THE LIFE AND LETTERS
OF
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY
M* s SHELLEY.
a, portrait by Rol/Lwell-.
in, the possession, of Sir Percy f. ' Sh&llev Sort.
THE LIFE & LETTERS
OF
0Ust0iUraft
BY
MRS. JULIAN MARSHALL
WITH PORTRAITS AND FACSIMILE
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON
in rtoinarg to %zi JSajestg tfje (Queen
1889
J
SEEN BY
PRESERVATION
?R
PREFACE
THE following biography was undertaken at the
request of Sir Percy and Lady Shelley, and has
been compiled from the MS. journals and letters
in their possession, which were entrusted to me,
without reserve, for this purpose.
The earlier portions of the journal having been
placed also at Professor Dowden's disposal for
his Life of Shelley, it will be found that in my
first volume many passages indispensable to a
life of Mary Shelley have already appeared, in
one form or another, in Professor Dowden's
pages. This fact I have had to ignore, having
indeed settled on the quotations necessary to my
narrative before the Life of S/telley appeared.
They are given without comment or dilution, just
as they occur ; where omissions are made it is in
order to avoid repetition, or because the everyday
entries refer to trivial circumstances uninteresting
to the general reader.
vi PREFACE
Letters which have previously been published
are shortened when they are only of moderate
interest ; unpublished letters are given complete
wherever possible.
Those who hope to find in these pages much
new circumstantial evidence on the vexed subject
of Shelley's separation from his first wife will be
disappointed. No contemporary document now
exists which puts the case beyond the reach of
argument. Collateral evidence is not wanting,
but even were this not beyond the scope of the
present work it would be wrong on the strength
of it to assert more than that Shelley himself felt
certain of his wife's unfaithfulness. Of that there
is no doubt, nor of the fact that all such evidence
as did afterwards transpire went to prove him
more likely to have been right than wrong in his
belief.
My first thanks are due to Sir Percy and
Lady Shelley for the use of their invaluable docu-
ments, for the photographs of original pictures
which form the basis of the illustrations, and
last, not least, for their kindly help and sympathy
during the' fulfilment of my task.
I wish especially to express my gratitude to
Mrs. Charles Call for her kind permission to me
PREFACE vii
to print the letters of her father, Mr. Trelawny,
which are among the most interesting of my un-
published materials.
I have to thank Miss Stuart, from whom I
obtained important letters from Mr. Baxter and
Godwin ; and Mr. A. C. Haden, through whom I
made the acquaintance of Miss Christy Baxter.
To Professor Dowden, and, above all, to Mr.
Garnett, I am indebted for much valuable help, I
may say, of all kinds.
FLORENCE A. MARSHALL.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGES
Introductory remarks Account of William Godwin and Mary
Wollstonecraft.
1797. Their marriage Birth of their daughter Death of Mary
Godwin . i-n
CHAPTER II
AUGUST 1797-JuNE 1812
1797. Godwin goes to reside at the " Polygon."
1798-99. His despondency Repeated proposals of marriage to
various ladies.
1801. Marriage with Mrs. Clairmont.
1805. Enters business as a publisher Books for children.
1807. Removes to Skinner Street, Holborn.
1808. Aaron Burr's first visit to England.
1811. Mrs. God win and the children go to Margate and Ramsgate
Mary's health improves She remains till Christmas at
Miss Petman's.
1812. Aaron Burr's sojourn in England Intimacy with the
Godwins Extracts from his journal Mary is invited to
stay with the Baxters at Dundee 12-26
CHAPTER III
JUNE i8i2-MAY 1814
1812. Mary sails for Dundee Godwin's letter to Mr. Baxter The
Baxters Mary stays with them five months Returns to
London with Christy Baxter The Shelleys dine in Skinner
Street (Nov. n) Christy's enjoyment of London.
CONTENTS
1813. Godwin's letter to^an anonymous correspondent describing
Fanny and Mary Mary and Christy go back to Dundee
(June 3) Mary's reminiscences of this time in the preface to
Frankenstein.
1814. Mary returns home (March 30) Domestic trials Want
of guidance Mrs. Godwin's jealousy Shelley calls on
Godwin (May 5) 27-41
CHAPTER IV
APRIL-JUNE 1814
Account of Shelley's first introduction of himself to
Godwin His past history Correspondence ( 1 8 12) Shelley
goes to Ireland Publishes address to the Irish people
Godwin disapproves Failure of Shelley's schemes God-
win's fruitless journey to Lynmouth (1813) The Godwins
and Shelleys meet in London The Shelleys leave town
(Nov. 12).
1814. Mary makes acquaintance with Shelley in May Description
of her Shelley's depression of spirits His genius and
personal charm He and Mary become intimate Their
meetings by Mary Wollstonecraft's grave Episode de-
scribed by Hogg Godwin's distress for money and depend-
ence on Shelley Shelley constantly at Skinner Street
He and Mary own their mutual love He gives her his
copy of "Queen Mab" His inscription Her inscription
Hopelessness 42-56
CHAPTER V
JUNE- AUGUST 1814
Retrospective history of Shelley's first marriage Estrange-
ment between him and Harriet after their visit to Scotland
in 1813 Deterioration in Harriet Shelley's deep dejection
He is much attracted by Mrs. Boinville and her circle
His conclusions respecting Harriet Their effect on him
Harriet is at Bath She becomes anxious to hear of
him Godwin writes to her She comes to town and sees
Shelley, who informs her of his intentions Godwin goes to
see her He talks to Shelley and to Jane Clairmont The
situation is intolerable Shelley tells Mary everything
They leave England precipitately, accompanied by Jane
Clairmont (July 28) 57-67
CONTENTS
CHAPTER VI
AUGUST-SEPTEMBER 1814
PAGES
1814 (July). They cross to Calais Mrs. Godwin arrives in pursuit
of Jane Jane thinks of returning, but changes her mind
and remains Mrs. Godwin departs Joint journal of
Shelley and Mary They arrive at Paris without any money
They procure some, and set off to walk through France
with a donkey It is exchanged for a mule, and that for a
carriage Journal They arrive in Switzerland, and having
settled themselves for the winter, at once start to come
home They arrive in England penniless, and have to obtain
money through Harriet They go into lodgings in London 68-8 1
CHAPTER VII
SEPTEMBER i8i4-MAY 1815
1814 (September). Godwin's mortification at what had happened
False reports concerning him Keeps Shelley well in sight,
but will only communicate with him through a solicitor
General demoralisation of the household Mrs. Godwin
and Fanny peep in at Shelley's windows Poverty of the
Shelleys Harriet's creditors Shelley's many dependents
He has to hide from bailiffs Jane's excitability Studious
habits of Shelley and Mary Extracts from journal.
1815. Shelley's grandfather dies Increase of income Mary's first
baby born It dies Her regret Fanny comes to see her
Frequent change of lodgings Hogg a constant visitor
Peacock imprisoned for debt He writes to the Shelleys
Jane a source of much annoyance She chooses to be
called "Clara" Plans for her future She departs to
Lynmouth 82-114
CHAPTER VIII
MAY i8i5-SEPTEMBER 1816
1815. Objections raised to Clara's return to Skinner Street Her
letter to Fanny Godwin from Lynmouth The Shelleys
make a tour in Sooth Devon Shelley seeks for houses
Letter from Mary They settle at Bishopsgate Boating
expedition Happy summer Shelley writes " Alastor."
CONTENTS
1816. Mary's son William born List of books read by Shelley
and Mary in 1815 Clara's project of going on the stage
Her connection with Byron She introduces him to the
Shelleys Shelley's efforts to raise money for Godwin
Godwin's rapacity Refuses to take a cheque made out in
Shelley's name Shelley escapes from England Is per-
suaded by Clara (now called "Clare" or "Claire") to go
to Geneva Mary's descriptive letters Byron arrives at
Geneva Association of Shelley and Byron Origin of
Frankenstein as related by Mary She begins to write it
Voyage of Shelley and Byron round the lake of Geneva
Tour to the valley of Chamouni Journal Return to
England (August) Mary and Clare go to Bath, and Shelley
to Marlow . 115-157
CHAPTER IX
SEPTEMBER i 8 i 6-FEBRUARY 1817
1816. Life in lodgings at Bath Anxieties Letters from Fanny
Her pleadings on Godwin's behalf Her own disappoint-
ment She leaves home in despair Dies by her own hand
at Swansea (October 9) Shelley's visit to Marlow Letter
from Mary Shelley's search for Harriet He hears of her
death His yearning after his children Marriage with
Mary (Dec. 29).
1817. Birth of Clare's infant (Jan. 13) Visit of the Shelleys to the
Leigh Hunts at Hampstead Removal to Marlow . . 158-181
CHAPTER X
MARCH i8i7-MARCH 1818
1817 (March). Albion House Description Visit of the Leigh
Hunts Shelley's benevolence to the poor Lord Eldon's
decree depriving Shelley of the custody of his children
His indignation and grief Godwin's continued impecuni-
osity and exactions Charles Clairmont's requests Mary's
visit to Skinner Street Frankenstein is published Journal
of a Six Weeks' Tour Shelley writes Revolt of Islam
Allegra's presence the cause of serious annoyance to the
Shelleys Mr. Baxter's visit of discovery to Marlow
Birth of Mary's daughter Clara (Sept. 2) Mr. Baxter's
second visit His warm appreciation of Shelley Fruitless
CONTENTS
efforts to convert his daughter Isabel to his way of thinking
The Shelleys determine to leave Marlow Shelley's ill-
health Mary's letters to him in London Desirability of
sending Allegra to her father They decide on going abroad
and taking her.
1818. Stay in London The Booths and Baxters break off ac-
quaintance with the Shelleys Shelley suffers from oph-
thalmia Preparations for departure The three children
are christened .The whole party leave England (March
12) 182-210
CHAPTER XI
MARCH i8i8-JuNE 1819
1818 (March). Journey to Milan Allegra sent to Venice Leg-
horn Acquaintance with the Gisbornes Lucca Mary's
wish for literary work Shelley and Clare go to Venice
The Hoppners Byron's villa at Este Clara's illness
Letters Shelley to Mary Mary to Mrs. Gisborne Jour-
ney to Venice Clara dies Godwin's letter to Mary Este
Venice Journey to Rome Naples Shelley's depression
of spirits.
1819. Discovery of Paolo's intrigue with Elise They are married
Return to Rome Enjoyment Shelley writes Prome-
theus Unbound and the Cenci Miss Curran Delay in
leaving Rome William Shelley's illness and death . 211-243
CHAPTER XII
JUNE iSlQ-SEPTEMBER I 820
1819 (August). Leghorn Journal Mary's misery and utter col-
lapse of spirits Letters to Miss Curran and Mrs. Hunt
The Gisbornes Henry Reveley's project of a steamboat
Shelley's ardour Letter from Godwin Removal to Flor-
ence Acquaintance with Mrs. Mason (Lady Mountcashel)
Birth of Percy (Nov. 19).
1820. Mary writes Valperga Alarm about money Removal to
Pisa Paolo's infamous plot Shelley seeks legal aid Casa
Ricci, Leghorn "Letter to Maria Gisborne " Uncom-
fortable relations of Mary and Clare Godwin's distress and
petitions for money Vexations and anxieties Baths of San
Giuliano General improvement Shelley writes Witck of
Atlas 244-268
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XIII
SEPTEMBER 1820- AUGUST 1821
PAGES
1820. Abandonment of the steamboat project Disappointment
Wet season The Serchio in flood Return to Pisa Med-
win His illness Clare takes a situation at Florence.
1821. Pisan acquaintances Pacchiani Sgricci Prince Mavrocor-
dato Emilia Viviani Mary's Greek studies Shelley's
trance of Emilia It passes The Williams' arrive Friend-
ship with the Shelleys Allegra placed in a convent
Clare's despair Shelley's passion for boating They move
to Pugnano " The boat on the Serchio " Mary sits to E.
Williams for her portrait Shelley visits Byron at Ravenna 269-293
CHAPTER XIV
AUGUST-NOVEMBER 1821
1821. Letters from Shelley to Mary He hears from Lord Byron of
a scandalous story current about himself Mary, at his
request, writes to Mrs. Hoppner confuting the charges
Letter entrusted to Lord Byron, who neglects to forward it
Shelley visits Allegra at Bagnacavallo Winter at Pisa
"Tre Palazzi di Chiesa" Letters: Mary to Miss Curran ;
Clare to Mary ; Shelley to Oilier Valperga is sent to God-
win His letter accepting the gift (Jan. 1822) Extracts 294-315
CHAPTER XV
NOVEMBER i82i-ApRiL 1822
1822. Byron comes to Pisa Letter from Mary to Mrs. Gisborne
Journal Trelawny arrives Mary's first impression of him
His description of her His wonder on seeing Shelley
Life at Pisa Letters from Mary to Mrs. Gisborne and Mrs.
Hunt Clare's disquiet Her plans for getting possession
of Allegra Affair of the dragoon Judicial inquiry Pro-
jected colony at Spezzia Shelley invites Clare to come
She accepts Difficulty in finding houses Allegra's death 316-342
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XVI
APRIL-JULY 1822
PAGES
1822 (April). Difficulty in breaking the news to Clare Mary in
weak health Clare, Mary, and Percy sent to Spezzia
Letter from Shelley He follows with the Williams' Casa
Magni Clare hears the truth Her grief Domestic worries
Mary's illness and suffering Shelley's great enjoyment of
the sea Williams' journal The Ariel Godwin's affairs
and threatened bankruptcy Cruel letters They are
kept back from Mary Mary's letter to Mrs. Gisborne
Her serious illness Shelley's nervous attacks, dreams and
visions Mrs. Williams' society soothing to him Arrival
of the Leigh Hunts at Genoa Shelley and Williams go to
meet them at Pisa They sail for Leghorn Mary's gloomy
forebodings Letters from Shelley and Mrs. Williams
The voyagers' return is anxiously awaited They never
come Loss of the Ariel ....'.. 343-369
THE LIFE AND LETTERS
OF
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY
CHAPTER I
They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth,
Of glorious parents, thou aspiring Child.
I wonder not, for one then left the earth
Whose life was like a setting planet mild,
Which clothed thee in the radiance undefiled
Of its departing glory : still her fame
Shines on thee thro' the tempest dark and wild
Which shakes these latter days ; and thou canst claim
The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name.
SHELLEY.
" So you really have seen Godwin, and had little
Mary in your arms ! the only offspring of a union
that will certainly be matchless in the present
generation." So, in 1798, wrote Sir Henry Tay-
lor's mother to her husband, who had travelled
from Durham to London for the purpose of
making acquaintance with the famous author of
Political Justice.
VOL. I
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
This "little Mary," the daughter of William
and Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, was destined
herself to form a union the memory of which will
live even longer than that of her illustrious parents.
She is remembered as Mary Shelley, wife of the
poet. In any complete account of his life she plays,
next to his, the most important part. Young as
she was during the few years they passed to-
gether, her character and her intellect were strong
enough to affect, to modify, in some degree to
mould his. That he became what he did is in
great measure due to her. This, if nothing more
were known of her, would be sufficient to stamp
her as a remarkable woman, of rare ability and
moral excellence, well deserving of a niche in the
almost universal biographical series of the present
day. But, besides this, she would have been
eminent among her sex at any time, in any cir-
cumstances, and would, it cannot be doubted,
have achieved greater personal fame than she
actually did but for the fact that she became, at
a very early age, the wife of Shelley. Not only
has his name overshadowed her, but the circum-
stances of her association with him were such as
to check to a considerable extent her own sources
of invention and activity. Had that freedom
been her lot in which her mother's destiny shaped
itself, her talents must have asserted themselves
as not inferior, as in some respects superior, to
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 3
those of Mary Wollstonecraft. This is the
answer to the question, sometimes asked, as
if^jn^ becoming Shelley's wife, she had forfeited
all claim to individual consideration, why any
separate Life of her should be written at all.
Even as a completion of Shelley's own story,
Mary's Life is necessary. There remains the
fact that her husband's biographers have been
busy with her name. It is impossible now to pass
it over in silence and indifference. She has been
variously misunderstood. It has been herjot to
be idealised as one who gave up all for love, and
Jojbe condemned and anathematised for the very
same reason.^ She has been extolled for perfec-
tions she did not possess, and decried for the
absence of those she possessed in the highest
degree. She has been lauded as a genius,
and depreciated as one overrated, whose talent
would never have been heard of at all but for
the name of Shelley. To her husband she has
been esteemed alternately a blessing and the
reverse.
As a fact, it is probable that no woman of like
endowments and promise ever abdicated her own
individuality in favour of another so transcendently
greater. To consider Mary altogether apart from
Shelley is, indeed, not possible, but the study of
the effect, on life and character, of this memorable
union is unique of its kind. From Shelley's point
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
of view it has been variously considered ; from
Mary's, as yet, not at all.
Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was born on the
3Oth of August 1797.
Her father, the philosopher and philosophical
novelist, William Godwin, began his career as a
Dissenting minister in Norfolk, and something of
the preacher's character adhered to him all his life.
Not the apostolic preacher. No enthusiasm of
faith or devotion, no constraining fervour, eliciting
the like in others, were his, but a calm, earnest,
philosophic spirit, with an irresistible impulse to
guide and advise others.
This same calm rationalism got the better, in
no long time, of his religious creed, which he
seems to have abandoned slowly, gradually, and
deliberately, without painful struggle. His re-
ligion, of the head alone, was easily replaced by
other views for which intellectual qualities were
all-sufficient. Of a cool, unemotional tempera-
ment, safe from any snares of passion or imagina-
tion, he became the very type of a town philosopher.
Abstractions of the intellect and the philosophy^
politics were his world. He had a true towns-
man's love of the theatre, but external nature for
the most part left him unaffected, as it found him.
With the most exalted opinion of his own genius
and merit, he was nervously susceptible to the
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 5
criticism of others, yet always ready to combat
any judgment unfavourable to himself. Never
weary of argument, he thought that by its means,
conducted on lines of reason, all questions might
be finally settled, all problems satisfactorily and
speedily solved. Hence the fascination he pos-
sessed for those in doubt and distress of mind.
Cool rather than cold-hearted, he had a certain
benignity of nature which, joined to intellectual
exaltation, passed as warmth and fervour. His
kindness was very great to young men at the
"storm and stress" period of their lives. They
for their part thought that, as he was delighted to
enter into, discuss and analyse their difficulties, he
must, himself, have felt all these difficulties and
have overcome them ; and, whether they followed
his proffered advice or not, they never failed to
look up to him as an oracle.
Friendships Godwin had, but of love he seems
to have kept absolutely clear until at the age of
forty-three he met Mary Wollstonecraft. He had
not much believed in love as a disturbing element,
and had openly avowed in his writings that he
thought it usurped far too large a place in the
ordinary plan of human life. He did not think
it neecOunto reckon with passion or emotion as
factors in the sum of existence, and in his ideal
programme they played no part at all.
Mary Wollstonecraft was in all respects his
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
opposite. Her ardent, impulsive, Irish nature
had stood the test of an early life of much un-
happiness. Her childhood's home had been a
wretched one ; suffering and hardship were her
earliest companions. She had had not only to
maintain herself, but to be the support of others
weaker than herself, and many of these had
proved unworthy of her devotion. But her
rare nature had risen superior to these trials,
which, far from crushing her, elicited her finest
qualities.
The indignation aroused in her by injustice and
oppression, her revolt against the consecrated
tyranny of conventionality, impelled her to raise
her voice in behalf of the weak and unfortunate.
The book which made her name famous, A
Vindication of the Rights of Women, won for her
then, as it has done since, an admiration from half
j- of mankind only equalled by the reprobation of
the other half. Yet most of its theories, then
considered so dangerously extreme, would to-day
be contested by few, although the frankness of
expression thought so shocking now attracted no
special notice then, and indicated no coarseness
of feeling, but only the habit of calling things by
their names.
In 1792, desiring to become better acquainted
with the French language, and also to follow on
the spot the development of France's efforts in
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLS Y ^
the cause of freedom, she went to Paris, where,
in a short time, owing to the unforeseen progress
of the Revolution, she was virtually imprisoned,
in the sense of being unable to return to England.
Here she met Captain Gilbert Imlay, an American,
between whom and herself an attachment sprang
up, and whose wife, in all but the legal and religious
ceremony, she became. This step she took in full
conscientiousness. Had she married Imlay she
must have openly declared her true position as a
British subject, an act which would have been
fraught with the most dangerous, perhaps fatal
consequences to them both. ^A^jwoman of strong
religious feeling, she had upheld the sanctity of
marriage^ in her writings, yet not on religious
grounds. The heart of marriage, and reason for
it, with her, was love. She regarded herself as
Imlay's lawful wife, and had perfect faith in his con-
stancy. It wore out, however, and after causing
her much suspense, anxiety, and affliction, he finally
left her with a little girl some eighteen months
old. Her grief was excessive, and for a time
threatened to affect her reason. But her healthy
temperament prevailed, and the powerful tie of
maternal love saved her from the consequences of
despair. It was well for her that she had to work
hard at her literary occupations to support herself
and her little daughter.
