to-morrow, and to
return to your habitation in a week, but talks of not staying the
whole summer. I regret the loss of Mary's good health and spirits, but
hope it is only the consequence of her present situation, and,
therefore, merely temporary, but I dread Clare's being in the same
house for a month or two, and wish the Williams' were half a mile from
you. I must write a few lines to Mary, but will say nothing of having
heard from Mrs. Godwin; you will tell her what you think right, but
you know my opinion, that things which cannot be concealed are better
told at once. I should suppose a bankruptcy would be best, but the
Godwins do not seem to think so. If all the world valued obscure
tranquillity as much as I do, it would be a happier, though possibly
much duller, world than it is, but the loss of wealth is quite an
epidemic disease in England, and it disturbs their rest more than
the[48] ... I should have a thousand things to say, but that I have a
thousand other things to do, and you give me hope of conversing with
you before long.--Ever yours very sincerely,
M. M.
SHELLEY TO MRS. GODWIN.
LERICI, _29th May 1882_.
DEAR MADAM--Mrs. Mason has sent me an extract from your last letter to
show to Mary, and I have received that of Mr. Godwin, in which he
mentions your having left Skinner Street.
In Mary's present state of health and spirits, much caution is
requisite with regard to communications which must agitate her in the
highest degree, and the object of my present letter is simply to
inform you that I thought it right to exercise this caution on the
present occasion. Mary is at present about three months advanced in
pregnancy, and the irritability and languor which accompany this state
are always distressing, and sometimes alarming. I do not know even how
soon I can permit her to receive such communications, or even how soon
you or Mr. Godwin would wish they should be conveyed to her, if you
could have any idea of the effect. Do not, however, let me be
misunderstood. It is not my intention or my wish that the
circumstances in which your family is involved should be concealed
from her; but that the detail of them should be suspended until they
assume a more prosperous character, or at least till letters addressed
to her or intended for her perusal on that subject should not convey a
supposition that she could do more than she does, thus exasperating
the sympathy which she already feels too intensely for her Father's
distress, which she would sacrifice all she possesses to remedy, but
the remedy of which is beyond her power. She imagined that her novel
might be turned to immediate advantage for him. I am greatly
interested in the fate of this production, which appears to me to
possess a high degree of merit, and I regret that it is not Mr.
Godwin's intention to publish it immediately. I am sure that Mary
would be delighted to amend anything that her Father thought imperfect
in it, though I confess that if his objection relates to the
character of Beatrice, _I_ shall lament the deference which would be
shown by the sacrifice of any portion of it to feelings and ideas
which are but for a day. I wish Mr. Godwin would write to her on that
subject; he might advert to the letter (for it is only the last one)
which I have suppressed, or not, as he thought proper.
I have written to Mr. Smith to solicit the loan of L400, which, if I
can obtain in that manner, is very much at Mr. Godwin's service. The
views which I now entertain of my affairs forbid me to enter into any
further reversionary transactions; nor do I think Mr. Godwin would be
a gainer by the contrary determination; as it would be next to
impossible to effectuate any such bargain at this distance, nor could
I burthen my income, which is only sufficient to meet its various
claims, and the system of life in which it seems necessary I should
live.
We hear you hear Jane's (Clare's) news from Mrs. Mason. Since the late
melancholy event she has become far more tranquil; nor should I have
anything to desire with regard to her, did not the uncertainty of my
own life and prospects render it prudent for her to attempt to
establish some sort of independence as a security against an event
which would deprive her of that which she at present enjoys. She is
well in health, and usually resides at Florence, where she has formed
a little society for herself among the Italians, with whom she is a
great favourite. She was here for a week or two; and although she has
at present returned to Florence, we expect her on a visit to us for
the summer months. In the winter, unless some of her various plans
succeed, for she may be called _la fille aux mille projets_, she will
return to Florence. Mr. Godwin may depend upon receiving immediate
notice of the result of my application to Mr. Smith. I hope soon to
have an account of your situation and prospects, and remain, dear
Madam, yours very sincerely,
P. B. SHELLEY.
Mrs. Godwin.
We will speak another time, of what is deeply interesting both to Mary
and to myself, of my dear William.
