Did I tell you that Lord Byron comes to settle at Pisa, and that he

has a plan of writing a periodical work in conjunction with Hunt? His

house, Madame Felichi’s, is already taken and fitted up for him, and he

has been expected every day these six weeks. La Guiccioli, who awaits

him impatiently, is a very pretty, sentimental, innocent Italian, who

has sacrificed an immense fortune for the sake of Lord Byron, and

who, if I know any thing of my friend, of her and of human nature,

will hereafter have plenty of leisure and opportunity to repent her

rashness. Lord Byron is, however, quite cured of his gross habits, as

far as habits; the perverse ideas on which they were formed are not yet

eradicated.

We have furnished a house at Pisa, and mean to make it our

head-quarters. I shall get all my books out, and entrench myself like a

spider in a web. If you can assist P. in sending them to Leghorn, you

would do me an especial favour; but do not buy me Calderon, Faust, or

Kant, as H. S.[38] promises to send them me from Paris, where I suppose

you had not time to procure them. Any other books you or Henry think

would accord with my design, Ollier will furnish you with.

I should like very much to hear what is said of my Adonais, and

you would oblige me by cutting out, or making Ollier cut out, any

respectable criticism on it, and sending it me; you know I do not

mind a crown or two in postage. The Epipsychidion is a mystery; as to

real flesh and blood, you know that I do not deal in those articles;

you might as well go to a gin-shop for a leg of mutton, as expect

anything human or earthly from me. I desired Ollier not to circulate

this piece except to the συνετοί, and even they, it seems,

are inclined to approximate me to the circle of a servant girl and her

sweetheart. But I intend to write a Symposium of my own to set all this

right.

I am just finishing a dramatic poem, called Hellas, upon the contest

now raging in Greece--a sort of imitation of the Persæ of Æschylus,

full of lyrical poetry. I try to be what I might have been, but am not

successful. I find that (I dare say I shall quote wrong,)

“Den herrlichsten, den sich der Geist empfängt

Drängt immer fremd und fremder Stoff sich an.”

The Edinburgh Review lies. Godwin’s answer to Malthus is victorious

and decisive; and that it should not be generally acknowledged as such,

is full evidence of the influence of successful evil and tyranny. What

Godwin is, compared to Plato and Bacon, we well know; but compared with

these miserable sciolists, he is a vulture to a worm.

I read the Greek dramatists and Plato for ever. You are right about

Antigone; how sublime a picture of a woman! and what think you of

the choruses, and especially the lyrical complaints of the godlike

victim? and the menaces of Tiresias, and their rapid fulfilment? Some

of us have, in a prior existence, been in love with an Antigone, and

that makes us find no full content in any mortal tie. As to books, I

advise you to live near the British Museum, and read there. I have

read, since I saw you, the “Jungfrau von Orleans” of Schiller,--a fine

play, if the fifth act did not fall off. Some Greeks, escaped from the

defeat in Wallachia, have passed through Pisa, to re-embark at Leghorn

for the Morea; and the Tuscan Government allowed them, during their

stay and passage, three lire each per day and their lodging; that is

good. Remember me and Mary most kindly to Mrs. Gisborne and Henry, and

believe me,

Yours most affectionately,

P. B. S.

[38] Horace Smith (see previous letter, _supra_, p. 349).--Ed.

TO MR. JOHN GISBORNE.

_Pisa, April 10, 1822._

My dear Gisborne,

I have received Hellas, which is prettily printed, and with fewer

mistakes than any poem I ever published. Am I to thank you for the

revision of the press? or who acted as midwife to this last of my

orphans, introducing it to oblivion, and me to my accustomed failure?

May the cause it celebrates be more fortunate than either! Tell me

how you like _Hellas_, and give me your opinion freely. It was written

without much care, and in one of those few moments of enthusiasm which

now seldom visit me, and which make me pay dear for their visits.

I know what to think of _Adonais_, but what to think of those who

confound it with the many bad poems of the day, I know not.

I have been reading over and over again Faust, and always with

sensations which no other composition excites. It deepens the gloom

and augments the rapidity of ideas, and would therefore seem to me an

unfit study for any person who is a prey to the reproaches of memory,

and the delusions of an imagination not to be restrained. And yet the

pleasure of sympathising with emotions known only to few, although they

derive their sole charm from despair, and the scorn of the narrow good

we can attain in our present state, seems more than to ease the pain

which belongs to them. Perhaps all discontent with the _less_ (to use a

Platonic sophism) supposes the sense of a just claim to the _greater_,

and that we admirers of Faust are on the right road to Paradise. Such a

supposition is not more absurd, and is certainly less demoniacal than

that of Wordsworth, where he says--

“This earth,

Which is the world of all of us, and where

_We find our happiness, or not at all_.”

As if, after sixty years’ suffering here, we were to be roasted

alive for sixty million more in hell, or charitably annihilated by a

_coup-de-grâce_ of the bungler who brought us into existence at first!

Have you read Calderon’s _Magico Prodigioso_? I find a striking

similarity between Faust and this drama, and if I were to acknowledge

Coleridge’s distinction, should say Goethe was the _greatest_

philosopher, and Calderon the _greatest_ poet. _Cyprian_ evidently

furnished the _germ_ of Faust, as Faust may furnish the germ of other

poems; although it is as different from it in structure and plan as the

acorn from the oak. I have--imagine my presumption--translated several

scenes from both, as the basis of a paper for our journal. I am well

content with those from Calderon, which in fact gave me very little

trouble; but those from Faust--I feel how imperfect a representation,

even with all the licence I assume to figure to myself how Goethe would

have written in English, my words convey. No one but Coleridge is

capable of this work.

We have seen here a translation of some scenes, and indeed the most

remarkable ones, accompanying those astonishing etchings which have

been published in England from a German master. It is not bad--and

faithful enough--but how weak! how incompetent to represent Faust! I

have only attempted the scenes omitted in this translation, and would

send you that of the _Walpurgisnacht_, if I thought Ollier would place

the postage to my account. What etchings those are! I am never satiated

with looking at them; and, I fear, it is the only sort of translation

of which Faust is susceptible. I never perfectly understood the Hartz

Mountain scene, until I saw the etching; and then, Margaret in the

summer-house with Faust! The artist makes one envy his happiness that

he can sketch such things with calmness, which I only dared look upon

once, and which made my brain swim round only to touch the leaf on the

opposite side of which I knew that it was figured. Whether it is that

the artist has surpassed Faust, or that the pencil surpasses language

in some subjects, I know not, or that I am more affected by a visible

image, but the etching certainly excited me far more than the poem it

illustrated. Do you remember the fifty-fourth letter of the first part

of the “Nouvelle Héloïse”? Goethe, in a subsequent scene, evidently

had that letter in his mind, and this etching is an idealism of it. So

much for the world of shadows!

What think you of Lord Byron’s last volume? In my opinion it contains

finer poetry than has appeared in England since the publication of

“Paradise Regained.” _Cain_ is apocalyptic--it is a revelation not

before communicated to man. I write nothing but by fits. I have done

some of “Charles the First,” but although the poetry succeeded very

well, I cannot seize on the conception of the subject as a whole, and

seldom now touch the canvas. You know I don’t think much about Reviews,

nor of the fame they give, nor that they take away. It is absurd in

any Review to criticise _Adonais_, and still more to pretend that the

verses are bad. “Prometheus” was never intended for more than five or

six persons.

And how are you getting on? Do your plans still want success? Do you

regret Italy? or anything that Italy contains? And in case of an entire

failure in your expectations, do you think of returning here? You see

the first blow has been made at funded-property:--do you intend to

confide and invite a second? You would already have saved something

per cent., if you had invested your property in Tuscan land. The next

best thing would be to invest it in English, and reside upon it. I

tremble for the consequences, to you personally, from a prolonged

confidence in the funds. Justice, policy, the hopes of the nation and

renewed institutions, demand your ruin, and I, for one, cannot bring

myself to desire what is in itself desirable, till you are free. You

see how liberal I am of advice; but you know the motives that suggest

it. What is Henry about, and how are his prospects? Tell him that some

adventurers are engaged upon a steam-boat at Leghorn, to make the

_trajet_ we projected. I hope he is charitable enough to pray that they

may succeed better than we did.

Remember me most affectionately to Mrs. Gisborne, to whom, as well as

to yourself, I consider that this letter is written. How is she, and

how are you all in health? And pray tell me, what are your plans of

life, and how Henry succeeds, and whether he is married or not? How

can I send you such small sums as you may want for postages, &c., for

I do not mean to tax with my unreasonable letters both your purse and

your patience? We go this summer to Spezzia; but direct as ever to

Pisa,--Mrs. ---- will forward our letters. If you see anything which

you think would particularly interest me, pray make Ollier pay for

sending it out by post. Give my best and affectionate regards to H----,

to whom I do not write at present, imagining that you will give him a

piece of this letter.

Ever most faithfully yours,

P. B. S.

TO ----[39]

_Pisa, April 11th, 1822._

My dear ----,

I have, as yet, received neither the * * *, nor his metaphysical

companions--_Time, my Lord, has a wallet on his back_, and I suppose he

has bagged them by the way. As he has had a good deal of “_alms_ for

oblivion” out of me, I think he might as well have favoured me this

once; I have, indeed, just dropped another mite into his treasury,

called _Hellas_, which I know not how to send to you; but I dare say,

some fury of the Hades of authors will bring one to Paris. It is a poem

written on the Greek cause last summer--a sort of lyrical, dramatic,

nondescript piece of business.