It was at this juncture that she became
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
acquainted with William Godwin. They had
already met once, before Mary's sojourn in
France, but at this first interview neither was
impressed by the other. Since her return to
London he had shunned her because she was too
much talked about in society. Imagining her to
be obtrusively "strong-minded" and deficient in
delicacy, he was too strongly prejudiced against
her even to read her books. But by degrees he
was won over. He saw her warmth of heart, her
generous temper, her vigour of intellect ; he saw
too that she had suffered. Such susceptibility as
he had was fanned into warmth. His critical acu-
men could not but detect her rare quality and
worth, although the keen sense of humour and
Irish charm which fascinated others may, with
him, have told against her for a time. But the
nervous vanity which formed his closest link with
ordinary human nature must have been flattered
by the growing preference of one so widely ad-
mired, and whom he discovered to be even more
deserving of admiration and esteem than the
world knew. As to her, accustomed as she was
to homage, she may have felt that for the first
time she was justly appreciated, and to her
wounded and smarting susceptibilities this balm of
appreciation must have been immeasurable. Her
first freshness of feeling had been wasted on a
love which proved to have been one-sided and
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRA FT SHELLS Y 9
which had recoiled on itself. To love and be
loved again was the beginning of a new life for
her. And so it came about that the coldest of
men and the warmest of women found their
happiness in each other. Thus drawn together,
the discipline afforded to her nature by the rudest
realities of life, to his by the severities of study,
had been such as to promise a growing and a
lasting companionship and affection.
In the short memoir of his wife, prefixed
by Godwin to his published collection of her
letters, he has given his own account, a touch-
ing one, of the growth and recognition of their
love.
The partiality we conceived for each other was in that
mode which I have always considered as the purest and most
refined style of love. It would have been impossible for the
most minute observer to have said who was before and who
was after. One sex did not take the priority which long-
established custom has awarded it, nor the other overstep
that delicacy which is so severely imposed. I am not con-
scious that either party can assume to have the agent or the
patient, the toil spreader or the prey, in the affair. When in
the course of things the disclosure came, there was nothing
in a manner for either party to disclose to the other. . . .
There was no period of throes and resolute explanation
attendant on the tale. It was friendship melting into love.
They did not, however, marry at once. God-
win's opinion of marriage, looked on as in-
dissoluble, was that it was "a law, and the worst
of all laws." In accordance with this view, the
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
ceremony did not take place till their union had
lasted some months, and when it did, it was
regarded by Godwin in the light of a distinct
concession. He expresses himself most decisively
on this point in a letter to his friend, Mr. Wedg-
wood of Etruria (printed by Mr. Kegan Paul in
his memoirs of Godwin), announcing his marriage,
which had actually taken place a month before,
but had been kept secret.
Some persons have found an inconsistency between my
practice in this instance and my doctrines. But I cannot see
it. The doctrine of my Political Justice is, that an attachment
in some degree permanent between two persons of opposite
sexes is right, but that marriage, as practised in European
countries, is wrong. I still adhere to that opinion. Nothing
but a regard for the happiness of the individual, which I have
no right to ignore, could have induced me to submit to an
institution which I wish to see abolished, and which I would
recommend to my fellow-men never to practise but with the
greatest caution. Having done what I thought was necessary
for the peace and respectability of the individual, I hold
myself no otherwise bound than I was before the ceremony
took place.
It is certain that he did not repent his con-
cession. But their wedded happiness was of
short duration. On 3oth August 1797 a little
girl was born to them.
All seemed well at first with the mother. But
during the night which followed alarming symp-
toms made their appearance. For a time it was
hoped that these had been overcome, and a
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY n
deceptive rally of two days set Godwin free from
anxiety. But a change for the worst supervened,
and after four days of intense suffering, sweetly
and patiently borne, Mary died, and Godwin
was again alone.
CHAPTER II
AUGUST 1797-JuNE 1812
ALONE, in the sense of absence of companionship,
but not alone in the sense that he was before, for,
when he lost his wife, two helpless little girl-lives
were left dependent on him. One was Fanny,
Mary Wollstonecraft's child by Imlay, now three
and a half years old ; the other the newly-born
baby, named after her mother, Mary Wollstone-
craft, and the subject of this memoir.
The tenderness of her mother's warm heart, her
father's ripe wisdom, the rich inheritance of intel-
lect and genius which was her birthright, all these
seemed to promise her the happiest of childhoods.
But these bright prospects were clouded within a
few hours of her birth by that change in her mother's
condition which, ten days later, ended in death.
The little infant was left to the care of a father
of much theoretic wisdom but profound practical
ignorance, so confirmed in his old bachelor ways
by years and habit that, even when love so far
conquered him as to make him quit the single
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 13
state, he declined family life, and carried on a
double existence, taking rooms a few doors from
his wife's home, and combining the joys as
yet none of the cares of matrimony with the
independence, and as much as possible of the
irresponsibility, of bachelorhood. Godwin's sym-
pathies with childhood had been first elicited by
his intercourse with little Fanny Imlay, whom,
from the time of his union, he treated as his own
daughter, and to whom he was unvaryingly kind
and indulgent.
He moved at once after his wife's death into
the house, Polygon, Somers Town, where she had
lived, and took up his abode there with the two
children. They had a nurse, and various lady
friends of the Godwins, Mrs. Reveley and others,
gave occasional assistance or superintendence. An
experiment was tried of a lady-housekeeper which,
however, failed, as the lady in becoming devoted
to the children showed a disposition to become
devoted to Godwin also, construing civilities into
marked attentions, resenting fancied slights, and
becoming at last an insupportable thorn in the
poor philosopher's side. His letters speak of his
despondency and feeling of unfitness to have the
care of these young creatures devolved on him,
and with this sense there came also the renewed
perception of the rare maternal qualities of the
wife he had lost.
1 4 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
" The poor children ! " he wrote, six weeks after his bereave-
ment. " I am myself totally unfitted to educate them. The
scepticism which perhaps sometimes leads me right in matters
of speculation is torment to me when I would attempt to direct
the infant mind. I am the most unfit person for this office ;
she was the best qualified in the world. What a change !
The loss of the children is less remediless than mine. You
can understand the difference."
The immediate consequence of this was that
he, who had passed so many years in contented
bachelorhood, made, within a short time, repeated
proposals of marriage to different ladies, some of
them urged with a pertinacity nothing short of
ludicrous, so ingenuously and argumentatively plain
does he make it that he found it simply incredible
any woman should refuse him to whom he had
condescended to propose. His former objections
to marriage are never now alluded to and seem
relegated to the category of obsolete theories.
Nothing testifies so strongly to his married happi-
ness as his constant efforts to recover any part of
it, and his faith in the possibility of doing so. In
1798 he proposed again and again to a Miss Lee
whom he had not seen half a dozen times. In
1799 he importuned the beautiful Mrs. Reveley,
who had, herself, only been a widow for a month,
to marry him. He was really attached to her, and
was much wounded when, not long after, she
married a Mr. Gisborne.
During Godwin's preoccupations and occasional
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 15
absences, the kindest and most faithful friend the
children had was James Marshall, who acted as
Godwin's amanuensis, and was devotedly attached
to him and all who belonged to him.
In 1 80 1 Godwin married a Mrs. Clairmont, his
next-door neighbour, a widow with a son, Charles,
about Fanny's age, and a daughter, Jane, somewhat
younger than little Mary. The new Mrs. Godwin
was a clever, bustling, second-rate woman, glib ofj
tongue and pen, with a temper undisciplined an
uncontrolled ; not bad -hearted, but with a com
plete absence of all the finer sensibilities ; possess-
ing a fund of what is called "knowledge of the
world," and a plucky, enterprising, happy-go-lucky
disposition, which seemed to the philosophic and \
unpractical Godwin, in its way, a manifestation of
genius. Besides, she was clever enough to admire
Godwin, and frank enough to tell him so, points
which must have been greatly in her favour.
Although her father's remarriage proved a
source of lifelong unhappiness to Mary, it may not
have been a bad thing for her and Fanny at the
time. Instead of being left to the care of servants,
with the occasional supervision of chance friends,
they were looked after with solicitous, if not always
the most judicious care. The three little girls were
near enough of an age to be companions to each
other, but Fanny was the senior by three years
and a half. She bore Godwin's name, and was
1 6 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
considered and treated as the eldest daughter of
the house.
Godwin's worldly circumstances were at all
times most precarious, nor had he the capability
or force of will to establish them permanently on
a better footing. His earnings from his literary
works were always forestalled long before they
were due, and he was in the constant habit of
applying to his friends for loans or advances of
money which often could only be repaid by similar
aid from some other quarter.
In the hope of mending their fortunes a little,
Mrs. Godwin, in 1805, induced her husband to
make a venture as a publisher. He set up a
small place of business in Han way Street, in the
name of his foreman, Baldwin, deeming that his
own name might operate prejudicially with the
public on account of his advanced political and
social opinions, and also that his own standing in
the literary world might suffer did it become
known that he was connected with trade.
Mrs. Godwin was the chief practical manager
in this business, which finally involved her hus-
band in ruin, but for a time promised well enough.
The chief feature in the enterprise was a " Maga-
zine of Books for the use and amusement of
children," published by Godwin under the name of
Baldwin ; books of history, mythology, and fable,
all admirably written for their special purpose.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 17
He used to test his juvenile works by reading
them to his children and observing the effect.
Their remark would be (so he says), " How easy
this is ! Why, we learn it by heart almost as fast
as we read it." " Their suffrage," he adds, "gave
me courage, and I carried on my work to the
end." Mrs. Godwin translated, for the business,
several childrens' books from the French. Among
other works specially written, Lamb's Tales from
Shakespeare owes its existence to " M. J. Godwin
& Co.," the name under which the firm was
finally established.
New and larger premises were taken in
Skinner Street, Holborn, and in the autumn of
1807 the whole family, which now included five
young ones, of whom Charles Clairmont was the
eldest, and William, the son of Godwin and his
second wife, the youngest, removed to a" house
next door to the publishing office. Here they
remained until 1822.
No continuous record exists of the family life,
and the numerous letters of Godwin and Mrs.
Godwin when either was absent from home
contain only occasional references to it. Both
parents were too much occupied with business
systematically to superintend the children's edu-
cation. Mrs. Godwin, however, seems to have
taken a bustling interest in ordering it, and scrupu-
lously refers to Godwin all points of doubt or
VOL. I 2
1 8 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
discussion. From his letters one would judge
that, while he gave due attention to each point,
discussing pros and cons with his deliberate im-
partiality, his wife practically decided everything.
Although 'they r ~lometimes quarrelled (on one
occasion to the extent of seriously proposing to
separate) they always made it up again, nor is
there any sign that on the subject of the children's
training they ever had any real difference of
opinion. Mrs. Godwin's jealous fussiness gave
Godwin abundant opportunities for the exercise
of philosophy, and to the inherent untruthfulness
of her manner and speech he remained strangely
and philosophically blind. From allusions in
letters we gather that the children had a daily
governess, with occasional lessons from a master,
Mr. Burton. It is often asserted that Mrs. God-
win was a harsh and cruel stepmother, who made
the children's home miserable. There is nothing
to prove this. Later on, when moral guidance
and sympathy were needed, she fell short indeed
of what she might have been. But for the
material wellbeing of the children she cared well
enough, and was at any rate desirous that they
should be happy, whether or not she always took
the best means of making them so. And Godwin
placed full confidence in her practical powers.
In May 1 81 1 Mrs. Godwin and all the children
except Fanny, who stayed at home to keep house
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 19
for Godwin, went for sea-bathing to Margate,
moving afterwards to Ramsgate. This had been
urged by Mr. Cline, the family doctor, for the
good of little Mary, who, during some years of
her otherwise healthy girlhood, suffered from
a weakness in one arm. They boarded at the
house of a Miss Petman, who kept a ladies' school,
but had their sleeping apartments at an inn or
other lodging. Mary, however, was sent to stay
altogether at Miss Petman's, in order to be quiet,
and in particular to be out of the way of little
William, " he made so boisterous a noise when
going to bed at night."
The sea-breezes soon worked the desired effect.
" Mary's arm is better," writes Mrs. Godwin on
the loth of June. "She begins to move and use
it." So marked and rapid was the improvement
that Mrs. Godwin thought it would be as well to
leave her behind for a longer stay when the rest
returned to town, and wrote to consult Godwin
about it. His answer is characteristic.
When I do not answer any of the lesser points in your
letters, it is because I fully agree with you, and therefore do
not think it necessary to draw out an answer point by point,
but am content to assent by silence. . . . This was the case
as to Mary's being left in the care of Miss Petman. It was
recommended by Mr. Cline from the first that she should
stay six months ; to this recommendation we both assented.
It shall be so, if it can, and undoubtedly I conceived you,
on the spot, most competent to select the residence.
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Mary accordingly remained at Miss Petman's
as a boarder, perhaps as a pupil also, till igth
December, when, from her father's laconic but
minute and scrupulously accurate diary, we learn
that she returned home. For the next five months
she was in Skinner Street, participating in its
busy, irregular family life, its ups and downs, its
anxieties, discomforts, and amusements, its keen
intellectual activity and lively interest in social and
literary matters, in all of which the young people
took their full share. Entries are frequent in
Godwin's diary of visits to the theatre, of tea-
drinkings, of guests of all sorts at home. One of
these guests affords us, in his journal, some agree-
able glimpses into the Godwin household.
This was the celebrated Aaron Burr, sometime
Vice-President of the United States, now an exile
and a wanderer in Europe.
At the time of his election he had got into dis-
grace with his party, and, when nominated for
the Governorship of New York, he had been
opposed and defeated by his former allies. The
bitter contest led to a duel between him and
Alexander Hamilton, in which the latter was
killed. Disfranchised by the laws of New York
for having fought a duel, and indicted (though
acquitted) for murder in New Jersey, Burr set out
on a journey through the Western States, nourish-
ing schemes of sedition and revenge. When he
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 21
purchased 400,000 acres of land on the Red
River, and gave his adherents to understand that
the Spanish Dominions were to be conquered, his
proceedings excited alarm. President Jefferson
issued a proclamation against him, and he was
arrested on a charge of high treason. Nothing
could, however, be positively proved, and after a
six months' trial he was liberated. He at once
started for Europe, having planned an attack on
Mexico, for which he hoped to get funds and
adherents. He was disappointed, and during the
four years which he passed in Europe he often
lived in the greatest poverty.
On his first visit to England, in 1808, Burr
met Godwin only once, but the entry in his
journal, Besides bearing indirect witness to the
great celebrity of Mary Wollstonecraft in America,
gives an idea of the kind of impression made on
a stranger by the second Mrs. Godwin.
" I have seen the two daughters of Mary
Wollstonecraft," he writes. " They are very fine
children (the eldest no longer a child, being now
fifteen), but scarcely a discernible trace of the
mother. Now Godwin has been seven or eight
years married to a second wife, a sensible, amiable
woman."
For the next four years Burr was a wanderer
in Holland and France. His journal, kept for
the benefit of his daughter Theodosia, to whom
22 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
he also addressed a number of letters, is full of
strange and stirring interest In 1812 he came
back to England, where it was not long before he
drifted to Godwin's door. Burr's character was
licentious and unscrupulous, but his appearance
and manners were highly prepossessing ; he made
friends wherever he went. The Godwin house-
hold was full of hospitality for such Bohemian
wanderers as he. Always itself in a precarious
state of fortune, it held out the hand of fellowship
to others whose existence from day to day was
uncertain. A man of brains and ideas, of con-
genial and lively temperament, was sure of a
fraternal welcome. And though many of God-
win's older friends were, in time, estranged from
him through their antipathy to his wife, she was
full of patronising good -nature for a man like
Burr, who well knew how to ingratiate himself.
Burr 's Journal, February 15, 1812. Had only time to
get to Godwin's, where we dined. In the evening William,
the only son of William Godwin, a lad of about nine years old,
gave his weekly lecture : having heard how Coleridge and
others lectured, he would also lecture, and one of his sisters
(Mary, I think) writes a lecture which he reads from a little
pulpit which they have erected for him. He went through it
with great gravity and decorum. The subject was " The influ-
ence of government on the character of a people." After the
lecture we had tea, and the girls danced and sang an hour, and
at nine came home.
Nothing can give a pleasanter picture of the
family, the lively-minded children keenly interested
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 23
in all the subjects and ideas they heard freely dis-
cussed around them ; the elders taking pleasure
in encouraging the children's first essays of intel-
lect ; Maryjitjourteen already showing her powers
to write, and sup-
plying her little brother with ideas. The reverse
of the medal appears in the next entry, for the
genial unconventional household was generally on
the verge of ruin, and dependent on some expected
loan for subsistence in the next few months. When
once the sought-for assistance came they revelled
in momentary relief from care.
Journal, February 18. Have gone this evening to God-
win's. They are in trouble. Some financial affair.
It did not weigh long on their spirits.
February 24. Called at Godwin's to leave the news-
papers which I borrowed yesterday, and to get that of to-day
Les goddesses (so he habitually designates the three girls)
kept me by acclamation to tea with la printresse Hopwood. I
agreed to go with the girls to call on her on Friday.
February 28. Was engaged to dine to-day at Godwin's,
and to walk with the four dames. After dinner to the Hop-
woods. All which was done.
March 7. To Godwin's, where I took tea with the
children in their room.
March 14.' To Godwin's. He was out. Madame and
les enfans upstairs in the bedroom, where they received me,
and I drank tea with his enfans. . . . Terribly afraid of vigils
to-night, for Jane made my tea, and, I fear, too strong. It is
only Fan that I can trust.
March 17. To Godwin's, where took tea with the
children, who always have it at 9. Mr. and Madame at 7.
24 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
March 22. On to Godwin's; found him at breakfast and
joined him. Madame a-bed.
Later. Mr. and Mrs. Godwin would not give me their
account, which must be five or six pounds, a very serious sum
for them. They say that when I succeed in the world they
will call on me for help.
This probably means that the Godwins had
lent him money. He was well-nigh penniless,
and Mrs. Godwin exerted herself to get resources
for him, to sell one or two books of value which he
had, and to get a good price for his watch. She
knew a good deal of the makeshifts of poverty,
and none of the family seemed to have grudged
time or trouble if they could do a good turn to
this companion in difficulties. It is a question
whether, when they talked of his succeeding in
the world, they were aware of the particular form
of success for which he was scheming ; in any
case they seem to have been content to take him
as they found him. They were the last friends
from whom he parted on the eve of sailing for
America. His entry just before starting is
Called and passed an hour with the Godwins. That family
does really love me. Fanny, Mary, and Jane, also little William :
you must not forget, either, Hannah Hopwood, la printresse.
These few months were, very likely, the bright-
est which Mary ever passed at home. Her rapidly
growing powers of mind and observation were
nourished and developed by the stimulating in-
tellectual atmosphere around her ; to the anxieties
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLS Y 2 5
and uncertainties which, like birds of ill-omen,
hovered over the household and were never
absent for long together, she was well accus-
tomed, besides which she was still too young to
be much affected by them. She was fond of her
sisters, and devoted to her father. Mrs. Godwin's
temperament can never have been congenial to
hers, but occasions of collision do not appear to
have been frequent, and Fanny, devoted and
unselfish, only anxious for others to be happy
and ready herself to serve any of them, was the
link between them all. Mary's health was, how-
ever, not yet satisfactory, and before the summer
an opportunity which offered itself of change of
air was willingly accepted on her behalf by Mr.
and Mrs. Godwin. In 1809 Godwin had made the
acquaintance of Mr. William Baxter of Dundee,
on the introduction of Mr. David Booth, who
afterwards became Baxter's son-in-law. Baxter,
a man of liberal mind, independence of thought
and action, and kindly nature, shared to the
full the respect entertained by most thinking
men of that generation for the author of Political
Justice. Godwin, always accessible to sympa-
thetic strangers, was at once pleased with this
new acquaintance.
" I thank you," he wrote to Booth, " for your
introduction of Mr. Baxter. I dare swear he is an
honest man, and he is no fool." During Baxter's
26 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY
several visits to London they became better
acquainted. Charles Clairmont too, went to Edin-
burgh in 1811, as a clerk in Constable's printing
office, where he met and made friends with Baxter's
son Robert, who, as well as his father, visited the
Skinner Street household in London, and through
whom the intimacy was cemented. In this way
it was that Mary was invited to come on a long
visit to the Baxters at their house, " The Cottage,"
on the banks of the Tay, just outside Dundee, on
the road to Broughty Ferry. The family included
several girls, near Mary's own age, and with true
Scotch hospitality they pressed her to make one
of their family circle for an indefinite length of
time, until sea-air and sea-bathing should have
completed the recovery begun the year before at
Ramsgate, but which could not be maintained
in the smoky air and indoor life of London.
Accordingly, Mary sailed for Dundee on the 8th
of June 1812.
CHAPTER III
JUNE i8i2-MAY 1814
GODWIN TO BAXTER.
SKINNER STREET, LONDON.
Wijune 1812.
MY DEAR SIR I have shipped off to you by yesterday's
packet, the Osnaburgh, Captain Wishart, my only daughter.
I attended her, with her two sisters, to the wharf, and remained
an hour on board, till the vessel got under way. I cannot
help feeling a thousand anxieties in parting with her, for the
first time, for so great a distance, and these anxieties were in-
creased by the manner of sending her, on board a ship, with
not a single face around her that she had ever seen till that
morning. She is four months short of fifteen years of age. I,
however, spoke to the captain, using your name; I beside
gave her in charge to a lady, by name I believe Mrs. Nelson,
of Great St. Helen's, London, who was going to your part of
the island in attendance upon an invalid husband. She was
surrounded by three daughters when I spoke to her, and she
answered me very agreeably. " I shall have none of my own
daughters with me, and shall therefore have the more leisure
to attend to yours."