The knowledge of all this on Shelley's mind,--the consciousness that he
was hiding it from Mary, and that she was probably more than half aware of
his doing so, gave him a feeling of constraint in his daily intercourse
with her. To talk with her, even about her father, was difficult, for he
could neither help nor hide his feeling of irritation and indignation at
the way in which Godwin persecuted his daughter after the efforts she had
made in his behalf, and for which he had hardly thanked her.
It would have to come, the explanation; but for the present, as Shelley
wrote to Clare, he was content to put off the evil day. Towards the end of
the month Mary's health had somewhat improved, and the letter she then
wrote to Mrs. Gisborne gives a connected account of all the past
incidents.
MARY SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE.
CASA MAGNI, Presso a LERICI,
_2d June 1822_.
MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE--We received a letter from Mr. Gisborne the
other day, which promised one from you. It is not yet come, and
although I think that you are two or three in my debt, yet I am good
enough to write to you again, and thus to increase your debt. Nor will
I allow you, with one letter, to take advantage of the Insolvent Act,
and thus to free yourself from all claims at once. When I last wrote,
I said that I hoped our spring visitation had come and was gone, but
this year we were not quit so easily. However, before I mention
anything else, I will finish the story of the _zuffa_ as far as it is
yet gone. I think that in my last I left the sergeant recovering; one
of Lord Byron's and one of the Guiccioli's servants in prison on
suspicion, though both were innocent. The judge or advocate, called a
Cancelliere, sent from Florence to determine the affair, dislikes the
Pisans, and, having _poca paga_, expected a present from Milordo, and
so favoured our part of the affair, was very civil, and came to our
houses to take depositions against the law. For the sake of the
lesson, Hogg should have been there to learn to cross-question. The
Cancelliere, a talkative buffoon of a Florentine, with "mille scuse
per l'incomodo," asked, "Dove fu lei la sera del 24 marzo? Andai a
spasso in carozza, fuori della Porta della Piaggia." A little clerk,
seated beside him, with a great pile of papers before him, now dipped
his pen in his ink-horn, and looked expectant, while the Cancelliere,
turning his eyes up to the ceiling, repeated, "Io fui a spasso," etc.
This scene lasted two, four, six, hours, as it happened. In the space
of two months the depositions of fifteen people were taken, and
finding Tita (Lord Byron's servant) perfectly innocent, the
Cancelliere ordered him to be liberated, but the Pisan police took
fright at his beard. They called him "il barbone," and, although it
was declared that on his exit from prison he should be shaved, they
could not tranquillise their mighty minds, but banished him. We, in
the meantime, were come to this place, so he has taken refuge with us.
He is an excellent fellow, faithful, courageous, and daring. How could
it happen that the Pisans should be frightened at such a _mirabile
mostro_ of an Italian, especially as the day he was let out of
_segreto_, and was a _largee_ in prison, he gave a feast to all his
fellow-prisoners, hiring chandeliers and plate! But poor Antonio, the
Guiccioli's servant, the meekest-hearted fellow in the world, is kept
in _segreto_; not found guilty, but punished as such,--_e chi sa_ when
he will be let out?--so rests the affair.
About a month ago Clare came to visit us at Pisa, and went with the
Williams' to find a house in the Gulf of Spezzia, when, during her
absence, the disastrous news came of the death of Allegra. She died of
a typhus fever, which had been raging in the Romagna; but no one wrote
to say it was there. She had no friends except the nuns of the
Convent, who were kind to her, I believe; but you know Italians. If
half of the Convent had died of the plague, they would never have
written to have had her removed, and so the poor child fell a
sacrifice. Lord Byron felt the loss at first bitterly; he also felt
remorse, for he felt that he had acted against everybody's counsels
and wishes, and death had stamped with truth the many and often-urged
prophecies of Clare, that the air of the Romagna, joined to the
ignorance of the Italians, would prove fatal to her. Shelley wished to
conceal the fatal news from her as long as possible, so when she
returned from Spezzia he resolved to remove thither without delay,
with so little delay that he packed me off with Clare and Percy the
very next day. She wished to return to Florence, but he persuaded her
to accompany me; the next day he packed up our goods and chattels, for
a furnished house was not to be found in this part of the world, and,
like a torrent hurrying everything in its course, he persuaded the
Williams' to do the same. They came here; but one house was to be
found for us all; it is beautifully situated on the sea-shore, under
the woody hills,--but such a place as this is! The poverty of the
people is beyond anything, yet they do not appear unhappy, but go on
in dirty content, or contented dirt, while we find it hard work to
purvey miles around for a few eatables. We were in wretched discomfort
at first, but now are in a kind of disorderly order, living from day
to day as we can. After the first day or two Clare insisted on
returning to Florence, so Shelley was obliged to disclose the truth.