You will have heard of a _row_ we have had here, which, I dare say,

will grow to a serious size before it arrives at Paris. It was, in

fact, a trifling piece of business enough, arising from an insult of a

drunken dragoon, offered to one of our party, and only serious, because

one of Lord Byron’s servants wounded the fellow dangerously with a

pitchfork. He is now, however, recovering, and the echo of the affair

will be heard long after the original report has ceased.

Lord Byron has read me one or two letters of Moore to him, in which

Moore speaks with great kindness of me; and, of course, I cannot but

feel flattered by the approbation of a man, my inferiority to whom I

am proud to acknowledge.--Amongst other things, however, Moore, after

giving Lord Byron much good advice about public opinion, &c., seems

to deprecate _my_ influence on his mind, on the subject of religion,

and to attribute the tone assumed in “Cain” to my suggestions. Moore

cautions him against my influence on this particular, with the most

friendly zeal; and it is plain that his motive springs from a desire

of benefitting Lord Byron, without degrading me. I think you know

Moore. Pray assure him that I have not the smallest influence over Lord

Byron, in this particular, and if I had, I certainly should employ

it to eradicate from his great mind the delusions of Christianity,

which, in spite of his reason, seem perpetually to recur, and to lay in

ambush for the hours of sickness and distress. “Cain” was _conceived_

many years ago, and begun before I saw him last year at Ravenna. How

happy should I not be to attribute to myself, however indirectly, any

participation in that immortal work!--I differ with Moore in thinking

Christianity useful to the world; no man of sense can think it true;

and the alliance of the monstrous superstitions of the popular worship

with the pure doctrines of the Theism of such a man as Moore, turns

to the profit of the former, and makes the latter the fountain of its

own pollution. I agree with him that the doctrines of the French, and

Material Philosophy, are as false as they are pernicious; but, still,

they are better than Christianity, inasmuch as anarchy is better than

despotism; for this reason, that the former is for a season, and that

the latter is eternal. My admiration of the character, no less than of

the genius of Moore, makes me rather wish that he should not have an

ill opinion of me.

Where are you? We settle this summer near Spezzia; Lord Byron at

Leghorn. May not I hope to see you even for a trip in Italy? I hope

your wife and little ones are well. Mine grows a fine boy, and is quite

well.

I have contrived to get my musical coals at Newcastle itself.--My dear

----, believe me,

Faithfully yours,

P. B. S.

[39] For reasons which will appear in the sequel, Mrs. Shelley

concealed the name of Shelley’s correspondent in this letter and the

following one of June 29, 1822, under the initials “To C. T.;” but it

appears from the original autographs, which have been preserved, that

these two letters were addressed to Horatio Smith.--Ed.

TO MRS. SHELLEY

(AT SPEZZIA).

[_Lerici, Sunday, April 28th, 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 C * * * 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 place the boats, (for we

were obliged to take two,) are directed. But _you_ can come over in the

same boat that brings this letter, and return in the evening.

I ought to say that I do not think that 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 don’t keep the men long. I am anxious to hear from you on

every account.

Ever yours,

S.

TO HORATIO SMITH

(VERSAILLES).

_Lerici, May, 1822._

My dear Smith,

It is some time since I have heard from you; are you still at

Versailles? Do you still cling to France, and prefer the arts and

conveniences of that over-civilised country to the beautiful nature and

mighty remains of Italy? As to me, like Anacreon’s swallow, I have left

my Nile, and have taken up my summer quarters here, in a lonely house

close by the sea-side, surrounded by the soft and sublime scenery of

the gulf of Spezzia. I do not write; I have lived too long near Lord

Byron, and the sun has extinguished the glow-worm; for I cannot hope,

with St. John, that “_the light came into the world, and the world knew

it not_.”

The object of my present letter is, however, a request, and as it

concerns that most odious of all subjects, money, I will put it in the

shortest shape. Godwin’s law-suit, he tells us, is decided against him;

and he is adjudged to pay 900_l._ He writes, of course, to his daughter

in the greatest distress: but we have no money except our income,

nor any means of procuring it. My wife has sent him her novel, which

is now finished, the copyright of which will probably bring him 3 or

400_l._--as Ollier offered the former sum for it, but as he required

a considerable delay for the payment, she rejected his offer. Now,

what I wish to know is, whether you could with convenience lend me the

400_l._ which you once dedicated to this service, and allow Godwin

to have it, under the precautions and stipulations which I formerly

annexed to its employment. You could not obviously allow this money to

lie idle waiting for this event, without interest. I forgot this part

of the business till this instant, and now I reflect that I ought to

have assured you of the regular payment of interest, which I omitted to

mention, considering it a matter of course.

I can easily imagine that circumstances may have arisen to make this

loan inconvenient or impossible--in any case, believe me,

My dear Smith,

Yours very gratefully and faithfully,

P. B. Shelley.

TO ----[40]

_Lerici, June 29th, 1822._

My dear ----,

* * * * *

* * * * *

Pray thank Moore for his obliging message. I wish I could as easily

convey my sense of his genius and character. I should have written

to him on the subject of my late letter, but that I doubted how far

I was justified in doing so; although, indeed, Lord Byron made no

secret of his communication to me. It seems to me that things have now

arrived at such a crisis as requires every man plainly to utter his

sentiments on the inefficacy of the existing religion, no less than

political systems, for restraining and guiding mankind. Let us see the

truth, whatever that may be. The destiny of man can scarcely be so

degraded, that he was born only to die; and if such should be the case,

delusions, especially the gross and preposterous ones of the existing

religion, can scarcely be supposed to exalt it. If every man said what

he thought, it could not subsist a day. But all, more or less, subdue

themselves to the element that surrounds them, and contribute to the

evils they lament by the hypocrisy that springs from them.

England appears to be in a desperate condition, Ireland still

worse; and no class of those who subsist on the public labour will

be persuaded that _their_ claims on it must be diminished. But the

government must content itself with less in taxes, the landholder

must submit to receive less rent, and the fundholder a diminished

interest, or they will all get nothing. I once thought to study these

affairs, and write or act in them. I am glad that my good genius said,

_refrain_. I see little public virtue, and I foresee that the contest

will be one of blood and gold, two elements which, however much to my

taste in my pockets and my veins, I have an objection to out of them.

Lord Byron continues at Leghorn, and has just received from Genoa a

most beautiful little yacht, which he caused to be built there. He

has written two new cantos of “Don Juan,” but I have not seen them. I

have just received a letter from Hunt, who has arrived at Genoa. As

soon as I hear that he has sailed, I shall weigh anchor in my little

schooner, and give him chase to Leghorn, when I must occupy myself in

some arrangements for him with Lord Byron. Between ourselves, I greatly

fear that this alliance will not succeed; for I, who could never have

been regarded as more than the link of the two thunderbolts, cannot now

consent to be even that; and how long the alliance may continue, I will

not prophesy. Pray do not hint my doubts on the subject to any one, or

they might do harm to Hunt; and they _may_ be groundless.

I still inhabit this divine bay, reading Spanish dramas, and sailing,

and listening to the most enchanting music. We have some friends on a

visit to us, and my only regret is that the summer must ever pass, or

that Mary has not the same predilection for this place that I have,

which would induce me never to shift my quarters.

Farewell.--Believe me ever your

Affectionate friend,

P. B. Shelley.

[40] To Horatio Smith. The opening paragraph, omitted by Mrs. Shelley,

has been found, on reference to the original autograph, to refer to the

pecuniary embarrassments of her father, William Godwin, alluded to in

the previous letter.--Ed.

TO MRS. WILLIAMS

(CASA MAGNI).

_Pisa, July 4, 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 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 had 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, 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.

TO MRS. SHELLEY

(CASA MAGNI).

_Pisa, July 4, 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 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 Vaccà. He decides that her case is hopeless, and

that although it will be lingering, must inevitably 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 worst for poor Hunt, unless the present storm should blow over.

He places his whole dependence upon the scheme of a 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.

[Decoration]

MISCELLANEOUS

ESSAYS AND LETTERS.

A LETTER TO LORD ELLENBOROUGH,

Occasioned by the Sentence which he passed on

Mr. D. I. EATON,

As Publisher of

The Third part of Paine’s age of reason.

Deorum offensa, Diis curæ.

--It is contrary to the mild spirit of the Christian

Religion, for no sanction can be found under that

dispensation which will warrant a Government to impose

disabilities and penalties upon any man, on account of his

religious opinions. [_Hear, Hear._]

Marquis Wellesley’s Speech. Globe, July 2.

ADVERTISEMENT.

_I have waited impatiently for these last four months, in the hopes

that some pen, fitter for the important task, would have spared me the

perilous pleasure of becoming the champion of an innocent man.--This

may serve as an excuse for delay, to those who think that I have let

pass the aptest opportunity, but it is not to be supposed that in four

short months the public indignation, raised by Mr. Eaton’s unmerited

suffering, can have subsided._

LETTER.

My Lord,

As the station to which you have been called by your country is

important, so much the more awful is your responsibility, so much the

more does it become you to watch lest you inadvertently punish the

virtuous and reward the vicious.

You preside over a court which is instituted for the suppression of

crime, and to whose authority the people submit on no other conditions

than that its decrees should be conformable to justice.

If it should be demonstrated that a judge had condemned an innocent

man, the bare existence of laws in conformity to which the accused

is punished, would but little extenuate his offence. The inquisitor

when he burns an obstinate heretic may set up a similar plea, yet few

are sufficiently blinded by intolerance to acknowledge its validity.