I daresay she will arrive more dead than alive, as she is
extremely subject to sea -sickness, and the voyage will, not
improbably, last nearly a week. Mr. Cline, the surgeon, how-
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
ever, decides that a sea-voyage would probably be of more
service to her than anything.
I am quite confounded to think what trouble I am bringing
on you and your family, and to what a degree I may be said
to have taken you in when I took you at your word in your
invitation upon so slight an acquaintance. The old proverb
says, " He is a wise father who knows his own child," and I
feel the justness of the apothegm on the present occasion.
There never can be a perfect equality between father and
child, and if he has other objects and avocations to fill up the
greater part of his time, the ordinary resource is for him to
proclaim his wishes and commands in a way somewhat sen-
tentious and authoritative, and occasionally to utter his censures
with seriousness and emphasis.
It can, therefore, seldom happen that he is the confidant of
his child, or that the child does not feel some degree of awe
or restraint in intercourse with him. I am not, therefore, a
perfect judge of Mary's character. I believe she has nothing
of what is commonly called vices, and that she has consider-
able talent. But I tremble for the trouble I may be bringing
on you in this visit. In my last I desired that you would con-
sider the first two or three weeks as a trial, how far you can
ensure her, or, more fairly and impartially speaking, how far
her habits and conceptions may be such as to put your family
very unreasonably out of their way ; and I expect from the
frankness and ingenuousness of yours of the 2 gth inst. (which
by the way was so ingenuous as to come without a seal) that
you will not for a moment hesitate to inform me if such should
be the case. When I say all this, I hope you will be aware
that I do not desire that she should be treated with extra-
ordinary attention, or that any one of your family should put
themselves in the smallest degree out of their way on her
account. I am anxious that she should be brought up (in
this respect) like a philosopher, even like a cynic. It will
add greatly to the strength and worth of her character. I
should also observe that she has no love of dissipation, and
will be perfectly satisfied with your woods and your mountains.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 29
I wish, too, that she should be excited to industry. She has
occasionally great perseverance, but occasionally, too, she shows
great need to be roused.
You are aware that she comes to the sea-side for the
purpose of bathing. I should wish that you would inquire
now and then into the regularity of that. She will want also
some treatment for her arm, but she has Mr. Cline's directions
completely in all these points, and will probably not require a
professional man to look after her while she is with you. In
all other respects except her arm she has admirable health,
has an excellent appetite, and is capable of enduring fatigue.
Mrs. Godwin reminds me that I ought to have said something
about troubling your daughters to procure a washerwoman.
But I trust that, without its being necessary to be thus minute,
you will proceed on the basis of our being earnest to give you
as little trouble as the nature of the case will allow. I am,
my dear sir, with great regard, yours,
WILLIAM GODWIN.
At Dundee, with the Baxters, Mary remained
for five months. She was treated as a sister by
the Baxter girls, one of whom, Isabella, after-
wards the wife of David Booth, became her most
intimate friend. An elder sister, Miss Christian
Baxter, to whom the present writer is indebted
for a few personal reminiscences of Mary Godwin,
only died in 1886, and was probably the last
survivor of those who remembered Mary in her
girlhood. They were all fond of their new
companion. She was agreeable, vivacious, and
sparkling ; very pretty, with fair hair and com-
plexion, and clear, bright white skin. The
Baxters were people of education and culture,
30 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
active minded, fond of reading, and alive to
external impressions. The young people were
well and carefully brought up. Mary shared in
all their studies.
Music they did not care for, but all were fond
of drawing and painting, and had good lessons.
A great deal of time was spent in touring about,
in long walks and drives through the moors and
mountains of Forfarshire. They took pains to
make Mary acquainted with all the country round,
besides which it was laid on her as a duty to get
as much fresh air as she could, and she must
greatly have enjoyed the well-ordered yet easy
life, the complete change of scene and companion-
ship. When, on the loth of November, she
arrived again in Skinner Street, she brought
Christy Baxter with her, for a long return visit
to London. If Mary had enjoyed her country
outing, still more keenly did the homely Scotch
girl relish her first taste of London life and
society. At ninety-two years old the impression
of her pleasure in it, of her interest in all the
notable people with whom she came in contact,
was as vivid as ever.
The literary and artistic circle which still hung
about the Skinner Street philosophers was to
Christy a new world, of which, except from
books, she had formed no idea. Books, how-
ever, had laid the foundation of keenest interest
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 31
in all she was to see. She was constantly in com-
pany with Lamb, Hazlitt, Coleridge, Constable,
and many more, hitherto known to her only by
name. Of Charles Lamb especially, of his wit,
humour, and quaintness she retained the liveliest
recollection, and he had evidently a great liking
for her, referring jokingly to her in his letters
as " Doctor Christy," and often inviting her, with
the Godwin family, to tea, to meet her relatives,
when up in town, or other friends.
On nth November, the very day after the
two girls arrived in London, a meeting occurred
of no special interest to Christy at the time, and
which she would have soon forgotten but for
subsequent events. Three guests came to dinner
at Godwin's. These were Percy Bysshe Shelley
with his wife Harriet, and her sister, Eliza West-
brook. Christy Baxter well remembered this,
but her chief recollection was of Harriet, her
beauty, her brilliant complexion and lovely hair,
and the elegance of her purple satin dress. Of
Shelley, how he looked, what he said or did,
what they all thought of him, she had observed
nothing, except that he was very attentive to
Harriet. The meeting was of no apparent signi-
ficance and passed without remark : little indeed
did any one foresee the drama soon to follow.
Plenty of more important days, more interesting
meetings to Christy, followed during the next few
32 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
months. She shared Mary's room during this
time, but her memory, in old age, afforded few
details of their everyday intercourse. Indeed,
although they spent so much time together, these
two were never very intimate. Isabella Baxter,
afterwards Mrs. Booth, was Mary's especial friend
and chief correspondent, and it is much to be
regretted that none of their girlish letters have
been preserved.
The four girls had plenty of liberty, and, what
with reading and talk, with constantly varied
society enjoyed in the intimate unconstrained way
of those who cannot afford the appareil of con-
vention, with tolerably frequent visits at friends'
houses and not seldom to the theatre, when
Godwin, as often happened, got a box sent him,
they had plenty of amusement too. Godwin's
diary keeps a wonderfully minute skeleton ac
count of all their doings. Christy enjoyed it all
as only a novice can do. All her recollections of
the family life were agreeable ; if anything had
left an unpleasing impression it had faded away
in 1883, when the present writer saw her. For
Godwin she entertained a warm respect and
affection. They did not see very much of him,
but Christy was a favourite of his, and he would
sometimes take a quiet pleasure, not unmixed
with amusement, in listening to their girlish talks
and arguments. One such discussion she dis-
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 33
tinctly remembered, on the subject of woman's
vocation, as to whether it should be purely
domestic, or whether they should engage in
outside interests. Mary and Jane upheld the
latter view, Fanny and Christy the other.
Mrs. Godwin was kind to Christy, who always
saw her best side, and never would hear a word
said against her. Her deficiencies were not pal-
pable to an outsider whom she liked and chose to
patronise, nor did Christy appear to have felt the
inherent untruthfulness in Mrs. Godwin's character,
although one famous instance of it was recorded
by Isabella Baxter, and is given at length in Mr.
Kegan Paul's Life of Godwin.
The various members of the family had more
independence of habits than is common in Eng-
lish domestic life. This was perhaps a relic of
Godwin's old idea, that much evil and weariness
resulted from the supposed necessity that the
members of a family should spend all or most of
their time in each other's company. He always
breakfasted alone. Mrs. Godwin did so also, and
not till mid-day. The young folks had theirs
together. Dinner was a family meal, but supper
seems to have been a movable feast. Jane Clair-
mont, of whose education not much is known
beyond the fact that she was sometimes at school,
was at home for a part if not all of this time.
She was lively and quick-witted, and probably
VOL. I
34
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
rather unmanageable. Fanny was more reflec-
tive, less sanguine, more alive to the prosaic
obligations of life, and with a keen sense of
domestic duty, early developed in her by neces-
sity and by her position as the eldest of this
somewhat anomalous family. Godwin, by nature
as undemonstrative as possible, showed more
affection to Fanny than to any one else. He
always turned to her for any little service he
might require. It seemed, said Christy, as
though he would fain have guarded against the
possibility of her feeling that she, an orphan, was
less to him than the others. Christy was of
opinion that Fanny was not made aware of her
real position till her quite later years, a fact
which, if true, goes far towards explaining much
of her after life. It seems most likely, at any
rate, that at this time she was unacquainted with
the circumstances of her birth. To Godwin she
had always seemed like his own eldest child, the
first he had cared for or who had been fond of
him, and his dependence on her was not surpris-
ing, for no daughter could have tended him with
more solicitous care ; besides which, she was one
of those people, ready to do anything for every-
body, who are always at the beck and call of
others, and always in request. She filled the
home, to which Mary, so constantly absent, was
just now only a visitor.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 35
It must have been at about this time that
Godwin received a letter from an unknown corre-
spondent, who expressed much curiosity to know
whether his children were brought up in accord-
ance with the ideas, by some considered so re-
volutionary and dangerous, of Mary Wollstone-
craft, and what the result was of reducing her
theories to actual practice. Godwin's answer,
giving his own description of her two daughters,
has often been printed, but it is worth giving here.
Your inquiries relate principally to the two daughters of
Mary Wollstonecraft. They are neither of them brought up
with an exclusive attention to the system of their mother. I
lost her in 1797, and in 1801 I married a second time.
One among the motives which led me to choose this was the '
feeling I had in myself of an incompetence for the education
of daughters. The present Mrs. Godwin has great strength
and activity of mind, but is not exclusively a follower of their
mother; and indeed, having formed a family establishment
without having a previous provision for the support of a
family, neither Mrs. Godwin nor I have leisure enough for
reducing novel theories of education to practice, while we
both of us honestly endeavour, as far as our opportunities will
permit, to improve the minds and characters of the younger
branches of the family.
Of the two persons to whom your inquiries relate, my own
daughter is considerably superior in capacity to the one her
mother had before. Fanny, the eldest, is of a quiet, modest,
unshowy disposition, somewhat given to indolence, which is
her greatest fault, but sober, observing, peculiarly clear and
distinct in the faculty of memory, and disposed to exercise
her own thoughts and follow her own judgment. Mary, my
daughter, is the reverse of her in many particulars. She is
singularly bold, somewhat imperious, and active of mind.
36 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Her desire of knowledge is great, and her perseverance
in everything she undertakes almost invincible. My own
daughter is, I believe, very pretty. Fanny is by no means
handsome, but, in general, prepossessing.
On the 3d of June Mary accompanied Christy
back to Dundee, where she remained for the next
ten months.
No account remains of her life there, but there
, -
can be doubt that her mental and intellectual
powers matured rapidly, and that she learned,
read, and thought far more than is common even
with clever girls of her age. The girl who at
seventeen is an intellectual companion for a
Shelley cannot often have needed to be " excited
' to industry," unless indeed when she indulged in
day-dreams, as, from her own account given in
the preface to her novel of Frankenstein, we
know she sometimes did. Proud of her parent-
age, idolising- the memory of her mother, about
whom she gathered and treasured every scrap of
information she could obtain, and of whose history
and writings she probably now learned more than
she had done at home, accustomed from her
childhood to the daily society of authors and
literary men, the pen was her earliest toy, and
now the attempt at original composition was her
chosen occupation.
"As a child," she says, "I scribbled; and my favourite
pastime, during the hours given me for recreation, was to
' write stories.', Still I had a dearer pleasure than this, which
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 37
was the formation of castles in the air, the indulging in waking
dreams, the following up trains of thought which had for their
subject the formation of a succession of imaginary incidents.
My dreams were at once more fantastic and agreeable than
my writings. In the latter I was a close imitator, rather doing
as others had done than putting down the suggestions of my
own mind. What I wrote was intended at least for one other
eye my childhood's companion and friend " (probably Isabel
Baxter) " but my dreams were all my own. I accounted for
them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed, my
dearest pleasure when free.
" I lived principally in the country as a girl, and passed a
considerable time in Scotland. I made occasional visits to
the more picturesque parts ; but my habitual residence was
on the blank and dreary northern shores of the Tay, near
Dundee. Blank and dreary on retrospection I call them ; they
were not so to me then. They were the eyry of freedom, and
the pleasant region where unheeded I could commune with
the creatures of my fancy. I wrote then, but in a most com-
monplace style. It was beneath the trees of the grounds
belonging to our house, or on the bleak sides of the woodless
mountains near, that my true compositions, the airy flights of
my imagination, were born and fostered. I did not makel
myself the heroine of my tales. Life appeared to me too
commonplace an affair as regarded myself. I could not figure
to myself that romantic woes or wonderful events would ever
be my lot ; but I was not confined to my own identity, and I
could people the hours with creations far more interesting to
me, at that age, than my own sensations."
From the entry in Godwin's diary, " M. W. G.
at supper," for 3Oth March 1814, we learn that
Mary returned to Skinner Street on that day.
She now resumed her place in the home circle, a
very different person from the little Mary who
went to Ramsgate in 1 8 1 1 . Although only
sixteen and a half she was in the bloom of her
girlhood, very pretty, very interesting in appear-
ance, thoughtful and intelligent beyond her years.
She did not settle down easily into her old place,
and probably only realised gradually how much
she had altered since she last lived at home.
Perhaps, too, she saw that home in a new light.
After the well-ordered, cheerful family life of the
Baxters, the somewhat Bohemianism of Skinner
Street may have seemed a little strange. A
household with a philosopher for one of its heads,
and a fussy, unscrupulous woman of business for
the other, may have its amusing sides, and we
have seen that it had ; but it is not necessarily
comfortable, still less sympathetic to a young and
earnest nature, just awakening to a consciousness
of the realities of life, at that transition stage
when so much is chaotic and confusing to those
who are beginning to think and to feel. One
may well imagine that all was not smooth for poor
Mary. Her stepmother's jarring temperament
must have grated on her more keenly than ever
after her long absence. Years and anxieties did
not improve Mrs. Godwin's temper, nor bring
refinement or a nice sense of honour to a nature
singularly deficient in both. Mary must have
had to take refuge from annoyance in day-dreams
pretty frequently, and this was a sure and constant
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 39
source of irritation to her stepmother. Jane
Clairmont, wilful, rebellious, witty, and probably a
good deal spoilt, whose subsequent conduct shows
that she was utterly unamenable to her mother's
authority, was, at first, away at school. Fanny
was the good angel of the house, but her persistent
defence of every one attacked, and her determina-
tion to make the best of things and people as they
were, seemed almost irritating to those who were
smarting under daily and hourly little grievances.
Compliance often looks like cowardice to the
young and bold. Nor did Mary get any help from
her father. A little affection and kindly sympathy
from him would have gone a long way_with her,
for she loved him dearly. Long afterwards-she
alluded to his "calm, silent disapproval " when
displeased, and to the bitter remorse and un-
happiness it would cause her, although unspoken,
and only instinctively felt by her^ All her step-
mother's scoldings would have failed to produce a
like effect. But Godwin, though sincerely solicit-
ous about the children's welfare, was self-concen-
trated, and had little real insight into character.
Besides, he was, as usual, hampered about money
matters ; and when constant anxiety as to where
to get his next loan was added to the preoccupa-
tion of authorship, and the unavoidable distraction
of such details as reached him of the publishing
business, he had little^thought or
40 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
bestow on the daughter who had arrived at so
critical a time of her mental and moraHiistorjjk,
He welcomed her home, but then took little more
notice of her. If she and her stepmother dis-
agreed, Godwin, when forced to take part in the
matter, probably found it the best policy to side
with his wife. Yet the situation would have been
worth his attention. Here was this girl, Mary
Wollstonecraft's daughter, who had left home a
clever, unformed child, who had returned to it a
maiden in her bloom, pretty and attractive, with
ardour, ability, and ambition, with conscious
powers that had not found their right use, with
unsatisfied affections seeking an object. True,
she might in time have found threads to gather
up in her own home. But she was young, im-
patient, and unhappy. Mrs. Godwin was repel-
lent, uncongenial, and very jealous of her. All
that a daughter could do for Godwin seemed to
be done by Fanny. When Jane came home it
was on her that Mary was chiefly thrown for
society. Her lively spirits and quick wit made
her excellent company, and she was ready enough
to make the most of grievances, and to head any
revolt. Fanny, far more deserving of sisterly
sympathy and far more in need of it, seemed to
belong to the opposite camp.
Time, kindly judicious guidance, and sustained
effort on her own part might have cleared Mary's
MARY IVOLLS TONE CRAFT SHELLEY 41
path and made things straight for her. Her
heart was as sound and true as her intellect,
but this critical time was rendered more danger-
ous, it may well be, by her knowledge of the
existence of many theories on vexed subjects,
making her feel keenly her own inexperience and
want of a guide.
The guide she found was one who himself had
wandered till now over many perplexing paths,
led by the light of a restless, sleepless genius, and
an inextinguishable yearning to find, to know, to
do, to be the best.
Godwin's diary records on the 5th of May
" Shelley calls." As far as can be known this
was the first occasion since the dinner of the
nth of November 1812, when Mary Woll-
stonecraft Godwin saw Percy Bysshe Shelley.
CHAPTER IV
APRIL-JUNE 1814
ALTHOUGH she had seen Shelley only once, Mary
had heard a good deal about him. More than
two years before this time Godwin had received a
letter from a stranger, a very young man, desirous
of becoming acquainted with him. The writer
had, it said, been under 'the impression that the
great philosopher,' the object of his reverential
admiration, whom he now addressed, was one of
the mighty dead. That such was not the case he
had now learned for the first time, and the most
ardent wish of his heart was to be admitted to
the privilege of intercourse with one whom he
regarded as " a luminary too bright for the dark-
ness which surrounds him." " If," he concluded,
"desire for universal happiness has any claim
upon your preference, that desire I can exhibit."
Such neophytes never knelt to Godwin in vain.
He did not, at first, feel specially interested in
this one ; still, the kindly tone of his reply led to
further correspondence, in the course of which the
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 43
new disciple, Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley, gave
Godwin a sketch of the events of his past life.
Godwin learned that his correspondent was the
son of a country squire in Sussex, was heir to a
baronetcy and a considerable fortune ; that he had
been expelled from Oxford for publishing, and
refusing to deny the authorship of, a pamphlet
called " The Necessity of Atheism " ; that his
father, having no sympathy either with his literary
tastes or speculative views, and still less with his
method of putting the latter in practice, had
required from him certain concessions and pro-
mises which he had declined to make, and so had
been cast off by his family, his father refusing to
communicate with him, except through a solicitor,
allowing him a sum barely enough for his own
wants, and that professedly to "prevent his cheat-
ing strangers." That, undeterred by all this, he
had, at nineteen, married a woman three years
younger, whose "pursuits, hopes, fears, and sor-
rows " had been like his own ; and that he hoped to
devote his life and powers to the regeneration of
mankind and society.
There was something remarkable about these
letters, something that bespoke a mind, ill-bal-
anced it might be, but yet of no common order.
Whatever the worth of the writer's opinions,
there could be no doubt that he had the gift of
eloquence in their expression. Half interested
44 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
and half amused, with a vague perception of
Shelley's genius, and a certain instinctive defer-
ence of which he could not divest himself towards
the heir to ^6000 a year, Godwin continued the
correspondence with a frequency and an unreserve
most flattering to the younger man.
Not long after this, the disciple announced that
he had gone off, with his wife and her sister, to
Ireland, for the avowed purpose of forwarding the
Catholic Emancipation and the Repeal of the
Union. His scheme was "the organisation of a
society whose institution shall serve as a bond to
its members for the purposes of virtue, happiness,
liberty, and wisdom, by the means of intellectual
opposition to grievances." He published and
distributed an "Address to the Irish People,"
setting before them their grievances, their rights,
and their duties.
This object Godwin regarded as an utter
mistake, its practical furtherance as extremely
perilous. Dreading the contagion of excitement,
its tendency to prevent sober judgment and pro-
mote precipitate action, he condemned associations
of men for any public purpose whatever. His
calm temperament would fain have dissevered
impulse and action altogether as cause and effect,
and he had a shrinking, constitutional as well
as philosophic, from any tendency to "strike
while the iron is hot."
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 45
"The thing most to be desired," he wrote, "is
to keep up the intellectual, and in some sense the
solitary fermentation, and to procrastinate the con-
tact and consequent action." "Shelley! you are pre-
paring a scene of blood," was his solemn warning.
Nothing could have been further from Shelley's
thoughts than such a scene. Surprised and dis-
appointed, he ingenuously confessed to Godwin
that his association scheme had grown out of
notions of political justice, first generated by God-
win's own book on that subject ; and the mentor
found himself in the position of an involuntary
illustration of his own theory, expressed in the
Enquirer (Essay XX), " It is by no means impos-
sible that the books most pernicious in their
effects that ever were produced, were written with
intentions uncommonly elevated and pure."
Shelley, animated by an ardent enthusiasm of
humanity, looked to association as likely to spread
a contagion indeed, but a contagion of good. The
revolution he preached was a Millennium.