You may judge of what was her first burst of grief and despair;
however she reconciled herself to her fate sooner than we expected;
and although, of course, until she form new ties, she will always
grieve, yet she is now tranquil--more tranquil than when prophesying
her disaster; she was for ever forming plans for getting her child
from a place she judged but too truly would be fatal to her. She has
now returned to Florence, and I do not know whether she will join us
again. Our colony is much smaller than we expected, which we consider
a benefit. Lord Byron remains with his train at Montenero. Trelawny
is to be the commander of his vessel, and of course will be at
Leghorn. He is at present at Genoa, awaiting the finishing of this
boat. Shelley's boat is a beautiful creature; Henry would admire her
greatly; though only 24 feet by 8 feet she is a perfect little ship,
and looks twice her size. She had one fault, she was to have been
built in partnership with Williams and Trelawny. Trelawny chose the
name of the _Don Juan_, and we acceded; but when Shelley took her
entirely on himself we changed the name to the _Ariel_. Lord Byron
chose to take fire at this, and determined that she should be called
after the Poem; wrote to Roberts to have the name painted on the
mainsail, and she arrived thus disfigured. For days and nights, full
twenty-one, did Shelley and Edward ponder on her anabaptism, and the
washing out the primeval stain. Turpentine, spirits of wine, buccata,
all were tried, and it became dappled and no more. At length the piece
had to be taken out and reefs put, so that the sail does not look
worse. I do not know what Lord Byron will say, but Lord and Poet as he
is, he could not be allowed to make a coal barge of our boat. As only
one house was to be found habitable in this gulf, the Williams' have
taken up their abode with us, and their servants and mine quarrel like
cats and dogs; and besides, you may imagine how ill a large family
agrees with my laziness, when accounts and domestic concerns come to
be talked of. _Ma pazienza._ After all the place does not suit me; the
people are _rozzi_, and speak a detestable dialect, and yet it is
better than any other Italian sea-shore north of Naples. The air is
excellent, and you may guess how much better we like it than Leghorn,
when, besides, we should have been involved in English society--a
thing we longed to get rid of at Pisa. Mr. Gisborne talks of your
going to a distant country; pray write to me in time before this takes
place, as I want a box from England first, but cannot now exactly name
its contents. I am sorry to hear you do not get on, but perhaps Henry
will, and make up for all. Percy is well, and Shelley singularly so;
this incessant boating does him a great deal of good. I have been
very unwell for some time past, but am better now. I have not even
heard of the arrival of my novel; but I suppose for his own sake, Papa
will dispose of it to the best advantage. If you see it advertised,
pray tell me, also its publisher, etc.
We have heard from Hunt the day he was to sail, and anxiously and
daily now await his arrival. Shelley will go over to Leghorn to him,
and I also, if I can so manage it. We shall be at Pisa next winter, I
believe, fate so decrees. Of course you have heard that the lawsuit
went against my Father. This was the summit and crown of our spring
misfortunes, but he writes in so few words, and in such a manner, that
any information that I could get, through any one, would be a great
benefit to me. Adieu. Pray write now, and at length. Remember both
Shelley and me to Hogg. Did you get _Matilda_ from Papa?--Yours ever,
MARY W. SHELLEY.
Continue to direct to Pisa.
Clare returned to the Casa Magni on the 6th of July. The weather had now
become intensely hot, and Mary was again prostrated by it. Alarming
symptoms appeared, and after a wretched week of ill health, these came to
a crisis in a dangerous miscarriage. She was destitute of medical aid or
appliances, and, weakened as she already was, they feared for her life.