It will less avail such a judge to assert the policy of punishing

one who has committed no crime. Policy and morality ought to be

deemed synonymous in a court of justice, and he whose conduct has

been regulated by the latter principle, is not justly amenable to any

penal law for a supposed violation of the former. It is true, my Lord,

laws exist which suffice to screen you from the animadversions of any

constituted power, in consequence of the unmerited sentence which you

have passed upon Mr. Eaton; but there are no laws which screen you

from the reproof of a nation’s disgust, none which ward off the just

judgment of posterity, if that posterity will deign to recollect you.

By what right do you punish Mr. Eaton? What but antiquated precedents,

gathered from times of priestly and tyrannical domination, can be

adduced in palliation of an outrage so insulting to humanity and

justice? Whom has he injured? What crime has he committed? Wherefore

may he not walk abroad like other men and follow his accustomed

pursuits? What end is proposed in confining this man, charged with the

commission of no dishonourable action? Wherefore did his aggressor

avail himself of popular prejudice, and return no answer but one of

common place contempt to a defence of plain and simple sincerity?

Lastly, when the prejudices of the jury, as Christians, were strongly

and unfairly inflamed[41] against this injured man as a Deist,

wherefore did not you, my Lord, check such unconstitutional pleading,

and desire the jury to pronounce the accused innocent or criminal[42]

without reference to the particular faith which he professed?

In the name of justice, what answer is there to these questions? The

answer which Heathen Athens made to Socrates, is the same with which

Christian England must attempt to silence the advocates of this injured

man--“He has questioned established opinions.”--Alas! the crime of

enquiry is one which religion never has forgiven. Implicit faith

and fearless enquiry have in all ages been irreconcileable enemies.

Unrestrained philosophy has in every age opposed itself to the reveries

of credulity and fanaticism.--The truths of astronomy demonstrated

by Newton have superseded astrology; since the modern discoveries in

chemistry the philosopher’s stone has no longer been deemed attainable.

Miracles of every kind have become rare, in proportion to the hidden

principles which those who study nature have developed. That which

is false will ultimately be controverted by its own falsehood. That

which is true needs but publicity to be acknowledged. It is ever a

proof that the falsehood of a proposition is felt by those who use

power and coercion, not reasoning and persuasion, to procure its

admission.--Falsehood skulks in holes and corners, “it lets I dare

not wait upon I would, like the poor cat in the adage,”[43] except

when it has power, and then, as it was a coward, it is a tyrant; but

the eagle-eye of truth darts through the undazzling sunbeam of the

immutable and just, gathering thence wherewith to vivify and illuminate

a universe!

Wherefore, I repeat, is Mr. Eaton punished?--Because he is a

Deist?--And what are you, my Lord?--A Christian. Ha then! the mask is

fallen off; you persecute him because his faith differs from yours.

You copy the persecutors of Christianity in your actions, and are

an additional proof that your religion is as bloody, barbarous, and

intolerant as theirs.--If some deistical Bigot in power (supposing such

a character for the sake of illustration) should in dark and barbarous

ages have enacted a statute making the profession of christianity

criminal, if you my Lord were a christian bookseller, and Mr. Eaton a

judge, those arguments which you consider adequate to justify yourself

for the sentence which you have passed must likewise suffice, in this

suppositionary case to justify Mr. Eaton, in sentencing you to Newgate

and the pillory for being a christian. Whence is any right derived but

that which power confers for persecution? Do you think to convert Mr.

Eaton to your religion by embittering his existence? You might force

him by torture to profess your tenets, but he could not believe them,

except you should make them credible, which perhaps exceeds your power.

Do you think to please the God you worship by this exhibition of your

zeal? If so, the Demon to whom some nations offer human hecatombs is

less barbarous than the Deity of civilized society.

You consider man as an accountable being--but he can only be

accountable for those actions which are influenced by his will.

Belief and disbelief are utterly distinct from and unconnected with

volition. They are the apprehension of the agreement or disagreement

of the ideas which compose any proposition. Belief is an involuntary

operation of the mind, and, like other passions, its intensity is

precisely proportionate to the degrees of excitement. Volition is

essential to merit or demerit. How then can merit or demerit be

attached to what is distinct from that faculty of the mind whose

presence is essential to their being? I am aware that religion is

founded on the voluntariness of belief, as it makes it a subject of

reward and punishment; but before we extinguish the steady ray of

reason and common sense, it is fit that we should discover, which we

cannot do without their assistance, whether or no there be any other

which may suffice to guide us through the labyrinth of life.

If the law ‘de heretico comburendo’ has not been formally repealed,

I conceive that, from the promise held out by your Lordship’s zeal,

we need not despair of beholding the flames of persecution rekindled

in Smithfield. Even now the lash that drove Descartes and Voltaire

from their native country, the chains which bound Galileo, the

flames which burned Vanini, again resound:--And where? in a nation

that presumptuously calls itself the sanctuary of freedom. Under a

government which, whilst it infringes the very right of thought and

speech, boasts of permitting the liberty of the press; in a civilized

and enlightened country, a man is pilloried and imprisoned because he

is a Deist, and no one raises his voice in the indignation of outraged

humanity. Does the Christian God, whom his followers eulogize as the

Deity of humility and peace; he, the regenerator of the world, the

meek reformer, authorize one man to rise against another, and because

lictors are at his beck, to chain and torture him as an Infidel?

When the Apostles went abroad to convert the nations, were they

enjoined to stab and poison all who disbelieved the divinity of

Christ’s mission; assuredly, they would have been no more justifiable

in this case than he is at present who puts into execution the law

which inflicts pillory and imprisonment on the Deist.

Has not Mr. Eaton an equal right to call your Lordship an Infidel, as

you have to imprison him for promulgating a different doctrine from

that which you profess?--What do I say!--Has he not even a stronger

plea?--The word _Infidel_ can only mean any thing when applied to a

person who professes that which he disbelieves. The test of truth is

an undivided reliance on its inclusive powers;--the test of conscious

falsehood is the variety of the forms under which it presents itself,

and its tendency towards employing whatever coercive means may be

within its command, in order to procure the admission of what is

unsusceptible of support from reason or persuasion. A dispassionate

observer would feel himself more powerfully interested in favor of

a man, who depending on the truth of his opinions, simply stated

his reasons for entertaining them, than in that of his aggressor,

who daringly avowing his unwillingness to answer them by argument,

proceeded to repress the activity and break the spirit of their

promulgator, by that torture and imprisonment whose infliction he could

command.

I hesitate not to affirm that the opinions which Mr. Eaton

sustained, when undergoing that mockery of a trial at which your

Lordship presided, appear to me more true and good than those of his

accuser;--but were they false as the visions of a Calvinist, it still

would be the duty of those who love liberty and virtue, to raise their

voice indignantly against a reviving system of persecution, against

the coercively repressing any opinion, which, if false, needs but the

opposition of truth; which, if true, in spite of force, must ultimately

prevail.

Mr. Eaton asserted that the scriptures were, from beginning to end, a

fable and imposture,[44] that the Apostles were liars and deceivers. He

denied the miracles, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus Christ.--He

did so, and the Attorney General denied the propositions which he

asserted, and asserted those which he denied. What singular conclusion

is deducible from this fact? None, but that the Attorney General and

Mr. Eaton sustained two opposite opinions. The Attorney General puts

some obsolete and tyrannical laws in force against Mr. Eaton, because

he publishes a book tending to prove that certain supernatural events,

which are supposed to have taken place eighteen centuries ago, in a

remote corner of the world, did not actually take place. But how are

the truth or falsehood of the facts in dispute relevant to the merit

or demerit attachable to the advocates of the two opinions? No man is

accountable for his belief, because no man is capable of directing it.

Mr. Eaton is therefore totally blameless. What are we to think of the

justice of a sentence, which punishes an individual against whom it is

not even attempted to attach the slightest stain of criminality?

It is asserted that Mr. Eaton’s opinions are calculated to subvert

morality--How? What moral truth is spoken of with irreverence or

ridicule in the book which he published? Morality, or the duty of a

man and a citizen, is founded on the relations which arise from the

association of human beings, and which vary with the circumstances

produced by the different states of this association.--This duty

in similar situations must be precisely the same in all ages and

nations.--The opinion contrary to this has arisen from a supposition

that the will of God is the source or criterion of morality: it is

plain that the utmost exertion of Omnipotence could not cause that to

be virtuous which actually is vicious. An all-powerful Demon might,

indubitably, annex punishments to virtue and rewards to vice, but

could not by these means effect the slightest change in their abstract

and immutable natures.--Omnipotence could vary, by a providential

interposition, the relations of human society;--in this latter case,

what before was virtuous would become vicious, according to the

necessary and natural result of the alteration; but the abstract

natures of the opposite principles would have sustained not the

slightest change; for instance, the punishment with which society

restrains the robber, the assassin, and the ravisher is just, laudable,

and requisite. We admire and respect the institutions which curb those

who would defeat the ends for which society was established;--but,

should a precisely similar coercion be exercised against one who merely

expressed his disbelief of a system admitted by those entrusted with

the executive power, using at the same time no methods of promulgation

but those afforded by reason, certainly this coercion would be

eminently inhuman and immoral; and the supposition that any revelation

from an unknown power avails to palliate a persecution so senseless,

unprovoked, and indefensible, is at once to destroy the barrier which

reason places between vice and virtue, and leave to unprincipled

fanaticism a plea whereby it may excuse every act of frenzy, which its

own wild passions, not the inspirations of the Deity, have engendered.