If you are convinced of the truth of your cause, trust wholly
to its truth ; if you are not convinced, give it up. In no case
employ violence ; the way to liberty and happiness is never to
transgress the rules of virtue and justice.
Before anything can be done with effect, habits of sobriety,
regularity, and thought must be entered into and firmly re-
solved on.
I will repeat, that virtue and wisdom are necessary to true
happiness and liberty.
46 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Before the restraints of government are lessened, it is fit
that we should lessen the necessity for them. Before govern-
ment is done away with, we must reform ourselves. It is this
work which I would earnestly recommend to you. O Irish-
men, reform yourselves. 1
Whatever evil results Godwin may have
apprehended from Shelley's proceedings, these
sentiments taken in the abstract could not but
enlist his sympathies to some extent on behalf of
the deluded young optimist, nor did he keep the
fact a secret. Shelley's letters, as well as the
Irish pamphlet, were eagerly read and discussed
by all the young philosophers of Skinner Street.
"You cannot imagine," Godwin wrote to him,
" how much all the females of my family Mrs.
Godwin and three daughters are interested in
your letters and your history."
Publicly propounded, however, Shelley's sen-
timents proved insufficiently attractive to those to
whom they were addressed. At a public meeting
where he had ventured to enjoin on Catholics a
tolerance so universal as to embrace not only
Jews, Turks, and Infidels, but Protestants also, he
narrowly escaped being mobbed. It was borne
in upon him before long that the possibility, under
existing conditions, of realising his scheme for
associations of peace and virtue, was doubtful and
distant. He abandoned his intention and left
Ireland, professedly in submission to Godwin, but
1 " Address to the Irish People."
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 47
in fact convinced by what he had seen. Godwin
was delighted.
" Now I can call you a friend," he wrote, and
the good understanding of the two was cemented.
After repeated but fruitless invitations from the
Shelleys to the whole Godwin party to come and
stay with them in Wales, Godwin, early in the
autumn of this year (1812) actually made an ex-
pedition to Lynmouth, where his unknown friends
were staying, in the hope of effecting a personal
acquaintance, but his object was frustrated, the
Shelleys having left the place just before he
arrived.
They first met in London, in the month of
October, and frequent, almost daily intercourse
took place between the families. On the last day
of their stay in town the Shelleys, with Eliza
Westbrook, dined in Skinner Street. Mary God-
win, who had been for five months past in Scot-
land, had returned, as we know, with Christy
Baxter the day before, and was, no doubt, very
glad not to miss this opportunity of seeing the
interesting young reformer of whom she had
heard so much. His wife he had always spoken
of as one who shared his tastes and opinions. No
doubt they all thought her a fortunate woman, and
Mary in after years would well recall her smiling
face, and pink and white complexion, and her
purple satin gown.
48 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
During the year and a half that had elapsed
since that time Mary had been chiefly away, and
had heard little if anything of Shelley. In the
spring of 1814, however, he came up to town to
see her father on business, business in which
Godwin was deeply and solely concerned, about
which he was desperately anxious, and in which
Mary knew that Shelley was doing all in his power
to help him. These matters had been going on
for some time, when, on the 5th of May, he came
to Skinner Street, and Mary and he renewed ac-
quaintance. Both had altered since the last time
they met. Mary, from a child had grown into a
young, attractive, and interesting girl. Hers was
not the sweet sensuous loveliness of her mother,
but with her well -shaped head and intellectual
brow, her fine fair hair and liquid hazel eyes, and
a skin and complexion of singular whiteness and
purity, she possessed beauty of a rare and refined
type. She was somewhat below the medium
height ; very graceful, with drooping shoulders
and swan-like throat. The serene eloquent eyes
contrasted with a small mouth, indicative of a
certain reserve of temperament, which, in fact,
always distinguished her, and beneath which those
who did not know her might not have sus-
pected her vigour of intellect and fearlessness of
thought.
Shelley, too, was changed; why, was in his
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 49
case not so evident. Mary would have heard
how, just before her return home, he had been
remarried to his wife ; Godwin, the opponent
of matrimony, having, mysteriously enough, been
instrumental in procuring the licence for this
superfluous ceremony ; superfluous, as the parties
had been quite legally married in Scotland three
years before. His wife was not now with him in
London. He was alone, and appeared saddened
in aspect, ailing in health, unsettled and anxious
in mind. It was impossible that Mary should not
observe him with interest. She saw that, al-
though so young a man, he not only could hold
his own in discussion of literary, philosophical, or
political questions with the wisest heads and
deepest thinkers of his generation, but could
throw new light on every subject he touched.
His glowing imagination transfigured and ideal-
ised what it dwelt on, while his magical words
seemed to recreate whatever he described. She
learned that he was a poet. His conversation
would call up her old day-dreams again, though,
before it, they paled and faded like morning mists
before the sun. She saw, too, that his disposition
was most amiable, his manners gentle, his con-
versation absolutely free from suspicion of coarse-
ness, and that he was a disinterested and devoted
friend.
Before long she must have become conscious
VOL. I 4
5 o THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
that he took pleasure in talking with her. She
could not but see that, while his melancholy and
disquiet grew upon him every day, she possessed
the power of banishing it for the time. Her pre-
sence illumined him ; life and hopeful enthusiasm
would flash anew from him if she was by. This
intercourse stimulated all her intellectual powers,
and its first effect was to increase her already keen
desire of knowledge. To keep pace with the
electric mind of this companion required some
effort on her part, and she applied herself with
renewed zeal to her studies. Nothing irritated
her stepmother so much as to see her deep in a
book, and in order to escape from Mrs. Godwin's
petty persecution Mary used, whenever she could,
to transport herself and her occupations to Old St.
Pancras Churchyard, where she had been in the
habit of coming to visit her mother's grave.
There, under the shade of a willow tree, she would
sit, book in hand, and sometimes read, but not
always. The day-dreams of Dundee would now
and again return upon her. How long she seemed
to have lived since that time ! Life no longer
seemed " so commonplace an affair," nor yet her
own part in it so infinitesimal if Shelley thought
her conversation and companionship worth the
having.
Before very long he had found out the secret
of her retreat, and used to meet her there. He
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 51
revered the memory of Mary Wollstonecraft, and
her grave was to him a consecrated shrine of
which her daughter was the priestess.
By June they had become intimate friends,
though Mary was still ignorant of the secret of
his life.
On the 8th of June occurred the meeting
described by Hogg in his Life of Shelley.
The two friends were walking through Skinner
Street when Shelley said to Hogg, " I must
speak with Godwin ; come in, I will not detain
you long." Hogg continues
I followed him through the shop, which was the only en-
trance, and upstairs we entered a room on the first floor ; it
was shaped like a quadrant In the arc were windows ; in
one radius a fireplace, and in the other a door, and shelves
with many old books. William Godwin was not at home.
Bysshe strode about the room, causing the crazy floor of the
ill-built, unowned dwelling-house to shake and tremble under
his impatient footsteps. He appeared to be displeased at not
finding the fountain of Political Justice.
" Where is Godwin ? " he asked me several times, as if I
knew. I did not know, and, to say the truth, I did not care.
He continued his uneasy promenade ; and I stood reading
the names of old English authors on the backs of the vener-
able volumes, when the door was partially and softly opened.
A thrilling voice called " Shelley!" A thrilling voice answered
" Mary !" and he darted out of the room, like an arrow from
the bow of the far-shooting king. A very young female, fair
and fair-haired, pale indeed, and with a piercing look, wearing
a frock of tartan, an unusual dress in London at that time,
had called him out of the room. He was absent a very short
time, a minute or two, and then returned.
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
" Godwin is out, there is no use in waiting." So we con-
tinued our walk along Holborn.
" Who was that, pray ? " I asked, " a daughter ? "
" Yes."
" A daughter of William Godwin ? "
" The daughter of Godwin and Mary."
Hogg asked no more questions, but something
in this momentary interview and in the look of
the fair-haired girl left an impression on his mind
which he did not at once forget.
Godwin was all this time seeking and encour-
aging Shelley's visits. He was in feverish dis-
tress for money, bankruptcy was hanging over his
head ; and Shelley was exerting all his energies
and influence to raise a large sum, it is said as
much as ^3000, for him. It is a melancholy fact
that the philosopher had got to regard those who,
in the thirsty search for truth and knowledge, had
attached themselves to him, in the secondary light
of possible sources of income, and, when in diffi-
culties, he came upon them one after another for
loans or advances of money, which, at first begged
for as a kindness, came to be .claimed by him
almost as a right.
Shelley's own affairs were in a most unsatis-
factory state. ^200 a year from his father, and
as much from his wife's father was all he had to
depend upon, and his unsettled life and frequent
journeys, generous disposition and careless ways,
made fearful inroads on his narrow income, not-
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 53
withstanding the fact that he lived with Spartan
frugality as far as his own habits were concerned.
Little as he had, he never knew how little it was
nor how far it would go, and, while he strained
every nerve to save from ruin one whom he still
considered his intellectual father, he was himself
sorely hampered by want of money.
Visits to lawyers by Godwin, Shelley, or both,
were of increasingly frequent occurrence during
May ; in June we learn of as many as two or
three in a day. While this was going on, Shelley,
the forlorn hope of Skinner Street, could not be
lost sight of. If he seemed to find pleasure in
Mary's society, this probably flattered Mary's
father, who, though really knowing little of his
child, was undoubtedly proud of her, her beauty,
and her promise of remarkable talent. Like
other fathers, he thought of her as a child, and,
had there been any occasion for suspicion or
remark, the fact of Shelley's being a married man
with a lovely wife, would take away any excuse
for dwelling on it. The Shelleys had not been
favourites with Mrs. Godwin, who, the year before,
had offended or chosen to quarrel with Harriet
Shelley. The respective husbands had succeeded
in smoothing over the difficulty, which was sub-
sequently ignored. No love was lost, however,
between the Shelleys and the head of the firm of
M. J. Godwin & Co., who, however, was not now
54 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
likely to do or say anything calculated to drive
from the house one who, for the present, was its
sole chance of existence.
From the 2Oth of June until the end of the
month Shelley was at Skinner Street every day,
often to dinner.
By that time he and Mary had realised, only
too well, the depth of their mutual feeling, and on
some one day, what day we do not know, they
owned it to each other. His history was poured
out to her, not as it appears in the cold impartial
light of after years perhaps, but as he felt it then,
aching and smarting from life's fresh wounds and
stings. She heard of his difficulties, his rebuffs,
his mistakes in action, his disappointments in
friendship, his fruitless sacrifices for what he held
to be the truth ; his hopes and his hopelessness,
his isolation of soul and his craving for sympathy.
She guessed, for he was still silent on this point,
that he found it not in his home. She faced her
feelings then ; they were past mistake. But it
never occurred to her mind that there was any
possible future but a life's separation to souls so
situated. She could be his friend, never anything
more to him.
As a memento of that interview Shelley gave
or sent her a copy of Queen Mad, his first
published poem. This book (still in existence)
has, written in pencil inside the cover, the name
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 5 5
" Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin," and, on the inner
flyleaf, the words, "You see, Mary, I have not
forgotten you." Under the printed dedication to
his wife is the enigmatic but suggestive remark,
carefully written in ink, " Count Slobendorf was
about to marry a woman, who, attracted solely
by his fortune, proved her selfishness by desert-
ing him in prison." 1 On the flyleaves at the end
Mary wrote in July 1814
This book is sacred to me, and as no other creature shall
ever look into it, I may write what I please. Yet what shall
I write ? That I love the author beyond all powers of ex-
pression, and that I am parted from him. Dearest and only
love, by that love we have promised to each other, although
I may not be yours, I can never be another's. But I am
thine, exclusively thine.
By the kiss of love, the glance none saw beside,
The smile none else might understand,
The whispered thought of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand. 2
I have pledged myself to thee, and sacred is the gift. I
remember your words. " You are now, Mary, going to mix
with many, and for a moment I shall depart, but in the
solitude of your chamber I shall be with you." Yes, you are
ever with me, sacred vision.
But ah ! I feel in this was given
A blessing never meant for me,
Thou art too like a dream from heaven
For earthly love to merit thee. 3
1 Possibly this may refer to Count Schlabrendorf, 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. 2 Byron. 3 Ibid,
56 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY
With this mutual consciousness, yet obliged
inevitably to meet, thrown constantly in each
other's way, Mary obliged too to look on Shelley
as her father's benefactor and support, their
situation was a miserable one. As for Shelley,
when he had once broken silence he passed
rapidly from tender affection to the most passion-
ate love. His heart and brain were alike on fire,
for at the root of his deep depression and un-
settlement lay the fact, known as yet only to
himself, of complete estrangement between him-
self and his wife.
CHAPTER V
JUNE-AUGUST 1814
PERHAPS of all the objects of Shelley's devotion
up to this time, Harriet, his wife, was the only
one with whom he had never, in the ideal sense,
been in love. Possibly this was one reason that
against her alone he never had the violent revul-
sion, almost amounting to loathing, which was
the usual reaction after his other passionate
illusions. He had eloped with her when they
were but boy and girl because he found her ready
to elope with him, and because he was persuaded
that she was a victim of tyranny and oppression,
which, to this modern knight-errant, was tanta-
mount to an obligation laid on him to rescue her.
Having eloped with her, he had married her, for
her sake, and from a sense of chivalry, only with
a quaint sort of apology to his friend Hogg for
this early departure from his own principles and
those of the philosophic writers who had helped
to mould his views. His affection for his wife
58 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
had steadily increased after their marriage ; she
was fond of him and satisfied with her lot, and
had made things very easy for him. She could
not give him anything very deep in the way of
love, but in return she was not very exacting ;
accommodating herself with good humour to all
his vagaries, his changes of mood and plan, and
his romantic friendships. Even the presence of
her elder sister Eliza, who at an early period
established herself as a member of their house-
hold, did not destroy although it did not add to
their peace. It was during their stay in Scotland,
in 1813, that the first shadow arose between
them, and from this time Harriet seems to have
changed. She became cold and indifferent.
During the next winter, when they lived at
Bracknell, she grew frivolous and extravagant,
even yielding to habits of self-indulgence most
repugnant to one so abstemious as Shelley. He,
on his part, was more and more drawn away
from the home which had become uncongenial
by the fascinating society of his brilliant, specu-
lative friend, Mrs. Boinville (the white-haired
" Maimuna "), her daughter and sister. They
were kind and encouraging to him, and their
whole circle was cheerful, genial, and intellectual.
This intimacy tended to widen the breach be-
tween husband and wife, while supplying none of
the moral help which might have braced Shelley
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 59
to meet his difficulty. His letters and the stanza
addressed to Mrs. Boinville 1 show the profound
depression under which he laboured in April and
May. His pathetic poem to Harriet, written in
May, expresses only too plainly what he suffered
from her alienation, and also his keen conscious-
ness of the moral dangers that threatened him
from the loosening of old ties, if left to himself
unsupported by sympathy at home. But such
feeling as Harriet had was at this time quite
blunted. She had treated his unsettled de-
pression and gloomy abstraction as coldness and
sullen discontent, and met them with careless
unconcern. Always a puppet in the hands of
some one stronger than herself, she was en-
couraged by her elder sister, "the ever-present
Eliza," the object of Shelley's abhorrence, to meet
any want of attention on his part by this attitude
of indifference ; presumably on the assumption
that men do not care for what they can have
cheaply, and that the best way for a wife to keep
a husband's affection is to show herself inde-
pendent of it. Good-humoured and shallow,
easy-going and fond of amusement, she probably
1 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.
60 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
yielded to these counsels without difficulty. She
was much admired by other men, and accepted
their admiration willingly. From evidence which
came to light not many years later, it appears
Shelley thought he had reason to believe she
had been misled by one of these admirers, and
that he became aware of this in June 1814. No
word of it was breathed by him at the time, and
the painful story might never have been divulged
but for subsequent events which dragged into
publicity circumstances which he intended should
be buried in oblivion. This is not a life of Shelley,
and the evidence of all this matter, such evi-
dence, that is, as has escaped destruction, must
be looked for elsewhere. In the lawsuit which he
undertook after Harriet's death to obtain posses-
sion of his children by her, he was content to
state, " I was united to a woman of whom delicacy
forbids me to say more than that we were dis-
united by incurable dissensions."
That time only confirmed his conviction of
1814 is clearly proved by his letter, written six
years afterwards, to Southey, who had accused
him of guilt towards both his first and second
wives.
I take God to witness, if such a Being is now regarding
both you and me, and I pledge myself if we meet, as perhaps
you expect, before Him after death, to repeat the same in His
presence, that you accuse me wrongfully. I am innocent of
ill, either done or intended, the consequences you allude to
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 61
flowed in no respect from me. If you were my friend, I could
tell you a history that would make you open your eyes, but I
shall certainly never make the public my familiar confidant.
It is quite certain that in June 1814 Shelley,
who had for months found his wife heartless,
became convinced that she had also been faithless.
A breach of the marriage vow was not, now or at
any other time, regarded by him in the light of a
heinous or unpardonable sin. Like his master
Godwin, who held that right and wrong in these
matters could only be decided by the circum-
stances of each individual case, he considered the
vow itself to be the mistake, superfluous where it
was based on mutual affection, tyrannic or false
where it was not. Nor did he recognise two
different laws, for men and for women, in these
respects. His subsequent relations with Harriet
show that, deeply as she had wounded him, he
did not consider her criminally in fault. Could
she indeed be blamed for applying in her own
way the dangerous principles of which she had
heard so much ? But she had ceased to care for
him, and the death of mutual love argued, to his
mind, the loosening of the tie. He had been
faithful to her ; her faithlessness cut away the
ground from under his feet and left him defence-
less against a new affection.
No wonder that when his friend Peacock went,
by his request, to call on him in London, he
62 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
showed in his looks, in his gestures, in his speech, the state
of a mind, " suffering like a little kingdom, the nature of an
insurrection." His eyes were bloodshot, his hair and dress
disordered. He caught up a bottle of laudanum and said, " I
never part from this ! " He added, " I am always repeating
to myself your lines from Sophocles
Man's happiest lot is not to be,
And when we tread life's thorny steep
Most blest are they, who, earliest free,
Descend to death's eternal sleep."
Harriet had been absent for some time at
Bath, but now, growing anxious at the rarity
of news from her husband, she wrote up to
Hookham, his publisher, entreating to know what
had become of him, and where he was.
Godwin, who called at Hookham's the next day,
heard of this letter, and began at last to awaken
to the consciousness that something he did not
understand was going on between Shelley and
his daughter. It is strange that Mrs. Godwin, a
shrewd and suspicious woman, should not before
now have called his attention to the fact. His
diary for 8th July records a " Talk with Mary."
What passed has not transpired. Probably God-
win "restricted himself to uttering his censures
O
with seriousness and emphasis," 1 probably Mary
said little of any sort.
On the 1 4th of July Harriet Shelley came up
to town, summoned thither by a letter from her
husband. He informed her of his determination
1 See his letter to Baxter, quoted before.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 63
to separate, and of his intention to take immediate
measures securing her a sufficient income for her
support. He fully expected that Harriet would
willingly concur in this arrangement, but she did
no such thing ; perhaps she did not believe he
would carry it out. She never at any time took
life seriously ; she looked on the rupture between
herself and Shelley as trivial and temporary,
and had no wish to make it otherwise. Godwin
called on her two or three times ; he was aware
of the estrangement, and probably hoped by
argument and discussion to restore matters to
their old footing and bring peace and equanimity
to his own household. But although Harriet
was quite aware of Shelley's love for Godwin's
daughter, and knew, too, that deeds were being
prepared to assure her own separate maintenance,
she said nothing to Godwin, nor did her family
give him any hint. The impending elopement,
with all its consequences to Godwin, were within
her power to prevent, but she allowed matters to
take their course. Godwin, evidently very uncom-
fortable, chronicles a " Talk with P. B. S.," and, on
22d July, a " Talk with Jane." But circumstances
moved faster than he expected, and these many
talks and discussions and complicated moves and
counter-moves only made the position intolerable,
and precipitated the final crisis. Towards the
close of that month Shelley's confession was
64 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
wrung from him : he told Mary the whole truth,
and how, though legally bound, he held himself
morally free to offer himself to her if she would
be his.
To her, passionately devoted to the one man
who was and was ever to remain the sun and
centre of her existence, the thought of a wife
indifferent to him, hard to him, false to him, was
sacrilege ; it was torture. She had not been
brought up to look on marriage as a divine in-
stitution ; she had probably never even heard it
discussed but on grounds of expediency. Harriet
was his legal wife, so he could not marry Mary,
but what of that, after all ? if there was a sacrifice
in her power to make for him, was not that the
greatest joy, the greatest honour that life could
have in store for her ?
That her father would openly condemn her she
knew, for she must have known that Godwin's
practice did not move on the same lofty plane as
his principles. Was he not at that moment
making himself debtor to a man whose integrity
he doubted ? Had he not, in twice marrying,
taken care to proclaim, both to his friends and the
public, that he did so in spite of his opinions,
which remained unchanged and unretracted, until
some inconvenient application of them forced from
him an expression of disapproval ?