She had lain ill for several hours before some ice could be procured, and
Shelley then took upon himself the responsibility of its immediate use;
the event proved him right; and when at last a doctor came, he found her
doing well. Her strength, however, was reduced to the lowest ebb; her
spirits also; and within a week of this misfortune her recovery was
retarded by a dreadful nervous shock she received through Shelley's
walking in his sleep.[49]
While Mary was enduring a time of physical and mental suffering beyond
what can be told, and such as no man can wholly understand, Shelley, for
his part, was enjoying unwonted health and good spirits. And such
creatures are we all that unwonted health in ourself is even a stronger
power for happiness than is the sickness of another for depression.
He was sorry for Mary's gloom, but he could not lighten it, and he was
persistently content in spite of it. This has led to the supposition that
there was, at this time, a serious want of sympathy between Shelley and
Mary. His only want, he said in an often-quoted letter, was the presence
of those who could feel, and understand him, and he added, "Whether from
proximity, and the continuity of domestic intercourse, Mary does not."
It would have been almost miraculous had it been otherwise. Perhaps
nothing in the world is harder than for a person suffering from exhausting
illness, and from the extreme of nervous and mental depression, to enter
into the mood of temporary elation of another person whose spirits, as a
rule, are uneven, and in need of constant support from others. But the
context of this very letter of Shelley's shows clearly enough that he
meant nothing desperate, no shipwreck of the heart; for, as the people who
could "feel, and understand him," he instances his correspondents, Mr. and
Mrs. Gisborne, saying that his satisfaction would be complete if only
_they_ were of the party; although, were his wishes not limited by his
hopes, Hogg would also be included. He would have liked a little
intellectual stimulus and comradeship. As it was, he was well satisfied
with an intercourse of which "words were not the instruments."
I like Jane more and more, and I find Williams the most amiable of
companions.
Jane's guitar and her sweet singing were a new and perpetual delight to
him, and she herself supplied him with just as much suggestion of an
unrealised ideal as was necessary to keep his imagination alive. She, on
her side, understood him and knew how to manage him perfectly; as a great
man may be understood by a clever woman who is so far from having an
intellectual comprehension of him that she is not distressed by the
consciousness of its imperfection or its absence, but succeeds by dint of
delicate social intuition, guided by just so much sense of humour as saves
her from exaggeration, or from blunders; and who understands her great man
on his human side so much better than the poor creature understands
himself, as to wind him at will, easily, gracefully, and insensibly, round
her little finger. And so, without sacrificing a moment's peace of mind,
Jane Williams won over Shelley an ascendency which was pleasing to both
and convenient to every one. No better instance could be given of her
method than the well-known episode of his sudden proposal to her to
overturn the boat, and, together, to "solve the great mystery"; inimitably
told by Trelawny. And so the month of June sped away.
"I have a boat here," wrote Shelley to John Gisborne, ... "it cost me
L80, and reduced me to some difficulty in point of money. However, it
is swift and beautiful, and appears quite a vessel. Williams is
captain, and we glide along this delightful bay, in the evening wind,
under the summer moon, until earth appears another world. Jane brings
her guitar, and if the past and the future could be obliterated, the
present would content me so well that I could say with Faust to the
present moment, 'Remain; thou art so beautiful.'"
And now, like Faust, having said this, like Faust's, his hour had come.
He heard from Genoa of the Leigh Hunts' arrival, so far, on their journey,
and wrote at once to Hunt a letter of warmest welcome to Italy, promising
to start for Leghorn the instant he should hear of the Hunts' vessel
having sailed for that port.
Poor Mary, who sends you a thousand loves, has been seriously ill,
having suffered a most debilitating miscarriage. She is still too
unwell to rise from the sofa, and must take great care of herself for
some time, or she would come with us to Leghorn. Lord Byron is in
_villegiatura_ near Leghorn, and you will meet besides with a Mr.
Trelawny, a wild, but kind-hearted seaman.