Moral qualities are such as only a human being can possess. To

attribute them to the Spirit of the Universe, or to suppose that it is

capable of altering them, is to degrade God into man, and to annex to

this incomprehensible being qualities incompatible with any _possible_

definition of his nature. It may here be objected--Ought not the

Creator to possess the perfections of the creature? No. To attribute

to God the moral qualities of man, is to suppose him susceptible of

passions which, arising out of corporeal organisation, it is plain

that a pure spirit cannot possess. A bear is not perfect except he

is rough, a tyger is not perfect if he be not voracious, an elephant

is not perfect if otherwise than docile. How _deep_ an argument must

that not be which proves that the Deity is as rough as a bear, as

voracious as a tyger, and as docile as an elephant! But even suppose

with the vulgar, that God is a venerable old man, seated on a throne

of clouds, his breast the theatre of various passions, analogous

to those of humanity, his will changeable and uncertain as that of

an earthly king,--still goodness and justice are qualities seldom

nominally denied him, and it will be admitted that he disapproves of

any action incompatible with these qualities. Persecution for opinion

is unjust. With what consistency, then, can the worshippers of a Deity

whose benevolence they boast, embitter the existence of their fellow

being, because his ideas of that Deity are different from those which

they entertain.--Alas! there is no consistency in those persecutors who

worship a benevolent Deity; those who worship a Demon would alone act

consonantly to these principles, by imprisoning and torturing in his

name.

Persecution is the only name applicable to punishment inflicted on an

individual in consequence of his opinions.--What end is persecution

designed to answer? Can it convince him whom it injures? Can it prove

to the people the falsehood of his opinions? It may make _him_ a

hypocrite, and them cowards, but bad means can promote no good end. The

unprejudiced mind looks with suspicion on a doctrine that needs the

sustaining hand of power.

Socrates was poisoned because he dared to combat the degrading

superstitions in which his countrymen were educated. Not long after his

death, Athens recognized the injustice of his sentence; his accuser

Melitus was condemned, and Socrates became a demigod.

Jesus Christ was crucified because he attempted to supersede the ritual

of Moses with regulations more moral and humane--his very judge made

public acknowledgment of his innocence, but a bigotted and ignorant mob

demanded the deed of horror.--Barabbas the murderer and traitor was

released. The meek reformer Jesus was immolated to the sanguinary Deity

of the Jews. Time rolled on, time changed the situations, and with

them, the opinions of men.

The vulgar, ever in extremes, became persuaded that the crucifixion

of Jesus was a supernatural event, and testimonies of miracles, so

frequent in unenlightened ages, were not wanting to prove that he was

something divine. This belief, rolling through the lapse of ages,

acquired force and extent, until the divinity of Jesus became a dogma,

which to dispute was death, which to doubt was infamy.

_Christianity_ is now the established religion; he who attempts to

disprove it, must behold murderers and traitors take precedence of him

in public opinion, though, if his genius be equal to his courage, and

assisted by a peculiar coalition of circumstances, future ages may

exalt him to a divinity, and persecute others in his name, as he was

persecuted in the name of his predecessor, in the homage of the world.

The same means that have supported every other popular belief, have

supported Christianity. War, imprisonment, murder, and falsehood; deeds

of unexampled and incomparable atrocity have made it what it is. We

derive from our ancestors a belief thus fostered and supported.--We

quarrel, persecute, and hate for its maintenance.--Does not analogy

favour the opinion that, as like other systems it has arisen and

augmented, so like them it will decay and perish; that, as violence and

falsehood, not reasoning and persuasion, have procured its admission

among mankind; so, when enthusiasm has subsided, and time, that

infallible controverter of false opinions, has involved its pretended

evidences in the darkness of antiquity, it will become obsolete, and

that men will then laugh as heartily at grace, faith, redemption,

and original sin, as they now do at the metamorphoses of Jupiter,

the miracles of Romish saints, the efficacy of witchcraft, and the

appearance of departed spirits.

Had the christian religion commenced and continued by the mere force of

reasoning and persuasion, by its self-evident excellence and fitness,

the preceding analogy would be inadmissible. We should never speculate

upon the future obsoleteness of a system perfectly conformable to

nature and reason. It would endure so long as they endured, it would

be a truth as indisputable as the light of the sun, the criminality

of murder, and other facts, physical and moral, which, depending on

our organization, and relative situations, must remain acknowledged so

long as man is man.--It is an incontrovertible fact, the consideration

of which ought to repress the hasty conclusions of credulity, or

moderate its obstinacy in maintaining them, that, had the Jews not

been a barbarous and fanatical race of men, had even the resolution

of Pontius Pilate been equal to his candour, the christian religion

never could have prevailed, it could not even have existed. Man!

the very existence of whose most cherished opinions depends from a

thread so feeble, arises out of a source so equivocal, learn at least

humility; own at least that it is possible for thyself also to have

been seduced by education and circumstance into the admission of tenets

destitute of rational proof, and the truth of which has not yet been

satisfactorily demonstrated. Acknowledge at least that the falsehood

of thy brother’s opinions is no sufficient reason for his meriting

thy hatred.--What! because a fellow being disputes the reasonableness

of thy faith, wilt thou punish him with torture and imprisonment? If

persecution for religious opinions were admitted by the moralist, how

wide a door would not be opened by which convulsionists of every kind

might make inroads on the peace of society! How many deeds of barbarism

and blood would not receive a sanction!--But I will demand, if that

man is not rather entitled to the respect than the discountenance of

society, who, by disputing a received doctrine, either proves its

falsehood and inutility, thereby aiming at the abolition of what

is false and useless, or giving to its adherents an opportunity of

establishing its excellence and truth.--Surely this can be no crime.

Surely the individual who devotes his time to fearless and unrestricted

inquiry into the grand questions arising out of our moral nature,

ought rather to receive the patronage, than encounter the vengeance,

of an enlightened legislature. I would have you to know, my Lord,

that fetters of iron cannot bind or subdue the soul of virtue. From

the damps and solitude of its dungeon it ascends free and undaunted,

whither thine, from the pompous seat of judgment, dare not soar. I do

not warn you to beware lest your profession as a Christian, should make

you forget that you are a man;--but I warn you against festinating

that period, which, under the present coercive system, is too rapidly

maturing, when the seats of justice shall be the seats of venality and

slavishness, and the cells of Newgate become the abode of all that is

honorable and true.

I mean not to compare Mr. Eaton with Socrates or Jesus; he is a man

of blameless and respectable character, he is a citizen unimpeached

with crime; if, therefore, his rights as a citizen and a man have been

infringed, they have been infringed by illegal and immoral violence.

But I will assert that, should a second Jesus arise among men;

should such a one as Socrates again enlighten the earth, lengthened

imprisonment and infamous punishment (according to the regimen of

persecution revived by your Lordship) would effect, what hemlock and

the cross have heretofore effected, and the stain on the national

character, like that on Athens and Judea, would remain indelible,

but by the destruction of the history in which it is recorded. When

the Christian Religion shall have faded from the earth, when its

memory like that of Polytheism now shall remain, but remain only as

the subject of ridicule and wonder, indignant posterity would attach

immortal infamy to such an outrage; like the murder of Socrates, it

would secure the execration of every age.

The horrible and wide-wasting enormities which gleam like comets

through the darkness of gothic and superstitious ages, are regarded by

the moralist as no more than the necessary effects of known causes;

but, when an enlightened age and nation signalizes itself by a deed,

becoming none but barbarians and fanatics, Philosophy itself is even

induced to doubt whether human nature will ever emerge from the

pettishness and imbecility of its childhood. The system of persecution

at whose new birth, you, my Lord, are one of the presiding midwives,

is not more impotent and wicked than inconsistent. The press is loaded

with what are called (ironically, I should conceive) _proofs_ of the

Christian Religion: these books are replete with invective and calumny

against Infidels, they presuppose that he who rejects Christianity

must be utterly divested of reason and feeling. They advance the most

unsupported assertions, and take as first principles the most revolting

dogmas. The inferences drawn from these assumed premises are imposingly

logical and correct; but if a foundation is weak, no architect is

needed to foretell the instability of the superstructure.--If the

truth of Christianity is not disputable, for what purpose are these

books written? If they are sufficient to prove it, what further

need of controversy? _If God has spoken, why is not the universe

convinced?_ If the Christian Religion needs deeper learning, more

painful investigation, to establish its genuineness, wherefore attempt

to accomplish that by force, which the human mind can alone effect with

satisfaction to itself? If, lastly, its truth _cannot_ be demonstrated,

wherefore impotently attempt to snatch from God the government of his

creation, and impiously assert that the Spirit of Benevolence has left

that knowledge most essential to the well being of man, the only one

which, since its promulgation, has been the subject of unceasing cavil,

the cause of irreconcileable hatred?--Either the Christian Religion is

true, or it is not. If true, it comes from God, and its authenticity

can admit of doubt and dispute no further than its Omnipotent Author is

willing to allow;--if true, it admits of rational proof, and is capable

of being placed equally beyond controversy, as the principles which

have been established concerning matter and mind, by Locke and Newton;

and in proportion to the usefulness of the fact in dispute, so must it

be supposed that a benevolent being is anxious to procure the diffusion

of its knowledge on the earth.--If false, surely no enlightened

legislature would punish the reasoner, who opposes a system so much the

more fatal and pernicious as it is extensively admitted; so much the

more productive of absurd and ruinous consequences, as it is entwined

by education, with the prejudices and affections of the human heart, in

the shape of a popular belief.

Let us suppose that some half-witted philosopher should assert that the

earth was the centre of the universe, or that ideas could enter the

human mind independently of sensation or reflection. This man would

assert what is demonstrably incorrect;--he would promulgate a false

opinion. Yet, would he therefore deserve pillory and imprisonment?