Her mother too, had she not held that ties
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 65
which were dead should be buried ? and though
not, like Godwin, condemning marriage as an in-
stitution, had she not been twice induced to form
a connection which in one instance never was,
in the other was not for some time consecrated by
law ? Who was Mary herself, that she should with-
stand one whom she felt to be the best as well as
the cleverest man she had ever known ? To talent
she had been accustomed all her life, but here she
saw something different, and what of all things
calls forth most ardent response from a young and
pure-minded girl, a genius for goodness ; an as-
piration and devotion such as she had dreamed
of but never known, with powers which seemed to
her absolutely inspired. She loved him, and she
appreciated him, as time abundantly showed,
rightly. She conceived that she wronged by her
action no one but herself, and she did not hesitate.
She pledged her heart and hand to Shelley for life,
and she did not disappoint him, nor he her.
To the end of their lives, tried as they were to
be by every kind of trouble, neither one nor the
other ever repented the step they now took, nor
modified their opinion of the grounds on which they
took it. How Shelley regarded it in after years
we have already seen. Mary, writing during her
married life, when her judgment had been matured
and her youthful buoyancy of spirit only too well
sobered by stern and bitter experience, can find no
VOL. i 5
66 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
harder name for it than " an imprudence." Many
years after, in 1825, alluding to Shelley's separa-
tion from Harriet, she remarks, " His justification
is, to me, obvious." And at a later date still,
when she had been seventeen years a widow, she
wrote in the preface to her edition of Shelley's
Poems
I abstain from any remark on the occurrences of his private
life, except inasmuch as the passions they engendered inspired
his poetry. This is not the time to relate the truth, and I
should reject any colouring of the truth. No account of these
events has ever been given at all approaching reality in their
details, either as regards himself or others ; nor shall I further
allude to them than to remark that the errors of action com-
mitted by a man as noble and generous as Shelley, may, as far
as he only is concerned, be fearlessly avowed by those who
loved him, in the firm conviction that, were they judged
impartially, his character would stand in fairer and brighter
light than that of any contemporary.
But they never " made the public their familiar
confidant." They screened the erring as far as it
was in their power to do so, although their re-
ticence cost them dear, for it lent a colouring of
probability to the slanders and misconstruction of
all kinds which it was their constant fate to endure
for others' sake, which pursued them to their lives'
end, and beyond it.
Life, which is to no one what he expects, had
many clouds for them. Mary's life reached its
zenith too suddenly, and with happiness came care
in undue proportion. The future of intellectual
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 67
expansion and creation which might have been
hers was not to be fully realised, but perfections
of character she might never have attained de-
veloped themselves as her nature was mellowed
and moulded by time and by suffering.
Shelley's rupture with his first wife marks the
end of his boyhood. Up to that time, thanks to
his poetic temperament, his were the strong and
simple, but passing impulses and feelings of a
child. " A being of large discourse " he assuredly
was, but not as yet " looking before and after."
Now he was to acquire the doubtful blessing of
that faculty. Like Undine when she became
endued with a soul, he gained an immeasurable
good, while he lost a something that never returned.
Early in the morning of 28th July 1814 Mary
Godwin secretly left her father's house, accom-
panied by Jane Clairmont, and they started with
Shelley in a post-chaise for Dover.
CHAPTER VI
AUGUST i8i4-jANUARY 1816
FROM the day of their departure a joint journal
was kept by Shelley and Mary, which tells their
subsequent adventures and vicissitudes with the
utmost candour and naivete". A great deal of the
earlier portion is written by Shelley, but after a
time Mary becomes the principal diarist, and the
latter part is almost entirely hers. Its account of
their first wanderings in France and Switzerland
was put into narrative form by her two or three
years later, and published under the title Journal
of a Six Weeks Tour. But the transparent sim-
plicity of the journal is invaluable, and carries
with it an absolute conviction which no studied
account can emulate or improve upon. Con-
siderable portions are, therefore, given in their
entirety.
That 28th of July was a hotter day than had
been known in England for many years. Between
the sultry heat and exhaustion from the excitement
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 69
'and conflicting emotions of the last days, poor
Mary was completely overcome.
" The heat made her faint," wrote Shelley, " it was neces-
sary at every stage that she should repose. I was divided
between anxiety for her health and terror lest our pursuers
should arrive. I reproached myself with not allowing her
sufficient time to rest, with conceiving any evil so great that
the slightest portion of her comfort might be sacrificed to
avoid it.
" At Dartford we took four horses, that we might outstrip
pursuit. We arrived at Dover before four o'clock."
" On arriving at Dover," writes Mary, 1 " I was refreshed by
a sea-bath. As we very much wished to cross the Channel
with all possible speed, we would not wait for the packet of
the following day (it being then about four in the afternoon),
but hiring a small boat, resolved to make the passage the
same evening, the seamen promising us a voyage of two hours.
" The evening was most beautiful ; there was but little wind,
and the sails flapped in the flagging breeze ; the moon rose,
and night came on, and with the night a slow, heavy swell-
and a fresh breeze, which soon produced a sea so violent as
to toss the boat very much. I was dreadfully sea-sick, and,
as is usually my custom when thus affected, I slept during the
greater part of the night, awaking only from time to time to
ask where we were, and to receive the dismal answer each
time, ' Not quite halfway.'
" The wind was violent and contrary ; if we could not reach
Calais the sailors proposed making for Boulogne. They
promised only two hours' sail from shore, yet hour after hour
passed, and we were still far distant, when the moon sunk in
the red and stormy horizon and the fast- flashing lightning
became pale in the breaking day.
" We were proceeding slowly against the wind, when sud-
denly a thunder squall struck the sail, and the waves rushed
1 Journal of a Six Weeks' Tour.
70 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
into the boat : even the sailors acknowledged that our situa-
tion was perilous ; but they succeeded in reefing the sail ; the
wind was now changed, and we drove before the gale directly
to Calais."
Journal (Shelley). Mary did not know our danger ; she
was resting between my knees, that were unable to support
her ; she did not speak or look, but I felt that she was there.
I had time in that moment to reflect, and even to reason upon
death ; it was rather a thing of discomfort and disappointment
than horror to me. We should never be separated, but in
death we might not know and feel our union as now. I hope,
but my hopes are not unmixed with fear for what may befall
this inestimable spirit when we appear to die.
The morning broke, the lightning died away, the violence
of the wind abated. We arrived at Calais, whilst Mary still
slept ; we drove upon the sands. Suddenly the broad sun
rose over France.
Godwin's diary for 28th July runs,
"Five in the morning. M. J. for Dover."
Mrs. Godwin, in fact, started in pursuit of the
fugitives as soon as they were missed. Neither
Shelley nor Mary were the objects of her anxiety,
but her own daughter. Jane Clairmont, who
cared no more for her mother than she did for any
one else, had guessed Mary's secret or insinuated
herself into her confidence some time before the
final denouement of the love-affair. Wild and
wayward, ready for anything in the shape of a
romantic adventure, and longing for freedom from
the restraints of home, she had sympathised with,
and perhaps helped Shelley and Mary. She was
in no wise anxious to be left to mope alone, nor
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 71
to be exposed to cross-questioning she could ill
have met. She claimed to escape with them as a
return for her good offices, and whatever Mary
may have thought or wished, Shelley was not one
to leave her behind " in slavery." Mrs. Godwin
arrived at Calais by the very packet the fugitives
had refused to wait for.
Joiirnal (Shelley). In the evening Captain Davidson came
and told us that a fat lady had arrived who said I had run
away with her daughter ; it was Mrs. Godwin. Jane spent the
night with her mother.
July 30. Jane informs us that she is unable to withstand
the pathos of Mrs. Godwin's appeal. She appealed to the
Municipality of Paris, to past slavery and to future freedom.
I counselled her to take at least half an hour for consideration.
She returned to Mrs. Godwin and informed her that she re-
solved to continue with us.
Mrs. Godwin departed without answering a word.
It is difficult to understand how this mother
had so little authority over her own girl of sixteen.
She might rule Godwin, but she evidently could
not influence, far less rule her daughter. Shelley's
influence, as far as it was exerted at all, was used
in favour of Jane's remaining with them, and he
paid dearly in after years for the heavy responsi-
bility he now assumed.
The travellers proceeded to Paris, where they
were obliged to remain longer than they intended,
finding themselves so absolutely without money,
nothing having been prearranged in their sudden
flight, that Shelley had to sell his watch and chain
72 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
for eight napoleons. Funds were at last procured
through Tavernier, a French man of business, and
they were free to put into execution the plan
they had resolved upon, namely, to walk through
France, buying an ass to carry their portmanteau
and one of them by turns.
Journal, August 8 (Mary). Jane and Shelley go to the
ass merchant ; we buy an ass. The day spent in preparation
for departure.
Their landlady tried to dissuade them from
their design.
She represented to us that a large army had been recently
disbanded, that the soldiers and officers wandered idle about
the country, and that les dames seroient certainement enlevees.
But we were proof against her arguments, and, packing up a
few necessaries, leaving the rest to go by the diligence, we
departed in a fiacre from the door of the hotel, our little ass
following. 1
Journal (Mary). We set out to Charenton in the evening,
carrying the ass, who was weak and unfit for labour, like the
Miller and his Son.
We dismissed the coach at the barrier. It was dusk, and
the ass seemed totally unable to bear one of us, appearing to
sink under the portmanteau, though it was small and light.
We were, however, merry enough, and thought the leagues
short. We arrived at Charenton about ten. Charenton is
prettily situated in a valley, through which the Seine flows,
winding among banks variegated with trees. On looking at
this scene C. . . . (Jane) exclaimed, " Oh ! this is beautiful
enough; let us live here." This was her exclamation on
every new scene, and as each surpassed the one before, she
1 Journal of a Six Weeks' Tour.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 73
cried, " I am glad we did not live at Charenton, but let us
live here." 1
August 9 (Shelley). We sell our ass and purchase a
mule, in which we much resemble him who never made a
bargain but always lost half. The day is most beautiful.
(Mary). About nine o'clock we departed ; we were clad
in black silk. I rode on the mule, which carried also our
portmanteau. S. and C. (Jane) followed, bringing a small
basket of provisions. At about one we arrived at Gros-Bois,
where, under the shade of trees, we ate our bread and fruit, and
drank our wine, thinking of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.
Thursday, August 1 1 (Mary). From Provins we came to
Nogent. The town was entirely desolated by the Cossacks ;
the houses were reduced to heaps of white ruins, and the
bridge was destroyed. Proceeding on our way we left the
great road and arrived at St. Aubin, a beautiful little village
situated among trees. This village was also completely de-
stroyed. The inhabitants told us the Cossacks had not left
one cow in the village. Notwithstanding the entreaties of the
people, who eagerly desired us to stay all night, we continued
our route to Trois Maisons, three long leagues farther, on an
unfrequented road, and which in many places was hardly per-
ceptible from the surrounding waste. . . .
As night approached our fears increased that we should not
be able to distinguish the road, and Mary expressed these fears
in a very complaining tone. We arrived at Trois Maisons at
nine o'clock. Jane went up to the first cottage to ask our way,
but was only answered by unmeaning laughter. We, how-
ever, discovered a kind of an auberge, where, having in some
degree satisfied our hunger by milk and sour bread, we retired
to a wretched apartment to bed. But first let me observe
that we discovered that the inhabitants were not in the habit
of washing themselves, either when they rose or went to bed.
Friday, August 1 2. We did not set out from here till eleven
o'clock, and travelled a long league under the very eye of a
1 Journal of a Six Weeks' Tour.
74 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
burning sun. Shelley, having sprained his leg, was obliged to
ride all day.
Saturday, August 13 (Troyes). We are disgusted with the
excessive dirt of our habitation. Shelley goes to inquire about
conveyances. He sells the mule for forty francs and the saddle
for sixteen francs. In all our bargains for ass, saddle, and mule
we lose more than fifteen napoleons. Money we can but little
spare now. Jane and Shelley seek for a conveyance to Neufchatel.
From Troyes Shelley wrote to Harriet, ex-
pressing his anxiety for her welfare, and urging
her in her own interests to come out to Switzer-
land, where he, who would always remain her best
and most disinterested friend, would procure for
her some sweet retreat among the mountains.
He tells her some details of their adventures in
the simplest manner imaginable ; never, apparently,
doubting for a moment but that they would in-
terest her as much as they did him. Harriet, it is
needless to say, did not come. Had she done so,
she would not have found Shelley, for, as the
sequel shows, he was back in London almost as
soon as she could have got to Switzerland.
Journal, August 14 (Mary). At four in the morning we depart
from Troyes, and proceed in the new vehicle to Vandeuvres.
The village remains still ruined by the war. We rest at
Vandeuvres two hours, but walk in a wood belonging to a
neighbouring chateau, and sleep under its shade. The moss
was so soft ; the murmur of the wind in the leaves was sweeter
than ^Eolian music ; we forgot that we were in France or in
the world for a time.
August 17. The voiturier insists upon our passing the night
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 75
at the village of Mort. We go out on the rocks, and Shelley
and I read part of Mary, a fictioa We return at dark, and,
unable to enter the beds, we pass a few comfortless hours by
the kitchen fireside.
Thursday, August 1 8. We leave Mort at four. After some
hours of tedious travelling, through a most beautiful country,
we arrive at Noe. From the summit of one of the hills we see
the whole expanse of the valley filled with a white, undulating
mist, over which the piny hills pierced like islands. The sun
had just risen, and a ray of the red light lay on the waves of
this fluctuating vapour. To the west, opposite the sun, it
seemed driven by the light against the rock in immense masses
of foaming cloud until it becomes lost in the distance, mixing
its tints with the fleecy sky. At Noe, whilst our postillion
waited, we walked into the forest of pines ; it was a scene of
enchantment, where every sound and sight contributed to
charm.
Our mossy seat in the deepest recesses of the wood was en-
closed from the world by an impenetrable veil. On our return
the postillion had departed without us ; he left word that he
expected to meet us on the road. We proceeded there upon
foot to Maison Neuve, an auberge a league distant. At
Maison Neuve he had left a message importing that he should
proceed to Pontarlier, six leagues distant, and that unless he
found us there he should return. We despatched a boy on
horseback for him ; he promised to wait for us at the next
village ; we walked two leagues in the expectation of finding
him there. The evening was most beautiful; the horned
moon hung in the light of sunset that threw a glow of unusual
depth of redness above the piny mountains and the dark deep
valleys which they included. At Savrine we found, according
to our expectation, that M. le Voiturier had pursued his
journey with the utmost speed. We engaged a voiture for
Pontarlier. Jane very unable to walk. The moon becomes
yellow and hangs close to the woody horizoa It is dark
before we arrive at Pontarlier. The postillion tells many lies.
We sleep, for the first time in France, in a clean bed.
76 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Friday, August 19. We pursue our journey towards Neuf-
chatel. We pass delightful scenes of verdure surpassing
imagination ; here first we see clear mountain streams. We
pass the barrier between France and Switzerland, and, after
descending nearly a league, between lofty rocks covered with
pines and interspersed with green glades, where the grass is
short and soft and beautifully verdant, we arrive at St. Sulpice.
The mule is very lame; we determined to engage another
horse for the remainder of the way. Our voiturier had deter-
mined to leave us, and had taken measures to that effect.
The mountains after St Sulpice become loftier and more
beautiful. Two leagues from Neufchatel we see the Alps ;
hill after hill is seen extending its craggy outline before the
other, and far behind all, towering above every feature of the
scene, the snowy Alps ; they are i oo miles distant ; they look
like those accumulated clouds of dazzling white that arrange
themselves on the horizon in summer. This immensity
staggers the imagination, and so far surpasses all conception
that it requires an effort of the understanding to believe that
they are indeed mountains. We arrive at Neufchatel and
sleep.
Saturday, Aitgust 20. We consult on our situation. There
are no letters at the bureau de paste ; there cannot be for a
week. Shelley goes to the banker's, who promises an answer
in two hours ; at the conclusion of the time he sends for
Shelley, and, to our astonishment and consolation, Shelley re-
turns staggering under the weight of a large canvas bag full of
silver. Shelley alone looks grave on the occasion, for he alone
clearly apprehends that francs and e"cus and louis d'or are like
the white and flying cloud of noon, that is gone before one can
say "Jack Robinson." Shelley goes to secure a place in the
diligence ; they are all taken. He meets there with a Swiss
who speaks English ; this man is imbued with the spirit of true
politeness. He endeavours to perform real services, and seems
to regard the mere ceremonies of the affair as things of very
little value. He makes a bargain with a voiturier to take us
to Lucerne for eighteen dcus.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 77
We arrange to depart at four the next morning. Our Swiss
friend appoints to meet us there.
Sunday, August 21. Go from Neufchatel at six; our Swiss
accompanies us a little way out of town. There is a mist to-
day, so we cannot see the Alps ; the drive, however, is interest-
ing, especially in the latter part of the day. Shelley and Jane
talk concerning Jane's character. We arrive before seven at
Soleure. Shelley and Mary go to the much-praised cathedral,
and find it very modern and stupid.
Monday, August 22. Leave Soleure at half-past five; very
cold indeed, but we now again see the magnificent mountains
of Le Valais. Mary is not well, and all are tired of wheeled
machines. Shelley is in a jocosely horrible mood. We dine
at Zoffingen, and sleep there two hours. In our drive after
dinner we see the mountains of St. Gothard, etc. Change our
plan of going over St. Gothard. Arrive tired to death ; find at
the room of the inn a horrible spinet and a case of stuffed
birds. Sup at table d'hote.
Tuesday, August 23. We leave at four o'clock and arrive at
Lucerne about ten. After breakfast we hire a boat to take us
down the lake. Shelley and Mary go out to buy several need-
ful things, and then we embark. It is a most divine day ; the
farther we advance the more magnificent are the shores of the
lake rock and pine forests covering the feet of the immense
mountains. We read part of L'Abbe Barruel's Histoire du
Jacobinisme. We land at Bessen, go to the wrong inn, where
a most comical scene ensues. We sleep at Brunnen. Before
we sleep, however, we look out of window.
Wednesday, August 24. We consult on our situation. We
cannot procure a house; we are in despair; the filth of the apart-
ment is terrible to Mary; she cannot bear it all the winter. We
propose to proceed to Fluelen, but the wind comes from Italy,
and will not permit. At last we find a lodging in an ugly house
they call the Chateau for one louis a month, which we take ;
it consists of two rooms. Mary and Shelley walk to the shore
of the lake and read the description of the Siege of Jerusalem
in Tacitus. We come home, look out of window and go to bed.
7 8 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Thursday, August 25. We read Abbe Barruel. Shelley and
Jane make purchases ; we pack up our things and take posses-
sion of our house, which we have engaged for six months.
Receive a visit from the Medecin and the old Abbe", whom, it
must be owned, we do not treat with proper politeness. We
arrange our apartment, and write part of Shelley's romance.
Friday, August 26. Write the romance till three o'clock.
Propose crossing Mount St. Gothard. Determine at last to
return to England ; only wait to set off till the washerwoman
brings home our linen. The little Frenchman arrives with
tubs and plums and scissors and salt. The linen is not dry ;
we are compelled to wait until to-morrow. We engage a boat
to take us to Lucerne at six the following morning.
Saturday, August 27. We depart at seven; it rains violently
till just the end of our voyage. We conjecture the astonish-
ment of the good people at Brunnen. We arrive at Lucerne,
dine, then write a part of the romance, and read Shakespeare.
Interrupted by Jane's horrors ; pack up. We have engaged a
boat for Basle.
Sunday, August 28. Depart at six o'clock. The river is ex-
ceedingly beautiful ; the waves break on the rocks, and the
descents are steep and rapid. It rained the whole day. We
stopped at Mettingen to dine, and there surveyed at our ease
the horrid and slimy faces of our companions in voyage ; our
only wish was to absolutely annihilate such uncleanly animals,
to which we might have addressed the boatman's speech to
Pope : " 'Twere easier for God to make entirely new men than
attempt to purify such monsters as these." After a voyage in
the rain, rendered disagreeable only by the presence of these
loathsome "creepers," we arrive, Shelley much exhausted, at
Dettingen, our resting-place for the night.
It never seems to have occurred to them before
arriving in Switzerland that they had no money
wherewith to carry out their further plans, that it
was more difficult to obtain it abroad than at home,
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 79
and that the remainder of their little store would
hardly suffice to take them back to England. No
sooner thought, however, than done. They gave
themselves no rest after their long and arduous
journey, but started straight back via the Rhine,
arriving in Rotterdam on 8th September with
only twenty ecus remaining, having been " horribly
cheated." " Make arrangements, and talk of many
things, past, present, and to come/'
Journal, Friday, September 9. We have arranged with a cap-
tain to take us to England three guineas a-piece ; at three
o'clock we sail, and in the evening arrive at Marsluys, where
a bad wind obliges us to stay.
Saturday, September 10. We remain at Marsluys, Mary be-
gins Hate, and gives Shelley the greater pleasure. Shelley writes
part of his romance. Sleep at Marsluys. Wind contrary.
Sunday, September 1 1. The wind becomes more favourable.
We hear that we are to sail. Mary writes more of her Hate.
We depart, cross the bar ; the sea is horribly tempestuous,
and Mary is nearly sick, nor is Shelley much better. There is
an easterly gale in the night which almost kills us, whilst it
carries us nearer our journey's end.
Monday, September 1 2. It is calm; we remain on deck nearly
the whole day. Mary recovers from her sickness. We dispute
with one man upon the slave trade.