The Hunts sailed; and, on the 1st of July, Shelley and Williams, with
Charles Vivian, the sailor-lad who looked after their boat, started in the
_Ariel_ for Leghorn, where they arrived safely. Thence Shelley, with Leigh
Hunt, proceeded to Pisa. It had not been their intention to stay long, but
Shelley found much to detain him. Matters with respect to Byron and the
projected magazine wore a most unsatisfactory appearance; Byron's
eagerness had cooled, and his reception of the Hunts was chilling in the
extreme. Poor Mrs. Hunt was very seriously ill, and the letter which Mary
received from her husband was mainly to explain his prolonged absence. She
had let him go from her side with the greatest unwillingness; she was
haunted by the gloomiest forebodings and a sense of unexplained misery
which they all ascribed to her illness, and her letters were written in a
tone of depression which made Shelley anxious on her account, and Edward
Williams on that of his wife, who, he feared, might be unhappy during his
absence from her.
But Jane wrote brightly, and gave an improved account of Mary.
SHELLEY TO MARY.
PISA, _4th July 1822_.
MY DEAREST MARY--I have received both your letters, and shall attend
to the instructions they convey. I did not think of buying the
_Bolivar_; Lord Byron wishes to sell her, but I imagine would prefer
ready money. I have as yet made no inquiries about houses near
Pugnano--I have had no moment of time to spare from Hunt's affairs. I
am detained unwillingly here, and you will probably see Williams in
the boat before me, but that will be decided to-morrow.
Things are in the worst possible situation with respect to poor Hunt.
I find Marianne in a desperate state of health, and on our arrival at
Pisa sent for Vacca. He decides that her case is hopeless, and,
although it will be lingering, must end fatally. This decision he
thought proper to communicate to Hunt, indicating at the same time
with great judgment and precision the treatment necessary to be
observed for availing himself of the chance of his being deceived.
This intelligence has extinguished the last spark of poor Hunt's
spirits, low enough before. The children are well and much improved.
Lord Byron is at this moment on the point of leaving Tuscany. The
Gambas have been exiled, and he declares his intention of following
their fortunes. His first idea was to sail to America, which was
changed to Switzerland, then to Genoa, and last to Lucca. Everybody is
in despair, and everything in confusion. Trelawny was on the point of
sailing to Genoa for the purpose of transporting the _Bolivar_
overland to the Lake of Geneva, and had already whispered in my ear
his desire that I should not influence Lord Byron against this
terrestrial navigation. He next received _orders_ to weigh anchor and
set sail for Lerici. He is now without instructions, moody and
disappointed. But it is the worse for poor Hunt, unless the present
storm should blow over. He places his whole dependence upon the
scheme of the journal, for which every arrangement has been made. Lord
Byron must, of course, furnish the requisite funds at present, as I
cannot; but he seems inclined to depart without the necessary
explanations and arrangements due to such a situation as Hunt's.
These, in spite of delicacy, I must procure; he offers him the
copyright of the _Vision of Judgment_ for the first number. This
offer, if sincere, is _more_ than enough to set up the journal, and,
if sincere, will set everything right.
How are you, my best Mary? Write especially how is your health, and
how your spirits are, and whether you are not more reconciled to
staying at Lerici, at least during the summer. You have no idea how I
am hurried and occupied; I have not a moment's leisure, but will write
by next post. Ever, dearest Mary, yours affectionately,
S.
I have found the translation of the _Symposium_.
SHELLEY TO JANE WILLIAMS.
PISA, _4th July 1822_.
You will probably see Williams before I can disentangle myself from
the affairs with which I am now surrounded. I return to Leghorn
to-night, and shall urge him to sail with the first fair wind without
expecting me. I have thus the pleasure of contributing to your
happiness when deprived of every other, and of leaving you no other
subject of regret but the absence of one scarcely worth regretting. I
fear you are solitary and melancholy at the Villa Magni, and, in the
intervals of the greater and more serious distress in which I am
compelled to sympathise here, I figure to myself the countenance which
has been the source of such consolation to me, shadowed by a veil of
sorrow.
How soon those hours passed, and how slowly they return, to pass so
soon again, and perhaps for ever, in which we have lived together so
intimately, so happily! Adieu, my dearest friend. I only write these
lines for the pleasure of tracing what will meet your eyes. Mary will
tell you all the news.
S.
FROM JANE WILLIAMS TO SHELLEY.