By no means; probably few would discharge more correctly the duties

of a citizen and a man. I admit that the case above stated is not

precisely in point. The thinking part of the community has not received

as indisputable the truth of Christianity, as they have that of the

Newtonian system. A very large portion of society, and that powerfully

and extensively connected, derives its sole emolument from the belief

of Christianity, as a popular faith.

To torture and imprison the asserter of a dogma, however ridiculous

and false, is highly barbarous and impolitic:--How, then, does not the

cruelty of persecution become aggravated when it is directed against

the opposer of an opinion _yet under dispute_, and which men of

unrivalled acquirements, penetrating genius, and stainless virtue, have

spent, and at last sacrificed, their lives in combating.

The time is rapidly approaching, I hope, that you, my Lord, may live

to behold its arrival, when the Mahometan, the Jew, the Christian, the

Deist, and the Atheist, will live together in one community, equally

sharing the benefits which arise from its association, and united in

the bonds of charity and brotherly love.--My Lord, you have condemned

an innocent man--no crime was imputed to him--and you sentenced him

to torture and imprisonment. I have not addressed this letter to you

with the hopes of convincing you that you have acted wrong. The most

unprincipled and barbarous of men are not unprepared with sophisms,

to prove that they would have acted in no other manner, and to show

that vice is virtue. But I raise my solitary voice, to express my

disapprobation, so far as it goes, of the cruel and unjust sentence

you passed upon Mr. Eaton; to assert, so far as I am capable of

influencing, those rights of humanity, which you have wantonly and

unlawfully infringed.

My Lord,

Yours, &c.

FOOTNOTES:

[41] See the Attorney General’s speech.

[42] By Mr. Fox’s bill (1791) Juries are, in cases of libel, judges

both of the law and the fact.

[43] Shakespeare.

[44] See the Attorney General’s Speech.

[Decoration]

PRINCE ALEXY HAIMATOFF.[45]

[_Memoirs of Prince Alexy Haimatoff._ Translated from the

original Latin MSS. under the immediate inspection of

the Prince. By John Brown, Esq. Pp. 236, 12mo. Hookham,

1814.][46]

Is the suffrage of mankind the legitimate criterion of intellectual

energy? Are complaints of the aspirants to literary fame to be

considered as the honourable disappointment of neglected genius,

or the sickly impatience of a dreamer miserably self deceived? the

most illustrious ornaments of the annals of the human race have been

stigmatised by the contempt and abhorrence of entire communities of

man; but this injustice arose out of some temporary superstition, some

partial interest, some national doctrine: a glorious redemption awaited

their remembrance. There is indeed, nothing so remarkable in the

contempt of the ignorant for the enlightened: the vulgar pride of folly

delights to triumph upon mind. This is an intelligible process: the

infamy or ingloriousness that can be thus explained detracts nothing

from the beauty of virtue or the sublimity of genius. But what does

utter obscurity express? If the public do not advert even in censure to

a performance, has that performance already received its condemnation?

The result of this controversy is important to the ingenuous critic.

His labours are indeed miserably worthless if their objects may

invariably be attained before their application. He should know the

limits of his prerogative. He should not be ignorant, whether it is his

duty to promulgate the decisions of others, or to cultivate his taste

and judgment, that he may be enabled to render a reason for his own.

Circumstances the least connected with intellectual nature have

contributed, for a certain period, to retain in obscurity the most

memorable specimens of human genius. The author refrains perhaps from

introducing his production to the world with all the pomp of empirical

bibliopolism. A sudden tide in the affairs of men may make the neglect

or contradiction of some insignificant doctrine a badge of obscurity

and discredit: those even who are exempt from the action of these

absurd predilections are necessarily in an indirect manner affected by

their influence. It is perhaps the product of an imagination daring

and undisciplined: the majority of readers ignorant and disdaining

toleration refuse to pardon a neglect of common rules; their canons of

criticism are carelessly infringed, it is less religious than a charity

sermon, less methodical and cold than a French tragedy, where all the

unities are preserved: no excellencies, where prudish cant and dull

regularity are absent, can preserve it from the contempt and abhorrence

of the multitude. It is evidently not difficult to imagine an instance

in which the most elevated genius shall be recompensed with neglect.

Mediocrity alone seems unvaryingly to escape rebuke and obloquy, it

accommodates its attempts to the spirit of the age which has produced

it, and adopts with mimic effrontery the cant of the day and hour for

which alone it lives.

We think that “the Memoirs of Prince Alexy Haimatoff” deserves to be

regarded as an example of the fact by the frequency of which criticism

is vindicated from the imputation of futility and impertinence. We do

not hesitate to consider this fiction as the product of a bold and

original mind. We hardly remember ever to have seen surpassed the

subtle delicacy of imagination, by which the manifest distinctions of

character and form are seized and pictured in colours that almost make

nature more beautiful than herself. The vulgar observe no resemblances

or discrepancies, but such as are gross and glaring. The science of

mind to which history, poetry, biography serve as the materials,

consists in the discernment of shades and distinctions where the

unenlightened discover nothing but a shapeless and unmeaning mass.

The faculty for this discernment distinguishes genius from dulness.

There are passages in the production before us which afford instances

of just and rapid intuition belonging only to intelligences that

possess this faculty in no ordinary degree. As a composition the book

is far from faultless. Its abruptness and angularities do not appear

to have received the slightest polish or correction. The author has

written with fervour, but has disdained to revise at leisure. These

errors are the errors of youth and genius and the fervid impatience

of sensibilities impetuously disburthening their fulness. The author

is proudly negligent of connecting the incidents of his tale. It

appears more like the recorded day dream of a poet, not unvisited by

the sublimest and most lovely visions, than the tissue of a romance

skilfully interwoven for the purpose of maintaining the interest of

the reader, and conducting his sympathies by dramatic gradations to

the denoûment. It is, what it professes to be, a memoir, not a novel.

Yet its claims to the former appellation are established, only by

the impatience and inexperience of the author, who, possessing in

an eminent degree, the higher qualifications of a novelist, we had

almost said a poet, has neglected the number by which that success

would probably have been secured, which, in this instance, merits of

a far nobler stamp have unfortunately failed to acquire. Prince Alexy

is by no means an unnatural, although no common character. We think

we can discern his counterpart in Alfieri’s delineation of himself.

The same propensities, the same ardent devotion to his purposes, the

same chivalric and unproductive attachment to unbounded liberty,

characterises both. We are inclined to doubt whether the author has

not attributed to his hero the doctrines of universal philanthropy

in a spirit of profound and almost unsearchable irony: at least he

appears biassed by no peculiar principles, and it were perhaps an

insoluble inquiry whether any, and if any, what moral truth he designed

to illustrate by his tale. Bruhle, the tutor of Alexy, is a character

delineated with consummate skill; the power of intelligence and virtue

over external deficiencies is forcibly exemplified. The calmness,

patience and magnanimity of this singular man, are truly rare and

admirable: his disinterestedness, his equanimity, his irresistible

gentleness, form a finished and delightful portrait. But we cannot

regard his commendation to his pupil to indulge in promiscuous

concubinage without horror and detestation. The author appears to deem

the loveless intercourse of brutal appetite a venial offence against

delicacy and virtue! he asserts that a transient connexion with a

cultivated female may contribute to form the heart without essentially

vitiating the sensibilities. It is our duty to protest against so

pernicious and disgusting an opinion. No man can rise pure from the

poisonous embraces of a prostitute, or sinless from the desolated

hopes of a confiding heart. Whatever may be the claims of chastity,

whatever the advantages of simple and pure affections, these ties,

these benefits, are of equal obligation to either sex. Domestic

relations depend for their integrity upon a complete reciprocity of

duties. But the author himself has in the adventure of the Sultana,

Debesh-Sheptuti, afforded a most impressive and tremendous allegory of

the cold-blooded and malignant selfishness of sensuality.

We are incapacitated by the unconnected and vague narrative from

forming an analysis of the incidents: they would consist indeed, simply

of a catalogue of events, and which, divested of the aërial tinge of

genius, might appear trivial and common. We shall content ourselves,

therefore, with selecting some passages calculated to exemplify the

peculiar powers of the author. The following description of the simple

and interesting Rosalie is in the highest style of delineation:--

“Her hair was unusually black, she truly had raven locks,

the same glossiness, the same varying shade, the same

mixture of purple and sable for which the plumage of the

raven is remarkable, were found in the long elastic tresses

depending from her head and covering her shoulders. Her

complexion was dark and clear: the colours which composed

the brown that dyed her smooth skin, were so well mixed,

that not one blot, not one varied tinge, injured its

brightness, and when the blush of animation or of modesty

flushed her cheek, the tint was so rare, that could a

painter have dipped his pencil in it, that single shade

would have rendered him immortal. The bone above her eye

was sharp, and beautifully curved; much as I have admired

the wonderful properties of curves, I am convinced that

their most stupendous properties collected would fall far

short of that magic line. The eyebrow was pencilled with

extreme nicety; in the centre it consisted of the deepest

shade of black, at the edges it was hardly perceptible,

and no man could have been hardy enough to have attempted

to define the precise spot at which it ceased: in short

the velvet drapery of the eyebrow was only to be rivalled

by the purple of the long black eyelashes that terminated

the ample curtain. Rosalie’s eyes were large and full;

they appeared at a distance uniformly dark, but upon close

inspection the innumerable strokes of various hues of

infinite fineness and endless variety, drawn in concentric

circles behind the pellucid crystal, filled the mind with

wonder and admiration, and could only be the work of

infinite power directed by infinite wisdom.”

Alexy’s union with Aür-Ahebeh the Circassian slave is marked by

circumstances of deep pathos, and the sweetest tenderness of sentiment.

The description of his misery and madness at her death deserves to be

remarked as affording evidence of an imagination vast, profound and

full of energy.