The wanderers arrived at last at Gravesend, not
only penniless, but unable even to pay their pas-
sage money, or to discharge the hackney coach in
which they drove about from place to place in
search of assistance. At the time of Shelley's
sudden flight, the deeds by which part of his in-
come was transferred to Harriet were still in pre-
8o THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
paration only, and he had, without thinking of the
consequences of his act, written from Switzerland
to his bankers, directing them to honour her calls
for money, as far as his account allowed of it.
She must have availed herself so well of this
permission that now he found he could only
obtain the sum he wanted by applying for it
to her.
The relations between Shelley and Harriet,
must, at first, have seemed to Mary as incompre-
hensible as they still do to readers of the Journal.
Their interviews, necessarily very frequent in
the next few months, were, on the whole,
quite friendly. Shelley was kind and perfectly
ingenuous and sincere ; Harriet was sometimes
" civil " and good tempered, sometimes cross and
provoking. But on neither side was there any
pretence of deep pain, of wounded pride or bitter
constraint.
Journal, Tuesday, September 1 3. We arrive at Gravesend, and
with great difficulty prevail on the captain to trust us. We go
by boat to London ; take a coach ; call on Hookham. T. H.
not at home. C. treats us very ill. Call at Voisey's. Henry
goes to Harriet. Shelley calls on her, whilst poor Mary and
Jane are left in the coach for two whole hours. Our debt is
discharged. Shelley gets clothes for himself. Go to Strafford
Hotel, dine, and go to bed.
Wednesday, September 14. Talk and read the newspaper.
Shelley calls on Harriet, who is certainly a very odd creature ;
he writes several letters ; calls on Hookham, and brings home
Wordsworth's Excursion, of which we read a part, much dis-
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLE Y 8 1
appointed. He is a slave. Shelley engages lodgings, to which
we remove in the evening.
Shelley now lost no time in putting himself in
communication with Skinner Street, and on the
first day after they settled in their new lodgings
he addressed a letter to Godwin.
VOL. I
CHAPTER VII
SEPTEMBER i8i4-MAY 1816
WHATEVER may have been Godwin's degree of
responsibility for the opinions which had enabled
Shelley to elope in all good faith with his
daughter, and which saved her from serious
scruple in eloping with Shelley, it would be
impossible not to sympathise with the father's
feelings after the event.
People do not resent those misfortunes least
which they have helped to bring on themselves,
and no one ever derived less consolation from his
own theories than did Godwin from his, as soon
as they were unpleasantly put into practice. He
had done little to win his daughter's confidence,
but he was keenly wounded by the proof she had
given of its absence. His pride, as well as his
affection, had suffered a serious blow through her
departure and that of Jane. For a philosopher
like him, accustomed to be looked up to and
consulted on matters of education, such a failure
in his own family was a public stigma. False
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 83
and malicious reports got about, which had an
additional and peculiar sting from their originat-
ing partly in his well-known impecuniosity. It
was currently rumoured that he had sold the
two girls to Shelley for ^800 and ^700 respect-
ively. No wonder that Godwin, accustomed to
look down from a lofty altitude on such minor
matters as money and indebtedness, felt now
that he could not hold up his head. He shunned
his old friends, and they, for the most part, felt
this and avoided him. His home was embittered
and spoilt. Mrs. Godwin, incensed at Jane's con-
duct, vented her wrath in abuse and invective on
Shelley and Mary.
No one has thought it worth while to record
how poor Fanny was affected by the first news
of the family calamity. It must have reached
her in Ireland, and her subsequent return home
was dismal indeed. The loss of her only sister
was a bitter grief to her ; and, strong as was her
disapproval of that sister's conduct, it must have
given her a pang to feel that the culpable Jane
had enjoyed Shelley's and Mary's confidence,
while she who loved them with a really unselfish
love, had been excluded from it. What could
she now say or do to cheer Godwin ? How
parry Mrs. Godwin's inconsiderate and intem-
perate complaints and innuendos ? No doubt
Fanny had often stood up for Mary with her
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
stepmother, and now Mary herself had cut the
ground from under her feet.
Charles Clairmont was at home again ; osten-
sibly on the plea of helping in the publishing
business, but as a fact idling about, on the look-
out for some lucky opening. He cared no more
than did Jane for the family (including his own
mother, in Skinner Street) : like every Clairmont,
he was an adventurer, and promptly transferred
his sympathies to any point which suited him-
self. To crown all, William, the youngest son,
had become infected with the spirit of revolt,
and had, as Godwin expresses it, " eloped
for two nights," giving his family no little
anxiety.
The first and immediate result of Shelley's
letter to Godwin was a visit to his windows by
Mrs. Godwin and Fanny, who tried in this way
to get a surreptitious peep at the three truants.
Shelley went out to them, but they would not
speak to him. Late that evening, however,
Charles Clairmont appeared. He was to be
another thorn in the side of the interdicted yet
indispensable Shelley. He did not mind having
a foot in each camp, and had no scruples about
coming as often and staying as long as he liked,
or in retailing a large amount of gossip. They
discussed William's escapade, and the various
plans for the immuring of Jane, if she could be
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 85
caught. This did not predispose Jane to listen to
the overtures subsequently made to her from time
to time by her relatives.
Godwin replied to Shelley's letter, but declined
all further communication with him except through
a solicitor. Mrs. Godwin's spirit of rancour was
such that, several weeks later, she, on one occasion,
forbade Fanny to come down to dinner because
she had received a lock of Mary's hair, probably
conveyed to her by Charles Clairmont, who, in
return, did not fail to inform Mary of the whole
story. In spite, however, of this vehement show
of animosity, Shelley was kept through one
channel or another only too well informed of
Godwin's affairs. Indeed, he was never suffered
to forget them for long at a time. No sign
of impatience or resentment ever appears in his
journal or letters. Not only was Godwin the
father of his beloved, but he was still, to Shelley,
the fountain-head of wisdom, philosophy, and
inspiration. Mary, too, was devoted to her
father, and never wavered in her conviction
that his inimical attitude proceeded from no
impulse of his own mind, but that he was upheld
in it by the influence and interference of Mrs.
Godwin.
The journal of Shelley and Mary for the next
few months is, in its extreme simplicity, a curious
record of a most uncomfortable time ; a medley of
86 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
lodgings, lawyers, money-lenders, bailiffs, wild
schemes, and literary pursuits. Penniless them-
selves, they were yet responsible for hundreds and
thousands of pounds of other people's debts ; there
was Harriet running up bills at shops and hotels
and sending her creditors on to Shelley ; Godwin
perpetually threatened with bankruptcy, refusing
to see the man who had robbed him of his
daughter, yet with literally no other hope of sup-
port but his help ; Jane Clairmont now, as for
years to come, entirely dependent on them for
everything ; Shelley's friends quartering them-
selves on him all day and every day, often taking
advantage of his love of society and intellectual
friction, of Mary's youth and inexperience and
compliant good-nature, to live at his expense, and,
in one case at least, to obtain from him money
which he really had not got, and could only borrow,
at ruinous interest, on his expectations. He had
frequently to be in hiding from bailiffs, change his
lodgings, sleep at friends' houses or at different
hotels, getting his letters when he could make a
stealthy appointment to meet Mary, perhaps at
St. Paul's, perhaps at some street corner or outside
some coffee-house, anywhere where he might
escape observation. He was not always certain
how far he could rely on those whom he had con-
sidered his friends, such as the brothers Hookham.
Rightly or wrongly, he was led to imagine that
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 87
Harriet, from motives of revenge, was bent on
ruining Godwin, and that for this purpose she
would aid and abet in his own arrest, by persuad-
ing the Hookhams in such a case to refuse bail.
The rumour of this conspiracy was conveyed to
the Shelleys in a note from Fanny, who, for
Godwin's sake and theirs, broke through the stern
embargo laid on all communication.
Yet through all these troubles and bewilder-
ments there went on a perpetual under-current of
reading and study, thought and discussion. The
actual existence was there, and all these external
accidents of circumstance, the realities in ordinary
lives were, in these extraordinary lives, treated
really as accidents, as passing hindrances to
serious purpose, and no more.
Nothing but Mary's true love for Shelley and
perfect happiness with him could have tided her
over this time. Youth, however, was a wonderful
helper, added to the unusual intellectual vigour
and vivacity which made it possible for her, as it
would be to few girls of seventeen, to forget the
daily worries of life in reading and study. Perhaps
at no time was the even balance of her nature more
clearly manifested than now, when, after living
through a romance that will last in story as long
as the name of Shelley, her existence revolu-
tionised, her sensibilities preternaturally stimulated,
having taken, as it were, a life's experiences by
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
cumulation in a few months ; weak and depressed
in health, too, she still had sufficient energy and
self-control to apply herself to a solid course of in-
tellectual training.
Jane's presence added to their unsettlement,
although at times it may have afforded them
some amusement. Wilful, fanciful, with a sense
of humour and many good impulses, but with that
decided dash of charlatanism which characterised
the Clairmonts, and little true sensibility, she was
a willing disciple for any wild flights of fancy, and
a keen participator in all impossible projects and
harum-scarum makeshifts. Her presence stimu-
lated and enlivened Shelley, her whims and fancies
did not seriously affect, beyond amusing him, and
she was an indefatigable companion for him in his
walks and wanderings, now that Mary was be-
coming less and less able to go about. To Mary,
however, she must often have been an incubus,
a perpetual third, and one who, if sometimes use-
ful, often gave a great deal of trouble too. She
did not bring to Mary, as she did to Shelley, the
charm of novelty ; nor does the unfolding of one
girl's character present to another girl whose
character is also in process of development such
attractive problems as it does to a young and
speculative man. Mary was too noble by nature
and too perfectly in accord with Shelley to indulge
in actual jealousy of Jane's companionship with
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRA FT SHELLS Y 89
him ; still, she must often have had a weary time
when those two were scouring the town on their
multifarious errands ; misunderstandings, also,
would occur, only to be removed by long and
patient explanation. Jane (or " Clara," as about
this time she elected to call herself, in preference
to her own less romantic name) was hardly more
than a child, and in some respects a very childish
child. Excitable and nervous, she had no idea
of putting constraint upon herself for others'
sake, and gave her neighbours very little rest, as
she preferred any amount of scenes to humdrum
quiet. She and Shelley would sit up half the
night, amusing themselves with wild speculations,
natural and supernatural, till she would go off into
hysterics or trances, or, when she had at last gone
to bed, would walk in her sleep, see phantoms,
and frighten them all with her terrors. In the
end she was invariably brought to poor Mary,
who, delicate in health, had gone early to rest,
but had to bestir herself to bring Jane to reason,
and to " console her with her all-powerful benevo-
lence," as Shelley describes it.
Every page of the journal testifies to the ex-
treme youth of the writers ; likely and unlikely
events are chronicled with equal simplicity.
Where all is new, one thing is not more start-
ling than another ; and the commonplaces of
everyday life may afford more occasion for sur-
90 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
prise than the strangest anomalies. Specimens
only of the diary can be given here, and they are
best given without comment.
Sunday, September 18. Mary receives her first lesson in
Greek. She reads the Curse of Kehama, while Shelley walks
out with Peacock, who dines. Shelley walks part of the way
home with him. Curious account of Harriet. We talk, study
a little Greek, and go to bed.
Tuesday, September 20. Shelley writes to Hookham and
Tavernier ; goes with Hookham to Ballachy's. Mary reads
Political Justice all the morning. Study Greek. In the evening
Shelley reads Thalaba aloud.
Monday, September 26. Shelley goes with Peacock to
Ballachy's, and engages lodgings at Pancras. Visit from Mrs.
Pringer. Read Political Justice and the Empire of the Nairs.
Tuesday, -September 27. Read Political Justice ; finish the
Nairs ; pack up and go to our lodgings in Somers Town.
Friday, September 30. After breakfast walk to Hampstead
Heath. Discuss the possibility of converting and liberating
two heiresses ; arrange a plan on the subject. . . . Peacock
calls ; talk with him concerning the heiresses and Marian,
arrange his marriage.
Sunday, October 2. Peacock comes after breakfast; walk
over Primrose Hill; sail little boats; return a little before
four ; talk. Read Political Justice in the evening ; talk.
Monday, October 3. Read Political Justice. Hookham calls.
Walk with Peacock to the Lake of Nangis and set off little
fire-boats. After dinner talk and let off fireworks. Talk of
the west of Ireland plan.
Wednesday, October 5. Peacock at breakfast. Walk to the
Lake of Nangis and sail fire-boats. Read Political Justice.
Shelley reads the Ancient Mariner aloud. Letter from Harriet,
very civil. ^"400 for ^2400.
Friday, October 7 (Shelley). Read Political Justice. Pea-
cock calls. Jane, for some reason, refuses to walk. We
MAR Y WO LLS TO NEC RAFT SHELLE Y 9 1
traverse the fields towards Hampstead. Under an expansive
oak lies a dead calf; the cow, lean from grief, is watching it.
(Contemplate subject for poem.) The sunset is beautiful.
Return at 9. Peacock departs. Mary goes to bed at half-
past 8 ; Shelley sits up with Jane. Talk of oppression and
reform, of cutting squares of skin from the soldiers' backs.
Jane states her conception of the subterranean community of
women. Talk of Hogg, Harriet, Miss Kitchener, etc. At
i o'clock Shelley observes that it is the witching time of
night ; he inquires soon after if it is not horrible to feel the
silence of night tingling in our ears; in half an hour the
question is repeated in a different form ; at 2 they retire
awestruck and hardly daring to breathe. Shelley says to
Jane, " Good-night ; " his hand is leaning on the table ; he
is conscious of an expression in his countenance which he can-
not repress. Jane hesitates. " Good-night " again. She still
hesitates.
" Did you ever read the tragedy of Orra ? " said Shelley.
"Yes. How horribly you look ! take your eyes off."
" Good-night " again, and Jane runs to her room. Shelley,
unable to sleep, kissed Mary, and prepared to sit beside her
and read till morning, when rapid footsteps descended the
stairs. Jane was there ; her countenance was distorted most
unnaturally by horrible dismay it beamed with a whiteness
that seemed almost like light ; her lips and cheeks were of one
deadly hue ; the skin of her face and forehead was drawn into
innumerable wrinkles the lineaments of terror that could not
be contained ; her hair came prominent and erect ; her eyes
were wide and staring, drawn almost from the sockets by the
convulsion of the muscles ; the eyelids were forced in, and
the eyeballs, without any relief, seemed as if they had been
newly inserted, in ghastly sport, in the sockets of a lifeless
head. This frightful spectacle endured but for a few moments
it was displaced by terror and confusion, violent indeed,
and full of dismay, but human. She asked me if I had
touched her pillow (her tone was that of dreadful alarm). I
said, " No, no ! if you will come into the room I will tell you."
92 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
I informed her of Mary's pregnancy ; this seemed to check
her violence. She told me that a pillow placed upon her bed
had been removed, in the moment that she turned her eyes
away to a chair at some distance, and evidently by no human
power. She was positive as to the facts of her self-possession
and calmness. Her manner convinced me that she was not
deceived. We continued to sit by the fire, at intervals engag-
ing in awful conversation relative to the nature of these mys-
teries. I read part of Alexy ; I repeated one of my own
poems. Our conversation, though intentionally directed to
other topics, irresistibly recurred to these. Our candles burned
low ; we feared they would not last until daylight. Just as
the dawn was struggling with moonlight, Jane remarked in me
that unutterable expression which had affected her with so
much horror before ; she described it as expressing a mixture
of deep sadness and conscious power over her. I covered my
face with my hands, and spoke to her in the most studied
gentleness. It was ineffectual ; her horror and agony increased
even to the most dreadful convulsions. She shrieked and
writhed on the floor. I ran to Mary ; I communicated in few
words the state of Jane. I brought her to Mary. The con-
vulsions gradually ceased, and she slept. At daybreak we
examined her apartment and found her pillow on the chair.
Saturday, October 8 (Mary). Read Political Justice. We
walked out ; when we return Shelley talks with Jane, and
I read Wrongs of Women. In the evening we talk and
read.
Tuesday, October n. Read Political Justice. Shelley goes
to the Westminster Insurance Office. Study Greek. Peacock
dines. Receive a refusal about the money. . . .
Have a good-humoured letter from Harriet, and a cold and
even sarcastic one from Mrs. Boinville. Shelley reads the
History of the Illuminati, out of Barruel, to us.
Wednesday, October 12. Read Political Justice. A letter
from Marshall Jane goes there. When she comes home we
go to Cheapside; returning, an occurrence. Deliberation
until 7 ; burn the letter ; sleep early.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 93
Thursday, October 13. Communicate the burning of the
letter. Much dispute and discussion concerning its probable
contents. Alarm. Determine to quit London ; send for ^5
from Hookham. Change our resolution. Go to the play.
The extreme depravity and disgusting nature of the scene ;
the inefficacy of acting to encourage or maintain the delusion.
The loathsome sight of men personating characters which do
not and cannot belong to them. Shelley displeased with what
he. saw of Kean. Return. Alarm. We sleep at the Stratford
Hotel.
Friday, October 1 4 (Shelley). Jane's insensibility and inca-
pacity for the slightest degree of friendship. The feelings occa-
sioned by this discovery prevent me from maintaining any
measure in security. This highly incorrect ; subversion of the
first principles of true philosophy ; characters, particularly those
which are unformed, may change. Beware of weakly giving way
to trivial sympathies. Content yourself with one great affection
with a single mighty hope ; let the rest of mankind be the sub-
jects of your benevolence, your justice, and, as human beings,
of your sensibility ; but, as you value many hours of peace,
never suffer more than one even to approach the hallowed
circle. Nothing should shake the truly great spirit which is not
sufficiently mighty to destroy it.
Peacock calls. I take some interest in this man, but no
possible conduct of his would disturb my tranquillity. . . .
Converse with Jane ; her mind unsettled ; her character un-
formed; occasion of hope from some instances of softness and
feeling ; she is not entirely insensible to concessions, new
proofs that the most exalted philosophy, the truest virtue, con-
sists in an habitual contempt of self; a subduing of all angry
feelings ; a sacrifice of pride and selfishness. When you
attempt benefit to either an individual or a community, abstain
from imputing it as an error that they despise or overlook your
virtue. These are incidental reflections which arise only in-
directly from the circumstances recorded.
Walk with Peacock to the pond ; talk of Marian and Greek
metre. Peacock dines. In the evening read Cicero and the
94 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Paradoxa. Night comes ; Jane walks in her sleep, and groans
horribly ; listen for two hours ; at length bring her to Mary.
Begin Julius, and finish the little volume of Cicero.
The next morning the chimney board in Jane's room is
found to have walked leisurely into the middle of the room,
accompanied by the pillow, who, being very sleepy, tried to
get into bed again, but sat down on his back.
Saturday, October 1 5 (Mary). After breakfast read Political
Justice. Shelley goes with Peacock to Ballachy's. A disappoint-
ment ; it is put off till Monday. They then go to Homerton.
Finish St. Leon. Jane writes to Marshall. A letter from my
Father. Talking ; Jane and I walk out. Shelley and Peacock
return at 6. Shelley advises Jane not to go. Jane's letter
to my Father. A refusal. Talk about going away, and, as
usual, settle nothing.
Wednesday, October 19. Finish Political Justice, read Caleb
Williams. Shelley goes to the city, and meets with a total
failure. Send to Hookham. Shelley reads a part of Comus
aloud.
Thursday, October 20. Shelley goes to the city. Finish Caleb
Williams ; read to Jane. Peacock calls ; he has called on my
father, who will not speak about Shelley to any one but an
attorney. Oh ! philosophy ! . . .
Saturday, October 2 2. Finish the Life of Alfieri. Go to the
tomb (Mary Wollstonecraft's), and read the Essay on Sepulchres
there. Shelley is out all the morning at the lawyer's, but no-
thing is done. . . .
In the evening a letter from Fanny, warning us of the
Hookhams. Jane and Shelley go after her ; they find her, but
Fanny runs away.
Monday, October 24. Read aloud to Jane. At n go out
to meet Shelley. Walk up and down Fleet Street; call at
Peacock's ; return to Fleet Street ; call again at Peacock's ;
return to Pan eras ; remain an hour or two. People call ; I
suppose bailiffs. Return to Peacock's. Call at the coffee-
house ; see Shelley ; he has been to Ballachy's. Good hopes ;
to be decided Thursday morning. Return to Peacock's ; dine
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 95
there ; get money. Return home in a coach ; go to bed soon,
tired to death.
Thursday, October 25. Write to Shelley. Jane goes to
Fanny. . . . Call at Peacock's ; go to the hotel ; Shelley not
there. Go back to Peacock's. Peacock goes to Shelley. Meet
Shelley in Holborn. Walk up and down Bartlett's Buildings.
. . . Come with him to Peacock's ; talk with him till i o ;
return to Pancras without him. Jane in the dumps all even-
ing about going away.
Wednesday, October 26. A visit from Shelley's old friends; l
they go away much disappointed and very angry. He has
written to T. Hookham to ask him to be bail. Return to
Pancras about 4. Read all the evening.
Thursday, October 27. Write to Fanny all morning. We
had received letters from Skinner Street in the morning.