_6th July._
MY DEAREST FRIEND--Your few melancholy lines have indeed cast your own
visionary veil over a countenance that was animated with the hope of
seeing you return with far different tidings. We heard yesterday that
you had left Leghorn in company with the _Bolivar_, and would
assuredly be here in the morning at 5 o'clock; therefore I got up, and
from the terrace saw (or I dreamt it) the _Bolivar_ opposite in the
offing. She hoisted more sail, and went through the Straits. What can
this mean? Hope and uncertainty have made such a chaos in my mind that
I know not what to think. My own Neddino does not deign to lighten my
darkness by a single word. Surely I shall see him to-night. Perhaps,
too, you are with him. Well, _pazienza_!
Mary, I am happy to tell you, goes on well; she talks of going to
Pisa, and indeed your poor friends seem to require all her assistance.
For me, alas! I can only offer sympathy, and my fervent wishes that a
brighter cloud may soon dispel the present gloom. I hope much from the
air of Pisa for Mrs. Hunt.
Lord B.'s departure gives me pleasure, for whatever may be the present
difficulties and disappointments, they are small to what you would
have suffered had he remained with you. This I say in the spirit of
prophecy, so gather consolation from it.
I have only time left to scrawl you a hasty adieu, and am
affectionately yours,
J. W.
Why do you talk of never enjoying moments like the past? Are you going
to join your friend Plato, or do you expect I shall do so soon? _Buona
notte._
Mary was slowly getting better, and hoping to feel brighter by the time
Shelley came back. On the 7th of July she wrote a few lines in her
journal, summing up the month during which she had left it untouched.
_Sunday, July 7._--I am ill most of this time. Ill, and then
convalescent. Roberts and Trelawny arrive with the _Bolivar_. On
Monday, 16th June, Trelawny goes on to Leghorn with her. Roberts
remains here until 1st July, when the Hunts being arrived, Shelley
goes in the boat with him and Edward to Leghorn. They are still there.
Read _Jacopo Ortis_, second volume of _Geographica Fisica_, etc. etc.
Next day, Monday the 8th, when the voyagers were expected to return, it
was so stormy all day at Lerici that their having sailed was considered
out of the question, and their non-arrival excited no surprise in Mary or
Jane. So many possibilities and probabilities might detain them at Leghorn
or Pisa, that their wives did not get anxious for three or four days; and
even then what the two women dreaded was not calamity at sea, but illness
or disagreeable business on shore. On Thursday, however, getting no
letters, they did become uneasy, and, but for the rough weather, Jane
Williams would have started in a row-boat for Leghorn. On Friday they
watched with feverish anxiety for the post; there was but one letter, and
it turned them to stone. It was to Shelley, from Leigh Hunt, begging him
to write and say how he had got home in the bad weather of the previous
Monday. And then it dawned upon them--a dawn of darkness. There was no
news; there would be no news any more.
One minute had untied the knot, and solved the great mystery. The _Ariel_
had gone down in the storm, with all hands on board.
And for four days past, though they had not known it, Mary Shelley and
Jane Williams had been widows.
END OF VOL. I
_Printed, by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] "Address to the Irish People."
[2] Possibly this may refer to Count Schlaberndorf, an expatriated
Prussian subject, who was imprisoned in Paris during the Reign of Terror,
and escaped, but subsequently returned, and lived there in retirement,
almost in concealment. He was a cynic, an eccentric, yet a patriot withal.
He was divorced from his wife, and Shelley had probably got hold of a
wrong version of his story.
[3] Byron.
[4] _Ibid._
[5]
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;
Thy gentle words stir poison there;
Thou hast disturbed the only rest
That was the portion of despair!
Subdued to Duty's hard control,
I could have borne my wayward lot:
The chains that bind this ruined soul
Had cankered then, but crushed it not.
[6] See his letter to Baxter, quoted before.
[7] _Journal of a Six Weeks' Tour._
[8] _Journal of a Six Weeks' Tour._
[9] _Journal of a Six Weeks' Tour._
[10] The bailiffs.
[11] She was staying temporarily at Skinner Street.
[12] Referring to Fanny's letter, enclosed.
[13] Peacock's mother.
[14] A friend of Harriet Shelley's.
[15] It is presumed that these were for Clara, in answer to an
advertisement for a situation as companion.
[16] Godwin's friend and amanuensis.
[17] Which, unfortunately, may not be published.
[18] From this time Miss Clairmont is always mentioned as Clare, or
Claire, except by the Godwins, who adhered to the original "Jane."