“Alexy, who gained the friendship, perhaps the love of the

native Rosalie: the handsome Haimatoff, the philosophic

Haimatoff, the haughty Haimatoff, Haimatoff the gay, the

witty, the accomplished, the bold hunter, the friend of

liberty, the chivalric lover of all that is feminine, the

hero, the enthusiast: see him now, that is he, mark him! he

appears in the shades of evening, he stalks as a spectre,

he has just risen from the damps of the charnel-house; see,

the dews still hang on his forehead. He will vanish at

cock-crowing, he never heard the song of the lark, nor the

busy hum of men; the sun’s rays never warmed him, the pale

moonbeam alone shows his unearthly figure, which is fanned

by the wing of the owl, which scarce obstructs the slow

flight of the droning beetle, or of the drowsy bat. Mark

him! he stops, his lean arms are crossed on his bosom; he

is bowed to the earth, his sunken eye gazes from its deep

cavity on vacuity, as the toad skulking in the corner of a

sepulchre, peeps with malignity through the circumambient

gloom. His cheek is hollow; the glowing tints of his

complexion, which once resembled the autumnal sunbeam on

the autumnal beech, are gone, the cadaverous yellow, the

livid hue, have usurped their place, the sable honours of

his head have perished, they once waved in the wind like

the jetty pinions of the raven, the skull is only covered

by the shrivelled skin, which the rook views wistfully, and

calls to her young ones. His gaunt bones start from his

wrinkled garments, his voice is deep, hollow, sepulchral;

it is the voice which wakes the dead, he has long held

converse with the departed. He attempts to walk he knows

not whither, his legs totter under him, he falls, the boys

hoot him, the dogs bark at him, he hears them not, he sees

them not.--Rest there, Alexy, it beseemeth thee, thy bed is

the grave, thy bride is the worm, yet once thou stoodest

erect, thy cheek was flushed with joyful ardour, thy eye

blazing told what thy head conceived, what thy heart felt,

thy limbs were vigour and activity, thy bosom expanded with

pride, ambition, and desire, every nerve thrilled to feel,

every muscle swelled to execute.

“Haimatoff, the blight has tainted thee, thou ample roomy

web of life, whereon were traced the gaudy characters,

the gay embroidery of pleasure, how has the moth battened

on thee; Haimatoff, how has the devouring flame scorched

the plains, once yellow with the harvest! the simoon, the

parching breath of the desert, has swept over the laughing

plains, the carpet of verdure rolled away at its approach,

and has bared amid desolation. Thou stricken deer, thy

leather coat, thy dappled hide hangs loose upon thee, it

was a deadly arrow, how has it wasted thee, thou scathed

oak, how has the red lightning drank thy sap: Haimatoff,

Haimatoff, eat thy soul with vexation. Let the immeasurable

ocean roll between thee and pride: you must not dwell

together,” p. 129

The episode of Viola is affecting, natural, and beautiful. We do not

ever remember to have seen the unforgiving fastidiousness of family

honour more awfully illustrated. After the death of her lover, Viola

still expects that he will esteem, still cherishes the delusion that he

is not lost to her for ever.

“She used frequently to go to the window to look for him,

or walk in the Park to meet him, but without the least

impatience, at his delay. She learnt a new tune, or a new

song to amuse him, she stood behind the door to startle him

as he entered, or disguised herself to surprise him.”

The character of Mary, deserves, we think, to be considered as the

only complete failure in the book. Every other female whom the author

has attempted to describe is designated by an individuality peculiarly

marked and true. They constitute finished portraits of whatever is

eminently simple, graceful, gentle, or disgustingly atrocious and vile.

Mary alone is the miserable parasite of fashion, the tame slave of

drivelling and drunken folly, the cold-hearted coquette, the lying and

meretricious prude. The means employed to gain this worthless prize

corresponds exactly with its worthlessness. Sir Fulke Hildebrand is

a strenuous Tory, Alexy, on his arrival in England professes himself

inclined to the principles of the Whig party, finding that the Baronet

had sworn that his daughter should never marry a Whig, he sacrifices

his principles and with inconceivable effrontery thus palliates his

apostasy and falsehood.

“The prejudices of the Baronet were strong in proportion

as they were irrational. I resolved rather to humour

than to thwart them. I contrived to be invited to dine

in company with him; I always proposed the health of the

minister, I introduced politics and defended the Tory party

in long speeches, I attended clubs and public dinners

of that interest. I do not know whether this conduct

was justifiable; it may certainly be excused when the

circumstances of my case are duly considered. I would tear

myself in pieces if I suspected that I could be guilty

of the slightest falsehood or prevarication; (see Lord

Chesterfield’s Letters for the courtier-like distinction

between simulation and dissimulation,) but there was

nothing of that sort here. I was of no party, consequently,

I could not be accused of deserting any one. I did not

defend the injustice of any body of men, I did not detract

from the merits of any virtuous character. I praised

what was laudable in the Tory party, and blamed what was

reprehensible in the Whigs: I was silent with regard to

whatever was culpable in the former or praiseworthy in

the latter. The stratagem was innocent which injured no

one, and which promoted the happiness of two individuals,

especially of the most amiable woman the world ever knew.”

An instance of more deplorable perversity of the human understanding

we do not recollect ever to have witnessed. It almost persuades us

to believe that scepticism or indifference concerning certain sacred

truths may occasionally produce a subtlety of sophism, by which the

conscience of the criminal may be bribed to overlook his crime.

Towards the conclusion of this strange and powerful performance it

must be confessed that _aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus_. The

adventure of the Eleutheri,[47] although the sketch of a profounder

project, is introduced and concluded with unintelligible abruptness.

Bruhle dies, purposely as it should seem that his pupil may renounce

the romantic sublimity of his nature, and that his inauspicious union

and prostituted character might be exempt from the censure of violated

friendship. Numerous indications of profound and vigorous thought are

scattered over even the most negligently compacted portions of the

narrative. It is an unweeded garden where nightshade is interwoven with

sweet jessamine, and the most delicate spices of the east peep over

struggling stalks of rank and poisonous hemlock.

In the delineation of the more evanescent feelings and uncommon

instances of strong and delicate passion we conceive the author to

have exhibited new and unparalleled powers. He has noticed some

peculiarities of female character with a delicacy and truth singularly

exquisite. We think that the interesting subject of sexual relations

requires for its successful development the application of a mind thus

organised and endowed. Yet even here how great the deficiencies; this

mind must be pure from the fashionable superstitions of gallantry, must

be exempt from the sordid feelings which with blind idolatry worship

the image and blaspheme the deity, reverence the type, and degrade the

reality of which it is an emblem.

We do not hesitate to assert that the author of this volume is a man of

ability. His great though indisciplinable energies and fervid rapidity

of conception embody scenes and situations, and passions affording

inexhaustible food for wonder and delight. The interest is deep and

irresistible. A moral enchanter seems to have conjured up the shapes

of all that is beautiful and strange to suspend the faculties in

fascination and astonishment.

FOOTNOTES:

[45] From _The Critical Review_, December 1814, vol. vi. pp. 566-574.

[46] This pseudonymous romance, as wild in its conception and execution

as Shelley’s own romances of _Zastrozzi_ and _St. Irvyne_, was the work

of Shelley’s college-friend and biographer, Thomas Jefferson Hogg.

To Professor Dowden of Dublin, Shelley’s latest biographer, is due

the credit of disinterring and drawing public attention to Shelley’s

curious critical notice of it.--Ed.

[47] From Edinburgh, Nov. 26, 1813. Shelley had written to Hogg:--“Your

novel is now printed. Write more like this. Delight us again with a

character so natural and energetic as Alexy: but do not persevere in

writing after you grow weary of your toil. _Aliquando bonus dormitat

Homerus_; and the swans and the Eleutherarchs are proofs that you were

a little sleepy.” (See Hogg’s Life of Shelley, vol. ii. p. 481.)--Ed.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ARRANGED IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

OF THE PUBLISHED WRITINGS IN VERSE AND PROSE

OF

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

THE BIBLIOGRAPHY OF SHELLEY.

1810.

Zastrozzi. A Romance. By P. B. S. London: Printed for G. Wilkie and J.

Robinson, 57 Paternoster Row. 1810. 12mo, pp. 252.

----That their God

May prove their foe, and with repenting hand

Abolish his own works--This would surpass

Common revenge.--_Paradise Lost._

Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson. Being Poems found amongst

the Papers of that noted Female, who attempted the Life of the King in

1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor. Oxford: Printed and sold by J. Munday.

1810. 4to, pp. 29.

1811.

St. Irvyne; or, The Rosicrucian. A Romance. By a Gentleman of the

University of Oxford. London: Printed for J. J. Stockdale, 41 Pall

Mall. 1811. 12mo, pp. 236.

A Poetical Essay on the Existing State of Things. By a Gentleman of the

University of Oxford. For assisting to maintain in prison Mr. Peter

Finnerty, imprisoned for a libel. London: Sold by B. Crosby & Co., and

all other Booksellers. 1811.

And Famine at her bidding wasted wide

The Wretched Land, till in the Public way,

Promiscuous where the dead and dying lay,

Dogs fed on human bones in the open light of day.

--_Curse of Kehama._

The Necessity of Atheism. Worthing: Printed by E. & W. Phillips. Sold

in London and Oxford. [1811.] 8vo, pp. 13.

Quod clarâ et perspicuâ demonstratione careat

pro vero habere mens omnino nequis humana.

--_Bacon de Augment. Scient._

Original Poetry. By Victor and Cazire. London: J. J. Stockdale, 41 Pall

Mall. 1811. Royal 8vo, pp. 64.