Fanny is very doleful, and C. C. contradicts in one line what
he had said in the line before. After two go to St. Paul's ;
meet Shelley ; go with him in a coach to Hookham's ; H. is
out ; return ; leave him and proceed to Pancras. He has not
received a definitive answer from Ballachy ; meet a money-
lender, of whom I have some hopes. Read aloud to Jane
in the evening. Jane goes to sleep. Write to Shelley. A
letter comes enclosing a letter from Hookham consenting to
justify bail. Harriet has been to work there against my
Father.
Tuesday, November i. Learn Greek all morning. Shelley
goes to the 'Change. Jane calls. 2 People want their money ;
won't send up dinner, and we are all very hungry. Jane goes
to Hookham. Shelley and I talk about her character. Jane
returns without money. Writes to Fanny about coming to see
her ; she can't come. Writes to Charles. Goes to Peacock
to send him to us with some eatables ; he is out. Charles
promises to see her. She returns to Pancras ; he goes there,
and tells the dismal state of the Skinner Street affairs. Shelley
1 The bailiffs.
, 2 She was staying temporarily at Skinner Street.
96 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
goes to Peacock's ; comes home with cakes. Wait till T. Hook-
ham sends money to pay the bill. Shelley returns to Pancras.
Have tea, and go to bed. Shelley goes to Peacock's to sleep.
These are two specimens of the notes con-
stantly passing between them.
MARY TO SHELLEY.
25/7* October.
For what a minute did I see you yesterday. Is this
the way, my beloved, we are to live till the 6th? In
the morning when I wake I turn to look on you. Dearest
Shelley, you are solitary and uncomfortable. Why cannot I
be with you, to cheer you and press you to my heart ? Ah !
my love, you have no friends ; why, then, should you be torn
from the only one who has affection for you ? But I shall see
you to-night, and this is the hope I shall live on through the
day. Be happy, dear Shelley, and think of me ! I know
how tenderly you love me, and how you repine at your absence
from me. When shall we be free of treachery ? I send
you the letter I told you of from Harriet, and a letter we
received yesterday from Fanny ; the history of this interview
I will tell you when I come. I was so dreadfully tired yester-
day that I was obliged to take a coach home. Forgive this
extravagance, but I am so very weak at present, and I had
been so agitated through the day, that I was not able to stand ;
a morning's rest, however, will set me quite right again ; I shall
be well when I meet you this evening. Will you be at the
door of the coffee-house at 5 o'clock, as it is disagreeable
to go into those places. I shall be there exactly at that time,
and we can go into St. Paul's, where we can sit down.
I send you Diogenes, as you have no books. Hookham
was so ill-tempered as not to send the book I asked for. So
this is the end of my letter, dearest love.
What do they mean ? l I detest Mrs. Godwin ; she plagues
1 Referring to Fanny's letter, enclosed.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 97
my father out of his life ; and these Well, no matter.
Why will Godwin not follow the obvious bent of his affections,
and be reconciled to us ? No ; his prejudices, the world, and
she all these forbid it. What am I to do? trust to time, of
course, for what else can I do. Good-night, my love ; to-
morrow I will seal this blessing on your lips. Press me, your
own Mary, to your heart. Perhaps she will one day have a
father; till then be everything to me, love; and, indeed, I
will be a good girl, and never vex you. I will learn Greek
and but when shall we meet when I may tell you all this,
and you will so sweetly reward me ? But good-night ; I am
wofully tired, and so sleepy. One kiss well, that is enough
to-morrow !
SHELLEY TO MARY.
2%th October.
MY BELOVED MARY I know not whether these transient
meetings produce not as much pain as pleasure. What have
I said? I do not mean it. I will not forget the sweet
moments when I saw your eyes the divine rapture of the
few and fleeting kisses. Yet, indeed, this must cease ; indeed,
we must not part thus wretchedly to meet amid the comfortless
tumult of business ; to part I know not how.
Well, dearest love, to-morrow to-morrow night. That
eternal clock ! Oh ! that I could " fright the steeds of lazy-
paced Time." I do not think that I am less impatient now
than formerly to repossess to entirely engross my own
treasured love. It seems so unworthy a cause for the slightest
separation. I could reconcile it to my own feelings to go to
prison if they would cease to persecute us with interruptions.
Would it not be better, my heavenly love, to creep into the
loathliest cave so that we might be together.
Mary, love, we must be -united; I will not part from you
again after Saturday night. We must devise some scheme.
I must return. Your thoughts alone can waken mine to
energy ; my mind without yours is dead and cold as the dark
midnight river when the moon is down. It seems as if you
VOL. i 7
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
alone could shield me from impurity and vice. If I were
absent from you long, I should shudder with horror at myself;
my understanding becomes undisciplined without you. I
believe I must become in Mary's hands what Harriet was in
mine. Yet how differently disposed how devoted and affec-
tionate how, beyond measure, reverencing and adoring the
intelligence that governs me ! I repent me of this simile ; it
is unjust; it is false. Nor do I mean that I consider you
much my superior, evidently as you surpass me in originality
and simplicity of mind. How divinely sweet a task it is to
imitate each other's excellences, and each moment to become
wiser in this surpassing love, so that, constituting but one being,
all real knowledge may be comprised in the maxim yvw#i creaurov
(know thyself) with infinitely more justice than in its
narrow and common application. I enclose you Hookham's
note ; what do you think of it ? My head aches ; I am not
well ; I am tired with this comfortless estrangement from all
that is dear to me. My own dearest love, good-night. I meet
you in Staples Inn at twelve to-morrow half an hour before
twelve. I have written to Hooper and Sir J. Shelley.
Journal, Thursday, November 3 (Mary). Work; write to
Shelley; read Greek grammar. Receive a letter from Mr.
Booth ; so all my hopes are over there. Ah ! Isabel ; I did
not think you would act thus. Read and work in the evening.
Receive a letter from Shelley. Write to him.
[Letter not transcribed here.]
Sunday, November 6. Talk to Shelley. He writes a great
heap of letters. Read part of St. Leon. Talk with him all
evening ; this is a day devoted to Love in idleness. Go to sleep
early in the evening. Shelley goes away a little before i o.
Wednesday, November 9. Pack up all morning; leave
Pancras about 3 ; call at Peacock's for Shelley ; Charles
Clairmont has been for 8. Go to Nelson Square. Jane
gloomy ; she is very sullen with Shelley. Well, never mind,
my love we are happy.
Thursday, November 10. Jane is not well, and does not
MA R Y WOLLSTONECRA FT SHELLE Y 99
speak the whole day. We send to Peacock's, but no good
news arrives. Lambert has called there, and says he will write.
Read a little of Petronius, a most detestable book. Shelley
is out all the morning. In the evening read Louvet's Memoirs
go to bed early. Shelley and Jane sit up till 12, talking;
Shelley talks her into a good humour.
Sunday, November 13. Write in the morning; very unwell
all day. Fanny sends a letter to Jane to come to Blackfriars
Road ; Jane cannot go. Fanny comes here ; she will not see
me ; hear everything she says, however. They think my letter
cold and indelicate ! God bless them. Papa tells Fanny if
she sees me he will never speak to her again ; a blessed degree
of liberty this ! He has had a very impertinent letter from
Christy Baxter. The reason she comes is to ask Jane to
Skinner Street to see Mrs. Godwin, who they say is dying.
Jane has no clothes. Fanny goes back to Skinner Street to
get some. She returns. Jane goes with her. Shelley returns
(he had been to Hookham's) ; he disapproves. Write and
read. In the evening talk with my love about a great many
things. We receive a letter from Jane saying she is very
happy, and she does not know when she will return. Turner
has called at Skinner Street ; he says it is too far to Nelson
Square. I am unwell in the evening.
Journal, November 1 4 (Shelley). Mary is unwell. Receive a
note from Hogg ; cloth from Clara. I wish this girl had a
resolute mind. Without firmness understanding is impotent,
and the truest principles unintelligible. Charles calls to con-
fer concerning Lambert ; walk with him. Go to 'Change, to
Peacock's, to Lambert's ; receive ^30. In the evening Hogg
calls ; perhaps he still may be my friend, in spite of the radical
differences of sympathy between us; he was pleased with
Mary ; this was the test by which I had previously determined
to judge his character. We converse on many interesting sub-
jects, and Mary's illness disappears for a time.
Thursday, November 1 5 (Shelley). Disgusting dreams have
occupied the night.
(Mary). Very unwell. Jane calls ; converse with her.
ioo THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
She goes to Skinner Street ; tells Papa that she will not return ;
comes back to Nelson Square with Shelley ; calls at Peacock's.
Shelley read aloud to us in the evening out of Adolphus's Lives.
Wednesday, November 1 6. Very ill all day. Shelleyand Jane
out all day shopping about the town. Shelley reads Edgar
Huntley to us. Shelley and Jane go to Hookham's. Hogg
comes in the meantime ; he stops all the evening. Shelley
writes his critique till half-past 3.
Saturday, November 1 9. Very ill. Shelley and Jane go out
to call at Mrs. Knapp's ; she receives Jane kindly ;' promises to
come and see me. I go to bed early. Charles Clairmont calls
in the evening, but I do not see him.
Sunday, November 20. Still very ill ; get up very late. In the
evening Shelley reads aloud out of the Female Revolutionary
Plutarch. Hogg comes in the evening. . . . Get into an
argument about virtue, in which Hogg makes a sad bungle ;
quite muddled on the point, I perceive.
Tuesday, November 2 9. Work all day. Heigh ho ! Clara
and Shelley go before breakfast to Parker's. After breakfast,
Shelley is as badly off as I am with my work, for he is out all
day with those lawyers. In the evening Shelley and Jane go
in search of Charles Clairmont ; they cannot find him. Read
Philip Stanley very stupid.
Tuesday, December 6. Very unwell. Shelley and Clara walk
out, as usual, to heaps of places. Read Agathon, which I do
not like so well as Peregrine. ... A letter from Hookham,
to say that Harriet has been brought to bed of a son and heir.
Shelley writes a number of circular letters of this event, which
ought to be ushered in with ringing of bells, etc., for it is the
son of his wife. Hogg comes in the evening ; I like him
better, though he vexed me by his attachment to sporting.
A letter from Harriet confirming the news, in a letter from a
deserted wife ! ! and telling us he has been born a week.
Wednesday, December 7. Clara and Shelley go out together ;
Shelley calls on the lawyers and on Harriet, who treats him
with insulting selfishness ; they return home wet and very
tired. Read Agathon. I like it less to-day; he discovers
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 101
many opinions which I think detestable. Work. In the
evening Charles Clairmont comes. Hear that Place is trying
to raise ; 1 200 to pay Hume on Shelley's post obit; affairs
very bad in Skinner Street ; afraid of a call for the rent ; all
very bad. Shelley walks home with Charles Clairmont ; goes
to Hookham's about the^ioo to lend my Father. Hookham
out. He returns ; very tired. Work in the evening.
Thursday, December 8. Shelley and Clara go to Hook-
ham's ; get the ^90 for my father ; they are out, as usual, all
morning. Finish Agathon. I do not like it ; Wieland displays
some most detestable opinions ; he is one of those men who
alter all their opinions when they are about forty, and then
think it will be the same with every one, and that they are
themselves the only proper monitors of youth. Work. When
Shelley and Clara return, Shelley goes to Lambert's ; out.
Work. In the evening Hogg comes; talk about a great
number of things ; he is more sincere this evening than I
have seen him before. Odd dreams.
Friday, December 1 6. Still ill ; heigh ho ! Finish Jane
Talbot. Hume calls at half-past 1 2 ; he tells of the great dis-
tress in Skinner Street ; I do not see him. Hookham calls ;
hasty little man ; he does not stay long. In the evening Hogg
comes. Shelley and Clara are at first out ; they have been to
look for Charles Clairmont ; they find him, and walk with him
some time up and down Ely Place. Shelley goes to sleep
early; very tired. We talk about flowers and trees in the
evening ; a country conversation.
Saturday, December 17. Very ill Shelley and Clara go to
Pike's ; when they return, Shelley goes to walk round the
Square. Talk with Shelley in the evening ; he sleeps, and I lie
down on the bed. Jane goes to Pike's at 9. Charles Clairmont
comes, and talks about several things. Mrs. Godwin did not
allow Fanny to come down to dinner on her receiving a lock
of my hair. Fanny of course behaves slavishly on the oc-
casion. He goes at half-past 1 1.
Sunday, December 18. Better, but far from well. Pass a
very happy morning with Shelley. Charles Clairmont comes at
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
dinner-time, the Skinner Street folk having gone to dine at
the Kennie's. Jane and he take a long walk together.
Shelley and I are left alone. Hogg comes after Clara and
her brother return. C. C. flies from the field on his approach.
Conversation as usual. Get worse towards night.
Monday, December 19 (Shelley). Mary rather better this
morning. Jane goes to Hume's about Godwin's bills ; learn
that Lambert is inclined, but hesitates. Hear of a woman
supposed to be the daughter of the Duke of Montrose who
has the head of a hog. Suetonius is finished, and Shelley
begins the Historia Augustana. Charles Clairmont comes in the
evening ; a discussion concerning female character. Clara im-
agines that I treat her unkindly ; Mary consoles her with her all-
powerful benevolence. I rise (having already gone to bed) and
speak with Clara ; she was very unhappy ; I leave her tranquil.
Tuesday, December 20 (Mary). Shelley goes to Pike's ; take
a short walk with him first. Unwell. A letter from Harriet,
who threatens Shelley with her lawyer. In the evening read
Emilia Galotti. Hogg comes. Converse of various things.
He goes at twelve.
Wednesday, December 2 1 (Shelley). Mary is.better. Shelley
goes to Pike's, to the Insurance Offices, and the lawyer's ; an
agreement entered into for ^3000 for ^1000. A letter
from Wales, offering post obit. Shelley goes to Hume's ; Mary
reads Miss Baillie's plays in the evening. Shelley goes to bed
at 8 ; Mary at n.
Saturday, December 24 (Mary).- Read View of French Re-
volution. Walk out with Shelley, and spend a dreary morning
waiting for him at Mr. Peacock's. In the evening Hogg
comes. I like him better each time ; it is a pity that he is a
lawyer ; he wasted so much time on that trash that might be
spent on better things.
Sunday, December 25. Christmas Day. Have a very bad
side-ache in the morning, so I rise late. Charles Clairmont
comes and dines with us. In the afternoon read Miss
Baillie's plays. Hogg spends the evening with us ; conversa-
tion, as usual.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 103
Monday, December 26 (Shelley). The sweet Male asleep;
leave a note with her. Walk with Clara to Pike's, etc. Go
to Hampstead and look for a house ; we return in a return-
chaise ; find that Laurence has arrived, and consult for Mary ;
she has read Miss Baillie's plays all day. Mary better this
evening. Shelley very much fatigued ; sleeps all the evening.
Read Candide.
Tuesday ', December 2 7 (Mary). Not very well ; Shelley very
unwell. Read De Montfort, and talk with Shelley in the
evening. Read View of the French Revolution. Hogg comes
in the evening ; talk of heaps of things. Shelley's odd dream.
Wednesday, December 28. Shelley and Clara out all the
morning. Read French Revolution in the evening. Shelley and
I go to Gray's Inn to get Hogg ; he is not there ; go to Arundel
Street ; can't find him. Go to Garnerin's. Lecture on elec-
tricity ; the gases, and the phantasmagoria ; return at half-past
9. Shelley goes to sleep. Read View of French Revolution
till 12; go to bed.
Friday, December 30. Shelley and Jane go out as usual.
Read Bryan Edwards's Account of West Indies. They do not
return till past seven, having been locked into Kensington
Gardens ; both very tired. Hogg spends the evening with us.
Saturday, December 3 1 (Shelley). The poor Maie was very
weak and tired all day. Shelley goes to Pike's and Humes'
and Mrs. Peacock's ; x return very tired, and sleeps all the
evening. The Maie goes to sleep early. New Year's Eve.
In January 1815 Shelley's grandfather, Sir
Bysshe, died, and his father, Mr. Timothy Shelley,
succeeded to the baronetcy and estate. By an
arrangement with his father, according to which
he relinquished all claim on a certain portion of
his patrimony, Shelley now became possessed of
^1000 a year (^"200 a year of which he at once set
1 Peacock's mother.
104 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
apart for Harriet), as well as a considerable sum of
ready money for the relief of his present necessi-
ties. ^200 of this he also sent to Harriet to pay
her debts. The next few entries in the journal
were, however, written before this event.
Thursday, January 5 (Mary). Go to breakfast at Hogg's ;
Shelley leaves us there and goes to Hume's. When he returns
we go to Newman Street ; see the statue of Theoclea ; it is a
divinity that raises your mind to all virtue and excellence ; I
never beheld anything half so wonderfully beautiful. Return
home very ill. Expect Hogg in the evening, but he does not
come. Too ill to read.
Friday, January 6. Walk to Mrs. Peacock's with Clara.
Walk with Hogg to Theoclea ; she is ten thousand times
more beautiful to-day than ever ; tear ourselves away. Return
to Nelson Square ; no one at home. Hogg stays a short
time with me. Shelley had stayed at home till 2 to see
Ryan ; l he does not come. Goes out about business. In
the evening Shelley and Clara go to Garnerin's. . . . Very
unwell. Hogg comes. Shelley and Clara return at ten.
Conversation as usual. Shelley reads " Ode to France "
aloud, and repeats the poem to "Tranquillity." Talk with
Shelley afterwards for some time ; at length go to sleep.
Shelley goes out and sits in the other room till 5 ; I then
call him. Talk. Shelley goes to sleep; at 8 Shelley rises
and goes out.
The next entry is made during Shelley's short
absence in Sussex, after his grandfather's death.
Clara had accompanied him on his journey.
(Date between January 7 and January 13). Letter from
Peacock to say that he is in prison. . . . His debt is ^40.
1 A friend of Harriet Shelley's.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 105
. . . Write to Peacock and send him 2. Hogg dines with
me and spends the evening ; letter from Hookham.
Friday, January 13. A letter from Clara. While I am at
breakfast Shelley and Clara arrive. The will has been opened,
and Shelley is referred to Whitton. His father would not allow
him to enter Field Place ; he sits before the door and reads
Comus. Dr. Blocksome comes out ; tells him that his father
is very angry with him. Sees my name in Milton. . . . Hogg
dines, and spends the evening with us.
Sunday, January 24. In the evening Shelley, Clara, and
Hogg sleep. Read Gibbon. . . . Hogg goes at half-past 1 1 .
Shelley and Clara explain as usual.
Monday, January 30. Work all day. Shelley reads Livy.
In the evening Shelley reads Paradise Regained aloud, and
then goes to sleep. Hogg comes at 9. Talk and work.
Hogg sleeps here.
Wednesday, February i. Read Gibbon (end of vol. i.)
Shelley reads Livy in the evening. Work. Shelley and Clara
sleep. Hogg comes and sleeps here. Mrs. Hill calls.
Sunday, February 5. Read Gibbon. Take a long walk in
Kensington Gardens and the Park ; meet Clairmont as we
return, and hear that my father wishes to see a copy of the
codicil, because he thinks Shelley is acting rashly. All this is
very odd and inconsistent, but I never quarrel with incon-
sistency ; folks must change their minds. After dinner talk.
Shelley finishes Gibbon's Memoirs aloud. Clara, Shelley, and
Hogg sleep. Read Gibbon. Shelley writes to Longdill and
Clairmont. Hogg ill, but we cannot persuade him to stay;
he goes at half- past 1 1.
Wednesday, February 8. Ash Wednesday. So Hogg stays
all day. We are to move to-day, so Shelley and Clara go out to
look for lodgings. Hogg and I pack, and then talk. Shelley
and Clara do not return till 3 ; they have not succeeded ; go
out again ; they get apartments at Hans Place ; move. In
the evening talk and read Gibbon. Letters. Pike calls ;
insolent plague. Hogg goes at half-past n.
Tuesday, February 14 (Shelley). Shelley goes to Longdill's
io6 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
and Hayward's, and returns feverish and fatigued. Maie fin-
ishes the third volume of Gibbon. All unwell in the evening.
Hogg comes and puts us to bed. Hogg goes at half-past 1 1.
In this month, probably on the 22d (but that
page of the diary is torn), when they had been
hardly more than a week in their last new lodgings,
a little girl was born. Although her confinement
was premature, Mary had a favourable time ; the
infant, a scarcely seven months' child, was not
expected to live ; it survived, however, for some
days. It might possibly have been saved, had it
had an ordinary chance of life given it, but, on the
ninth day of its existence, the whole family moved
yet again to new lodgings. How the young
mother ever recovered from the fatigues, risks,
and worries she had to go through at this -critical
time may well be wondered. It is more than
probable that the unreasonable demands made
on her strength and courage during this month
and those which preceded it laid the foundation of
much weak health later on. The child was sacri-
ficed. Four days after the move it was found in
the morning dead by its mother's side. The poor
little thing was a mere passing episode in Shelley's
troubled, hurried existence. Only to Mary were
its birth and death a deep and permanent experi-
ence. Apart from her love for Shelley, her affec-
tions had been chiefly of the intellectual kind, and
even in her relation with him mental affinity had
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 107
played a great part. A new chord in her tempera-
ment was set vibrating by the advent of this baby,
the maternal one, quite absent from her disposition
before, and which was to assert itself at last as the
keynote of her nature.
Hogg, who was almost constantly with them
at this time, seems to have been kind, helpful, and
sympathetic.