[19] Byron.
[20] Word obliterated.
[21] Matthew Gregory Lewis, known as "Monk" Lewis.
[22] Hogg.
[23] _Revolt of Islam_, Dedication.
[24] _Revolt of Islam_, Dedication.
[25] The work referred to would seem to be Shelley's Oxford pamphlet.
[26] Baxter's son.
[27] Mr. Booth.
[28] What this accusation was does not appear.
[29] Alba.
[30] Shelley's solicitor.
[31] The nursemaid.
[32] Mrs. Hunt.
[33] See Godwin's letter to Baxter, chap. iii.
[34] Preface to _Prometheus Unbound_.
[35] Page 205.
[36] In _Frankenstein_.
[37] _Notes to Shelley's Poems_, by Mrs. Shelley.
[38] Letter to Mr. Gisborne, of June 18, 1822.
[39] Letter of Shelley's to Mr. Gisborne. (The passage, in the original,
has no personal reference to Byron.)
[40] Announcing the stoppage of Shelley's income.
[41] "The Boat on the Serchio."
[42] _Notes to Shelley's Poems_, by Mary Shelley.
[43] Godwin's _Answer to Malthus_.
[44] This initial has been printed _C._ Mrs. Shelley's letter leaves no
doubt that Elise's is the illness referred to.
[45] Trelawny's "Recollections."
[46] Williams' journal for this last day runs--
_February 18._--Jane unwell. S. turns physician. Called on Lord B., who
talks of getting up _Othello_. Laid a wager with S. that Lord B. quits
Italy before six months. Jane put on a Hindostanee dress and passed the
evening with Mary, who had also the Turkish costume.
[47] Trelawny's "Recollections."
[48] Word illegible.
[49] Recounted at length in a subsequent letter, to be quoted later on.
_AT ALL BOOKSELLERS._
WORD PORTRAITS OF FAMOUS WRITERS.
EDITED BY MABEL E. WOTTON.
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Joseph Addison.
Harrison Ainsworth.
Jane Austen.
Francis, Lord Bacon.
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Richard Bentley.
James Boswell.
Charlotte Bronte.
Henry, Lord Brougham.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
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Robert Burns.
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George, Lord Byron.
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Geoffrey Chaucer.
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William Cobbett.
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Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
William Collins.
William Cowper
George Crabbe.
Daniel De Foe.
Charles Dickens.
Isaac D'Israeli.
John Dryden.
Mary Anne Evans (George Eliot).
Henry Fielding.
John Gay.
Edward Gibbon.
William Godwin.
Oliver Goldsmith.
David Gray.
Thomas Gray.
Henry Hallam.
William Hazlitt.
Felicia Hemans.
James Hogg.
Thomas Hood.
Theodore Hook.
David Hume.
Leigh Hunt.
Elizabeth Inchbald.
Francis, Lord Jeffrey.
Douglas Jerrold.
Samuel Johnson.
Ben Jonson.
John Keats.
John Keble.
Charles Kingsley.
Charles Lamb.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon.
Walter Savage Landor.
Charles Lever.
Matthew Gregory Lewis.
John Gibson Lockhart.
Sir Richard Lovelace.
Edward, Lord Lytton.
Thomas Babington Macaulay.
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Frederick Denison Maurice.
John Milton.
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Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.
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Sir Thomas More.
Caroline Norton.
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Samuel Pepys.
Alexander Pope.
Bryan Waller Procter.
Thomas de Quincey.
Ann Radcliffe.
Sir Walter Raleigh.
Charles Reade.
Samuel Richardson.
Samuel Rogers.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
Richard Savage.
Sir Walter Scott.
William Shakespeare.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley.
Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
Sir Philip Sidney.
Horace Smith.
Sydney Smith.
Tobias Smollett.
Robert Southey.
Edmund Spenser.
Arthur Penrhyn Stanley.
Sir Richard Steele.
Laurence Sterne.
Sir John Suckling.
Jonathan Swift.
William Makepeace Thackeray.
James Thomson.
Anthony Trollope.
Edmund Waller.
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Izaac Walton.
John Wilson.
Ellen Wood (Mrs. Henry Wood).
William Wordsworth.
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