1812.

A Letter to Lord Ellenborough. Occasioned by the Sentence which he

passed on Mr. D. I. Eaton, as Publisher of the Third Part of Paine’s

Age of Reason. [1812.] Small 8vo, pp. 23.]

Deorum offensa, Diis curæ.

--It is contrary to the mild spirit of the Christian

Religion, for no sanction can be found under that

dispensation which will warrant a Government to impose

disabilities and penalties upon any man, on account of his

religious opinions. [_Hear, Hear._]--_Marquis Wellesley’s

Speech. Globe, July 2._

An Address to the Irish People. By Percy Bysshe Shelley. Dublin. 1812.

Price 5d. 8vo, pp. 22.

Advertisement.--The lowest possible price is set on this

publication, because it is the intention of the author

to awaken in the minds of the Irish poor, a knowledge of

their real state, summarily pointing out the evils of that

state, and suggesting rational means of remedy.--Catholic

Emancipation, and a Repeal of the Union Act, (the latter,

the most successful engine that England ever wielded

over the misery of fallen Ireland,) being treated of in

the following address, as grievances which unanimity and

resolution may remove and associations conducted with

peaceable firmness, being earnestly recommended, as means

for embodying that unanimity and firmness, which must

finally be successful.

Proposals for an Association of those Philanthropists, who convinced of

the inadequacy of the moral and political state of Ireland to produce

benefits which are nevertheless attainable are willing to unite to

accomplish its regeneration. By Percy Bysshe Shelley. Dublin: Printed

by I. Eton, Winetavern Street. [1812.] 8vo, pp. 18.

1813.

Queen Mab. A Philosophical Poem. With Notes. By Percy Bysshe Shelley.

London: Printed by P. B. Shelley, 23 Chapel Street, Grosvenor Square.

1813. Crown 8vo, pp. 240.

Ecrasez L’Infame!

_Correspondance de Voltaire._

Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius ante

Trita solo; juvat integros accedere fonteis;

Atque haurire: juratque novos decerpere flores.

* * * * *

Unde prius nulli velarint tempora musæ.

Primum quod magnis doceo de rebus; et arctis

Religionum animos nodio exsolvere pergo.--_Lucret._ lib. iv.

Δος που στῶ, καὶ κοσμος κινησω.--_Archimedes._

A Vindication of Natural Diet. Being one in a Series of Notes to Queen

Mab, a Philosophical Poem. London: Printed for J. Callow, Medical

Bookseller, Crown Court, Princes Street, Soho, by Smith & Davy, Queen

Street, Seven Dials. 1813. Price 1s. 6d. 12mo, pp. 43.

Ιαπετιονιδη, παντων περι μηδεα ειδωσ,

Χαρεισ μεν πυρ κλεψασ, και εμασ φρενασ ηπεροπευσασ;

Σοι τ’ αυτω μεγα πημα και ανδρασιν εσσομενοισι.

Τοισ δ’ εγω αντι πυροσ δωσω κακον, ω κεν απαντεσ

Τερπωνται κατα θυμον, εον κακον αμφαγαπωντεσ.

--ΗΣΙΩΔ. _Op. et Dies._ i. 54.

1814.

A Refutation of Deism. In a Dialogue. London: Printed by Schulze &

Dean, 13 Poland Street. 1814. 8vo, pp. v. 101.

ΣΥΝΕΤΟΙΣΙΝ.

1816.

Alastor; or, The Spirit of Solitude, and other Poems. By Percy Bysshe

Shelley. London: Printed for Baldwin, Cradock, & Joy, Paternoster

Row, and Carpenter & Son, Old Bond Street, by S. Hamilton, Weybridge,

Surrey. 1816. Fcp. 8vo, pp. 101.

1817.

A Proposal for putting Reform to the Vote throughout the Kingdom. By

the Hermit of Marlow. London: Printed for C. & J. Ollier, 3 Welbeck

Street, Cavendish Square, by C. H. Reynell, 21 Piccadilly. 1817. 8vo,

pp. 13.

An Address to the People on the Death of the Princess Charlotte. By the

Hermit of Marlow. [1817.]

“We Pity the Plumage, but forget the Dying Bird.”

No copy of the original edition, apparently limited to

twenty copies, is known to exist. A facsimile reprint,

reprinted for Thomas Rodd, 2 Great Newport Street, 8vo, pp.

16, was issued not later than 1843, and is still procurable.

History of a Six Weeks’ Tour through a Part of France, Switzerland,

Germany, and Holland. With Letters descriptive of a Sail round the Lake

of Geneva, and of the Glaciers of Chamouni. London: Published by T.

Hookham, Jun., Old Bond Street, and C. & J. Ollier, Welbeck Street.

1817. Fcp. 8vo, pp. vi. 183.

1818.

Laon and Cythna; or, The Revolution of the Golden City. A Vision of

the Nineteenth Century. In the Stanza of Spenser. By Percy B. Shelley.

London: Printed for Sherwood, Neely, & Jones, Paternoster Row, and C. &

J. Ollier, Welbeck Street, by B. M’Millan, Bow Street, Covent Garden.

1818. 8vo, pp. xxxii. 270.

ΔΟΣ ΠΟΥ ΣΤΩ ΚΑΙ ΚΟΣΜΟΝ ΚΙΝΗΣΩ.--Archimedes.

The Revolt of Islam. A Poem, in Twelve Cantos. By Percy Bysshe Shelley.

London: Printed for C. & J. Ollier, Welbeck Street, by B. M’Millan, Bow

Street, Covent Garden. 1818. 8vo, pp. xxxii. 270.

1819.

Rosalind and Helen. A Modern Eclogue; with other Poems. By Percy Bysshe

Shelley. London: Printed for C. & J. Ollier, Vere Street, Bond Street

1819. 8vo, pp. 92.

The Cenci. A Tragedy, in Five Acts. By Percy B. Shelley. Italy: Printed

for C. & J. Ollier, Vere Street, Bond Street, London. 1819. 8vo, pp.

xiv. 104.

The Cenci. A Tragedy in Five Acts. By Percy Bysshe Shelley. Second

edition. London: C. & J. Ollier, Vere Street, Bond Street. 1821. 8vo,

pp. xviii. 104.

1820.

Prometheus Unbound. A Lyrical Drama in Four Acts, with other Poems. By

Percy Bysshe Shelley. London: C. & J. Ollier, Vere Street, Bond Street.

1820. 8vo, pp. 222.

Audisne hæc, amphiaræ, sub terram abdite?

Œdipus Tyrannus; or, Swellfoot the Tyrant. A Tragedy in Two Acts.

Translated from the Original Doric. London: Published for the Author,

by J. Johnston, 98 Cheapside, and sold by all Booksellers. 1820. 8vo,

pp. 39.

----Choose Reform or civil-war,

When thro thy streets, instead of hare with dogs,

A Consort-Queen shall hunt a King with hogs,

Riding on the IONIAN MINOTAUR.

1821.

Adonais. An Elegy on the Death of John Keats, Author of Endymion,

Hyperion, &c. By Percy B. Shelley. Pisa: With the types of Didot. 1821.

4to, pp. 25.

Αστήρ τρὶν μὲν ἐλαμπες ενι ζῶοισιν εῶος.

Νυν δε θανῶν, λαμπεις ἔσπερος εν φθίμενοις.--_Plato._

Epipsychidion. Verses addressed to the Noble and Unfortunate Lady

Emilia V----, now imprisoned in the Convent of ----. London: C. & J.

Ollier, Vere Street, Bond Street. 1821. 8vo, pp. 31.

L’anima amante si slancia fuori del creato, e si crea nel

infinite un Mondo tuito per essa, diverso assai da questo

oscuro e pauroso baratro.

Her own words.

1822.

Hellas. A Lyrical Drama. By Percy B. Shelley. London: Charles and James

Ollier, Vere Street, Bond Street. 1822. 8vo, pp. xii. 60.

ΜΑΝΤΙΣ ΕΙΜ’ ΕΣΘΛΩΝ ἈΓΩΝΩΝ.--_Odip. Colon._

The last work published by Shelley himself. The remainder

are posthumous publications.

POSTHUMOUS PUBLICATIONS.

Posthumous Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley. London: Printed for John and

Henry L. Hunt, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden. 1824. 8vo, pp. xii. 415.

In nobil sangue vita umile e queta,

Ed in alto intelletto un puro core;

Frutto senile in sul giovenil fiore,

E in aspetto pensoso anima lieta.--_Petrarca._

The Masque of Anarchy. A Poem. By Percy Bysshe Shelley. Now first

published, with a Preface by Leigh Hunt. London: Edward Moxon, 64 New

Bond Street. 1832. Fcp. 8vo, pp. xxx. 47.

Hope is strong:

Justice and Truth their winged child have found.--_Revolt of Islam._

The Shelley Papers. Memoir of Percy Bysshe Shelley, by T. Medwin, Esq.,

and Original Poems and Papers, by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Now first

collected. London: Whittaker, Treacher, & Co. 1833. 18mo, pp. viii. 180.

Essays, Letters from Abroad, Translations and Fragments. By Percy

Bysshe Shelley. Edited by Mrs. Shelley. In two volumes. London: Edward

Moxon, Dover Street. 1840. Crown 8vo, pp. xxxii. 320, viii. 360.

Relics of Shelley. Edited by Richard Garnett. London: Edward Moxon &

Co., Dover Street. 1862. Fcp. 8vo, pp. xvi. 191.

“Sing again, with your dear voice revealing

A tone

Of some world far from ours,

Where music and moonlight and feeling

Are one.”

Contents.--(Preface)--Prologue to Hellas (with note)--The

Magic Plant (with note)--Orpheus (with note)--Scene

from Tasso (with note)--Fiordispina (with note)--To

his Genius--Love, Hope, Desire, and Fear--Lines (“We

meet not as we parted”)--Lines written in the Bay of

Lerici--Fragments of the Adonais (with notes)--Translation

of the First Canzone of Dante’s Convito.

INDEX.

Addison, his _Cato_, ii. 16

Æschylus, quoted, ii. 340

Alfieri, ii. 390

Alps, the, i. 119, 120, 348

Anacreon’s swallow, ii. 359

_Anastasius_, ii. 341

Annual Parliaments, i. 364, 365

Apollodorus, a pupil of Socrates, ii. 49

Apollonius Rhodius, i. 410

Ariosto, tomb of, ii. 245;

his arm-chair, 246;

handwriting of, 247

Aristotle, ii. 49

Aspasia, ii. 134, 135

Bacon, quoted, ii. 4;

a poet, 8, 49

Barthélemi, ii. 44

Bisham wood, ii. 278

Blackstone, quoted, i. 254

Boccaccio, ii. 294, 295

Buffon, his sublime but gloomy theory respecting the future of this

globe, i. 352

Byron, Lord, his _Hours of Idleness_, quotations or plagiarisms from?

i. 132, 174;

visit to, at Ravenna, 390, 391;

his meeting with “Monk” Lewis, ii. 208;

at Venice, 226;

a gondoliere’s opinion of, 236;

Shelley’s visit to, at Venice, 237;

his _Don Juan_, 241;

his _Childe Harold_, 259;

his low debauchery, _ib._;

a great poet, 260;

visit to, at Ravenna, 332-345;

his Letter to Bowles, 342;

his _Cain_, 355;

at Leghorn, 362, 364

Calderon, i. 388, ii. 14, 305, 306;

his _Magico Prodigioso_, 353, 354

Calvin and Servetus, i. 229

Castlereagh, ii. 268

Catholic emancipation, i. 242 _sqq._

Charlotte, Princess, death of, i. 369

Chaucer, ii. 27

Chesterfield, Lord, his distinction between simulation and

dissimulation, ii. 394

Chillon, castle of, i. 340

Cicero, ii. 8, 49

Clarens, i. 341

Cobbett, William, on Annual Parliaments, i. 365; ii. 276, 289

Coleridge, S. T., his tragedy of _Remorse_, ii. 292, 353, 354

Coliseum, the, i. 394; ii. 260

Como, ii. 223-225

Comyns, Lord Chief Baron, his definition of libel, i. 254

Constantine, the first Christian Emperor, atrocities of, i. 306;

arch of, ii. 261, 280, 281

Correggio, two pictures of, ii. 249, 250

Dante, i. 385; ii. 24;

the first religious reformer, 27, 40;

tomb of, 344

Danube, the, i. 15, 32

Democritus, i. 400

Diotima, the prophetess, ii. 88, 89

Dowden, Professor, ii. 387

Drummond, Sir William, his _Academical Questions_, i. 327; ii. 176

Eaton, Daniel Isaac, sentence on, for publishing Paine’s _Age of

Reason_, ii. 369-386

Ellenborough, Lord, Shelley’s letter to, ii. 369-386

Epicurus, i. 421

Evian, town of, i. 335, 336

Finnerty, Mr. Peter, i. 255; ii. 399

Fitzwilliam, Lord, recall of, ii. 303

Fletcher, John, his _Two Noble Kinsmen_, ii. 255

Forsyth’s Travels in Italy, ii. 285

Fox, Charles James, i. 238

Franceschini, pictures of, ii. 251, 252

Fust, specimens of his press, ii. 344

Genoa, i. 153

George III., i. 237

George IV., i. 238

Gibbon, his house at Lausanne, i. 343

Gisborne, Mr. and Mrs., letters to, ii. 229-231, 290-291, 296-299,

301-309, 312-319, 326-330, 350-356

Gisborne, Mrs., ii. 228, 229

Godwin, William, his novels, i. 412-416;

letter to, ii. 231-233, 317;

his answer to Malthus, 352;

his law-suit and pecuniary embarrassments, 360, 361

Goethe, his _Faust_, ii. 353

Guercino, pictures by, ii. 253

Guiccioli, Contessa, Byron’s liaison with, ii. 333, 337, 340;

her letter to Shelley, 343, 350, 351

Guido, his picture of the Rape of Proserpine, ii. 249;

his Samson, 250;

his Murder of the Innocents, 250, 251;

his “Fortune,” 251;

his “Madonna Lattante,” _ib._;

his picture of Beatrice Cenci, 293

Heraclitus, i. 400

Hermance, village of, described, i. 333

Hesiod, quoted, ii. 61

Heyne, on the opinions entertained of the Jews by ancient poets and

philosophers, i. 301

Hogg, Thomas Jefferson, his _Memoirs of Prince Alexy Haimatoff_, ii.

387-396

Homer, quoted, ii. 56, 62;

on Calamity, 80, 81;

the most admirable of all poets, 115;

quoted, 124, 126, 127

Horace, quoted, i. 105; ii. 275

Hume, on causation, i. 327

Hunt, Leigh, letters to, i. 381-391;

invited by Lord Byron to Italy, ii. 268;

letter to, 294-296, 317, 362, 364

Kean, Edmund, ii. 293

Keats, John, his _Endymion_, ii. 322-324;

his sufferings, 323;

death of, 327

Lafayette, words of, i. 262

Lamb, Charles, i. 384; ii. 295

Laplace, demonstration of, i. 319

Lausanne, i. 343

Lear, King, ii. 14

Lewis, M. G., his ghost stories, ii. 208-212

Livy, ii. 9;

description by, 256

Lloyd, Charles, ii. 295

Locke, on sensation, i. 327

Lucretius, quoted, i. 296

Luther, ii. 27

Lyttelton, Lord, ii. 210, 211, 212

_Macbeth_, quoted, i. 47, 93, 273; ii. 21, 31, 375

Macchiavelli, on political institutions, ii. 17

Malthus, i. 280, 281;

Godwin’s answer to, ii. 232, 352;

a very clever man, 243

Marlow, ii. 223;

Shelley’s house at, 226

Marsyas, ii. 106, 107

Mellerie, i. 336, 337

Michael Angelo, i. 384, 385;

his Bacchus, 409

Milan Cathedral, ii. 225

Milton, death of, i. 370

Milton, his _Paradise Lost_ quoted, i. 146, 415;

stood alone, ii. 16;

his _Paradise Lost_, 25, 33;

quoted, 35

Mirabaud’s _Système de la Nature_, i. 326

Mont Blanc, i. 348

Moore, Thomas, ii. 339, 357, 358, 361

Music, ii. 70, 71

Nerni, village of, described, i. 334

Newton, Sir Isaac, ii. 374

Obscenity, blasphemy against the divine beauty in life, ii. 17

O’Neill, Miss, part of Beatrice Cenci fitted for, ii. 293

Oxford, reminiscence of, ii. 193

Paine, Thomas, i. 278

Peacock, Thomas Love, letters to, ii. 221-229, 241-290, 291-293

Petrarch, ii. 40

Petronius, poetical description of, ii. 265

Plato, i. 421;

essentially a poet, ii. 7, 22, 24;

the greatest among the Greek philosophers, 48;

his Symposium, 232

Pliny quoted, i. 294

Pompeii, ii. 270-275

_Queen Mab_, piratical republication of, ii. 328, 350

Raphael, i. 384;

his St. Cecilia, ii. 252, 253

Ravenna, ii. 338

Reveley, Henry, letters to, ii. 299-301, 309-312, 325, 326

Richardson, Samuel, his _Grandison_ quoted, ii. 237

Rome, a city of the dead, ii. 261;

English burying-place at, 262

Rousseau, his _Julie_, i. 333, 337, 339-341, 343;

essentially a poet, ii. 30

Schiller, his _Jungfrau von Orleans_, ii. 352

Scott’s _Lay of the Last Minstrel_ quoted, i. 47, 212;

_Marmion_ quoted, 100

Shakespeare, quoted, i. 384;

the greatest individual mind, ii. 40;

attribution to him of part of _The Two Noble Kinsmen_, 255

Shelley, Mrs., her _Frankenstein_, i. 417-419

Socrates, ii. 53-135, 381

Sophocles, ii. 317

Southey, Robert, Shelley’s visit to, at Keswick, ii. 295

Spinosa, quoted, i. 328

St. Gingoux, village of, i. 338

St. Peter’s, Rome, ii. 282, 283

Suetonius, quoted, i. 294

Tasso, bold and true words of, ii. 35, 175;

manuscripts of, 246, 247

Terence, i. 409

Theocritus, ii. 19;

quoted, 291

Thomson, quoted, i. 77

Translation, vanity of, ii. 7

Tuberose, odour of the, ii. 17

Vallière, Madame de la, ii. 214

Velino, cataract of the, ii. 257

Venice, i. 87, 88; ii. 241

Vesuvius, ii. 263, 265-267

Vevai, i. 343

Virgil, quoted, ii. 25;

his Sixth Æneid, 264

Wellesley, Marquis, quotation from a speech of, ii. 369

Wieland, his novels, ii. 44

Wollstonecraft, Mary, her writings, i. 413

Wordsworth, i. 413;

quoted, ii. 206, 263, 353

Yvoire, village of, i. 335

THE END.

_Printed by_ Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.

_Edinburgh and London_

Transcriber’s Notes

A number of typographical errors were corrected silently.

Cover image is in the public domain.