The baby's birth was too much for Fanny
Godwin's endurance and fortitude. Up to this
time she had, in accordance with what she con-
ceived to be her duty, held aloof from the Shelleys,
but, the barrier once broken down, she came re-
peatedly to see them. Mrs. Godwin showed that
she had a soft spot in her heart by sending Mary,
through Fanny, a present of linen, no doubt most
welcome at this unprepared-for crisis. Beyond
this she was unrelenting. Her pride, however,
was not so strong as her feminine curiosity, which
she indulged still by parading before the windows
and trying to get peeps at the people behind them.
She was annoyed with Fanny, who now, however,
held her own course, feeling that her duty could
not be all on one side while her family consented
to be dependent, and that every moment of her
father's peace and safety were due entirely to this
Shelley whom he would not see.
Journal, February 22 (Shelley) (after the baby's birth).
Male perfectly well and at ease. The child is not quite seven
io8 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
months ; the child not expected to live. Shelley sits up with
Maie, much exhausted and agitated. Hogg sleeps here.
Thursday, February 23. Mary quite well; the child un-
expectedly alive, but still not expected .to live. Hogg returns
in the evening at half-past 7. Shelley writes to Fanny request-
ing her to come and see Maie. Fanny comes and remains the
whole night, the Godwins being absent from home. Charles
comes at 1 1 with linen from Mrs. Godwin. Hogg departs at
IJ - .3 from Longdill.
Friday, February 24. Maie still well ; favourable symptoms
in the child ; we may indulge some hopes. Hogg calls at 2.
Fanny departs. Dr. Clarke calls ; confirms our hopes of the
child. Shelley finishes second volume of Livy, p. 657.
Hogg comes in the evening. Shelley .very unwell and ex-
hausted.
Saturday, February 25. The child very well ; Maie very
well also ; drawing milk all day. Shelley is very unwell.
Sunday, February 26 (Mary). Maie rises to-day. Hogg
comes ; talk ; she goes to bed at 6. Hogg calls at the lodg-
ings we have taken. Read Corinne. Shelley and Clara go to
sleep. Hogg returns ; talk with him till past 1 1. He goes.
Shelley and Clara go down to tea. Just settling to sleep
when a knock comes to the door ; it is Fanny ; she came
to see how we were; she stays talking till half- past 3, and
then leaves the room that Shelley and Mary may sleep.
Shelley has a spasm.
Monday, February 27. Rise; talk and read Corinne.
Hogg comes in the evening. Shelley and Clara go out
about a cradle. . . .
Tuesday, February 2 8. I come downstairs ; talk, nurse the
baby, read Corinne, and work. Shelley goes to Pemberton
about his health.
Wednesday, March i. Nurse the baby, read Corinne, and
work. Shelley and Clara out all morning. In the evening
Peacock comes. Talk about types, editions, and Greek letters
all the evening. Hogg comes. They go away at half-past
1 1 . Bonaparte invades France.
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRA FT SHELLE Y 1 09
Thursday, March 2. A bustle of moving. Read Corinne.
I and my baby go about 3. Shelley and Clara do not come
till 6. Hogg comes in the evening.
Friday, March 3. Nurse my baby ; talk, and read Corinne.
Hogg comes in the evening.
Saturday, March 4. Read, talk, and nurse. Shelley reads
the Life of Chaucer. Hogg comes in the evening and
sleeps.
Sunday, March 5. Shelley and Clara go to town. Hogg
here all day. Read Corinne and nurse my baby. In the
evening talk. Shelley finishes the Life of Chaucer. Hogg
goes at 1 1 .
Monday, March 6. Find my baby dead. Send for Hogg.
Talk. A miserable day. In the evening read Fall of the
Jesuits. Hogg sleeps here.
Tuesday, March 7. Shelley and Clara go after breakfast
to town. Write to Fanny. Hogg stays all day with us ;
talk with him, and read the Fall of the Jesuits and Rinaldo
Rinaldini. Not in good spirits. Hogg goes at n. A fuss.
To bed at 3.
Wednesday, March 8. Finish Rinaldini. Talk with
Shelley. In very bad spirits, but get better ; sleep a little in
the day. In the evening net. Hogg comes ; he goes at half-
past ii. Clara has written for Fanny, but she does not
come.
Thursday, March 9. Read and talk. Still think about
my little baby. 'Tis hard, indeed, for a mother to lose a
child. Hogg and Charles Clairmont come in the evening.
C. C. goes at n. Hogg stays all night. Read Fontenelle,
Plurality of Worlds.
Friday, March 10. Hogg's holidays begin. Shelley,
Hogg, and Clara go to town. Hogg comes back soon. Talk
and net. Hogg now remains with us. Put the room to
rights.
Saturday, March n. Very unwell Hogg goes to town.
Talk about Clara's going away ; nothing settled ; I fear it is
hopeless. She will not go to Skinner Street ; then our house
1 10 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
is the only remaining place, I see plainly. What is to be
done? Hogg returns. Talk, and Hogg reads the Life of
Goldoni aloud.
Sunday, March 4. Talk a great deal. Not well, but
better. Very quiet all the morning, and happy, for Clara
does not get up till 4. In the evening read Gibbon, fourth
volume; go to bed at 12.
Monday, March 13. Shelley and Clara go to town. Stay
at home ; net, and think of my little dead baby. This is
foolish, I suppose ; yet, whenever I am left alone to my own
thoughts, and do not read to divert them, they always come
back to the same point that I was a mother, and am so no
longer. Fanny comes, wet through ; she dines, and stays the
evening ; talk about many things ; she goes at half- past 9.
Cut out my new gown.
Tuesday, March 14. Shelley calls on Dr. Pemberton.
Net till breakfast. Shelley reads Religio Medici aloud, after
Hogg has gone to town. Work ; finish Hogg's purse. Shelley
and I go upstairs and talk of Clara's going; the pros-
pect appears to me more dismal than ever ; not the least
hope. This is, indeed, hard to bear. In the evening
Hogg reads Gibbon to me. Charles Clairmont comes in the
evening.
Sunday, March 19. Dream that my little baby came to
life again ; that it had only been cold, and that we rubbed
it before the fire, and it lived. Awake and find no baby. I
think about the little thing all day. Not in good spirits.
Shelley is very unwell. Read Gibbon. Charles Clairmont
comes. Hogg goes to town till dinner-time. Talk with
Charles Clairmont about Skinner Street. They are very badly
off there. I am afraid nothing can be done to save them.
C. C. says that he shall go to America ; this I think a rather
wild project in the Clairmont style. Play a game of chess
with Clara. In the evening Shelley and Hogg play at chess.
Shelley and Clara walk part of the way with Charles Clair-
mont. Play chess with Hogg, and then read Gibbon.
Monday, March 20. Dream again about my baby. Work
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY in
after breakfast, and then go with Shelley, Hogg, and Clara to
Bullock's Museum ; spend the morning there. Return and
find more letters for A. Z. one from a "Disconsolate
Widow." 1
Wednesday \ March 22. Talk, and read the papers. Read
Gibbon all day. Charles Clairmont calls about Shelley lending
;ioo. We do not return a decisive answer.
Thursday, March 23. Read Gibbon. Shelley reads Livy.
Walk with Shelley and Hogg to Arundel Street. Read Le
Diable Boiteux. Hear that Bonaparte has entered Paris. As
we come home, meet my father and Charles Clairmont. . . .
C. C. calls ; he tells us that Papa saw us, and that he re-
marked that Shelley was so beautiful, it was a pity he was so
wicked.
Tuesday, March 28. Work in the morning and then walk
out to look at house.
Saturday, April 8. Peacock comes at breakfast - time ;
Hogg and he go to town. Read L Esprit des Nations. Settle
to go to Virginia Water.
Sunday, April 9. Rise at 8. Charles Clairmont comes to
breakfast at i o. Read some lines of Ovid before breakfast ;
after, walk with Shelley, Hogg, Clara, and C. C. to pond in
Kensington Gardens ; return about 2. C. C. goes to Skinner
Street. Read Ovid with Hogg (finish second fable). Shelley
reads Gibbon and Pastor Fido with Clara. In the evening
read L'Esprit des Nations. Shelley reads Gibbon, Pastor
Fido, and the story of Myrrha in Ovid.
Monday, April 10. Read Voltaire before breakfast. After
breakfast work. Shelley passes the morning with Harriet, who
is in a surprisingly good humour. Mary reads third fable
of Ovid : Shelley and Clara read Pastor Fido. Shelley reads
Gibbon. Mrs. Godwin after dinner parades before the
1 It is presumed that these were for Clara, in answer to an advertisement
for a situation as companion.
112 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
windows. Talk in the evening with Hogg about mountains
and lakes and London.
Tuesday, April n. Work in the morning. Receive
letters from Skinner Street to say that Mamma had gone
away in the pet, and had stayed out all night. Read fourth
and fifth fables of Ovid. . . . After tea, work. Charles
Clairmont comes.
Saturday, April 15. Read Ovid till 3. Shelley and Clara
finish Pastor Fido, and then go out about Clara's lottery ticket;
draws. Clara's ticket comes up a prize. She buys two desks
after dinner. Read Ovid (ninety-five lines). Shelley and Clara
begin Orlando Furioso. A very grim dream.
Friday, April 21. After breakfast go with Shelley to
Peacock's. Shelley goes to Longdill's. Read third canto of
the Lord of the Isles. Return about 2. Shelley goes to
Harriet to procure his son, who is to appear in one of the
courts. After dinner look over W. W.'s poems. After tea
read forty lines of Ovid. Fanny comes and gives us an
account of Hogan's threatened arrest of my Father. Shelley
walks home part of the way with her. Very sleepy. Shelley
reads one canto of Ariosto.
Saturday, April 22. Read a little of Ovid. Shelley goes
to Harriet's about his son. Work. Fanny comes. Shelley
returns at 4 ; he has been much teased with Harriet. He
has been to Longdill's, Whitton's, etc., and at length has got a
promise that he shall appear Monday. After dinner Fanny
goes. Read sixty lines of Ovid. Shelley and Clara read to
the middle of the fourteenth canto of Ariosto.
Shortly after this several leaves of the journal
are lost.
Friday, May 5. After breakfast to Marshall's, 1 but do not
'see him. Go to the Tomb. Shelley goes to Longdill's. Return
soon. Read Spenser ; construe Ovid. . . . After dinner talk
with Shelley; then Shelley and Clara go out. . . . Fanny
1 Godwin's friend and amanuensis.
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLS Y 113
comes ; she tells us of Marshall's servant's death. Papa is to
see Mrs. Knapp to-morrow. Read Spenser. Walk home with
Fanny and with Shelley. . . . Shelley reads Seneca.
Monday, May 8. Go out with Shelley to Mrs. Knapp;
not at home. Buy Shelley a pencil-case. Return at i. Read
Spenser. Go again with Shelley to Mrs. Knapp ; she cannot
take Clara. Read Spenser after dinner. Clara goes out with
Shelley. Talk with Jefferson (Hogg) ; write to Marshall.
Read Spenser. They return at 8. Very tired; go to bed
early. Jefferson scolds.
Wednesday, May 10. Not very well; rise late. Walk to
Marshall's, and talk with him for an hour. Go with Jefferson
and Shelley to British Museum attend most to the statues ;
return at 2. Construe Ovid. After dinner construe Ovid
( i oo lines) ; finish second book of Spenser, and read two
cantos of the third. Shelley reads Seneca every day and all
day.
Friday, May 12. Not very well. After breakfast read
Spenser. Shelley goes out with his friend ; he returns first.
Construe Ovid (90 lines); read Spenser. Jefferson returns
at half-past 4, and tells us that poor Sawyer is to be hung.
These blessed laws ! After dinner read Spenser. Read over
the Ovid to Jefferson, and construe about ten lines more.
Read Spenser. Shelley and the lady walk out. After tea,
talk ; write Greek characters. Shelley and his friend have a
last conversation.
Saturday, May 13. Clara goes; Shelley walks with her.
C. C. comes to breakfast ; talk Shelley goes out with him.
Read Spenser all day (finish Canto 8, Book V.) Jefferson
does not come till 5. Get very anxious about Shelley ; go
out to meet him ; return ; it rains. Shelley returns at half-
past 6 ; the business is finished. After dinner Shelley is very
tired, and goes to sleep. Read Ovid (60 lines). C. C. comes
to tea. Talk of pictures.
(Mary). A tablespoonful of the spirit of aniseed, with a
small quantity of spermaceti.
VOL. i 8
ii4 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY
(Shelley) 9 drops of human blood, 7 grains of gunpowder,
\ oz. of putrified brain, 1 3 mashed grave worms the Pecksie's
doom salve.
The Maie and her Elfin Knight.
I begin a new journal with our regeneration.
CHAPTER VIII
MAY 1815 SEPTEMBER 1816
" OUR regeneration " meant, in other words, the
departure of Jane or "Clara" Clairmont who, on
the plea of needing change of air, went off by
herself into cottage lodgings at Lynmouth, in
North Devon. She had never shown any very
great desire to go back to her family in Skinner
Street, but even had it been otherwise, objections
had now been raised to her presence there which
made her return difficult if not impossible. Fanny
Godwin's aunts, Everina Wollstonecraft and Mrs.
Bishop, were Principals of a select Ladies' School
in Dublin, and intended that, on their own re-
tirement, their niece should succeed them in its
management. They strongly objected now to
her associating with Miss Clairmont, pointing
out that, even if her morals were not injured,
her professional prospects must be marred by
the fact being generally known of her connection
and companionship with a girl who undoubtedly
had run away from home, and who was, untruly
u6 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
but not groundlessly, reported to be concerned
in a notorious scandal.
Her continued presence in the Shelley house-
hold, a thing probably never contemplated at the
time of their hurried flight, was manifestly un-
desirable, on many grounds. To Mary it was a
perpetual trial, and must, in the end, have tended
towards disagreement between her and Shelley,
while it put Clara herself at great and unjust
social disadvantage. Not that she heeded that,
or regretted the barrier that divided her from
Skinner Street, where poverty and anxiety and
gloom reigned paramount, and where she would
have been watched with ceaseless and uncon-
cealed suspicion. She had heard that her re-
lations had even discussed the advisability of
immuring her in a convent if she could be
caught, but she did not mean to be caught.
She advertised for a situation as companion ;
nothing, however, came of this. An idea of
sending her to board in the family of a Mrs.
Knapp seems to have been entertained for some
months both by Godwins and Shelleys, Charles
Clairmont probably acting as a medium between
the two households. But, after appearing well
disposed at first, Mrs. Knapp thought better of
the plan. She did not want, and would not have
Clara. The final project, that of the Lynmouth
lodgings, w r as a sudden idea, suddenly carried
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 117
out, and devised with the Shelleys independently
of the Godwins, who were not consulted, nor
even informed, until it had been put into execu-
tion. So much is to be gathered from the letter
which Clara wrote to Fanny a fortnight after her
arrival.
CLARA TO FANNY.
Sunday ', zSth May 1815.
MY DEAR FANNY Mary writes me that you thought me
unkind in not letting you know before my departure ; indeed,
I meant no unkindness, but I was afraid if I told you that
it might prevent my putting a plan into execution which I
preferred before all the Mrs. Knapps in the world. Here I
am at liberty; there I should have been under a perpetual
restraint. Mrs. Knapp is a forward, impertinent, superficial
woman. Here there are none such ; a few cottages, with little,
rosy-faced children, scolding wives, and drunken husbands. I
wish I had a more amiable and romantic picture to present
to you, such as shepherds and shepherdesses, flocks and
madrigals ; but this is the truth, and the truth is best at all
times. I live in a little cottage, with jasmine and honey-
suckle twining over the window; a little downhill garden full
of roses, with a sweet arbour. There are only two gentle-
men's seats here, and they are both absent. The walks and
shrubberies are quite open, and are very delightful. Mr.
Foote's stands at top of the hill, and commands distant views
of the whole country. A green tottering bridge, flung from
rock to rock, joins his garden to his house, and his side of the
bridge is a waterfall. One tumbles directly down, and then
flows gently onward, while the other falls successively down
five rocks, and seems like water running down stone steps. I
will tell you, so far, that it is a valley I live in, and perhaps
one you may have seen. Two ridges of mountains enclose
the village, which is situated at the west end. A river, which
you may step over, runs at the foot of the mountains, and
ii8 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
trees hang so closely over, that when on a high eminence you
sometimes lose sight of it for a quarter of a mile. One ridge
of hills is entirely covered with luxuriant trees, the opposite
line is entirely bare, with long pathways of slate and gray rocks,
so that you might almost fancy they had once been volcanic.
Well, enough of the valleys and the mountains.
You told me you did not think I should ever be able to
live alone. If you knew my constant tranquillity, how cheerful
and gay I am, perhaps you would alter your opinion. I am
perfectly happy. After so much discontent, such violent
scenes, such a turmoil of passion and hatred, you will hardly
believe how enraptured I am with this dear little quiet spot.
I am as happy when I go to bed as when I rise. I am never
disappointed, for I know the extent of my pleasures ; and let it
rain or let it be fair weather, it does not disturb my serene
mood. This is happiness ; this is that serene and uninterrupted
rest I have long wished for. It is in solitude that the powers
concentre round the soul, and teach it the calm, determined
path of virtue and wisdom. Did you not find this did you
not find that the majestic and tranquil mountains impressed
deep and tranquil thoughts, and that everything conspired to
give a sober temperature of mind, more truly delightful and
satisfying than the gayest ebullitions of mirth ?
The foaming cataract and tall rock
Haunt me like a passion.
Now for a little chatting. I was quite delighted to hear
that Papa had at last got ^"1000. Riches seem to fly from
genius. I suppose, for a month or two, you will be easy pray
be cheerful. I begin to think there is no situation without its
advantages. You may learn wisdom and fortitude in ad-
versity, and in prosperity you may relieve and soothe. I
feel anxious to be wise ; to be capable of knowing the best ;
of following resolutely, however painful, what mature and
serious thought may prescribe ; and of acquiring a prompt and
vigorous judgment, and powers capable of execution. What
are you reading ? Tell Charles, with my best love, that I will
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 119
never forgive him for having disappointed me of Wordsworth,
which I miss very much. Ask him, likewise, to lend me his
Coleridge's poems, which I will take great care of. How is
dear Willy ? How is every one ? If circumstances get easy,
don't you think Papa and Mamma will go down to the seaside
to get up their health a little ? Write me a very long letter,
and tell me everything. How is your health? Now do
not be melancholy ; for heaven's sake be cheerful ; so young
in life, and so melancholy ! The moon shines in at my
window, there is a roar of waters, and the owls are hooting.
How often do I not wish for a curfew ! " swinging slow with
sullen roar ! " Pray write to me. Do, there's a good Fanny.
Affectionately yours, M. J. CLAIRMONT.
Miss Fanny Godwin,
41 Skinner Street, Snow Hill, London.
How long this delightful life of solitude lasted
is not exactly known. For a year after this time
both Clara's journal and that of Shelley and Mary
are lost, and the next thing we hear of Clara is
her being in town in the spring of 1816, when
she first made Lord Byron's acquaintance.
Mary, at any rate, enjoyed nearly a year of
comparative peace and tete-a-tete with Shelley,
which, after all she had gone through, must have
been happiness indeed. Had she known that it
was the only year she would ever pass with him
without the presence of a third person, it may be
that although her loyalty to Shelley stood every
test her heart might have sunk within her. But,
happily for her, she could not foresee this. Her let-
ter from Clifton shows that Clara's shadow haunted
TJJE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
her at times. Still she was happy, and at peace.
Her health, too, was better; and, though always
weighed down by Godwin's anxieties, she and Shel-
ley were, themselves, free for once from the pinch
of actual penury and the perpetual fear of arrest.
In June they made a tour in South Devon, and
very probably paid Clara a visit in her rural re-
tirement ; after which Mary stayed for some time
at Clifton, while Shelley travelled about looking
for a country house to suit them. It was during
one of his absences that Mary wrote to him the
letter referred to above.
MARY TO SHELLEY.
CLIFTON, 27^ July 1815.
MY BELOVED SHELLEY What I am now going to say is
not a freak from a fit of low spirits, but it is what I earnestly
entreat you to attend to and comply with.
We ought not to be absent any longer ; indeed we ought
not. I am not happy at it. When I retire to my room, no
sweet love ; after dinner, no Shelley ; though I have heaps of
things very particular to say ; in fine, either you must come
back, or I must come to you directly. You will say, shall we
neglect taking a house a dear home ? No, my love, I would
not for worlds give up that ; but I know what seeking for a
house is, and, trust me, it is a very, very long job, too long
for one love to undertake in the absence of the other. Dearest,
I know how it will be ; we shall both of us be put off, day after
day, with the hopes of the success of the next day's search,
for I am frightened to think how long. Do you not see it in
this light, my own love ? We have been now a long time
separated, and a house is not yet in sight ; and even if you
should fix on one, which I do not hope for in less than a
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 121
week, then the settling, etc. Indeed, my love, I cannot bear
to remain so long without you ; so, if you will not give me
leave, expect me without it some day ; and, indeed, it is very
likely that you may, for I am quite sick of passing day after
day in this hopeless way.
Pray, is Clara with you ? for I have inquired several times
and no letters ; but, seriously, it would not in the least sur-
prise me, if you have written to her from London, and let her
know that you are without me, that she should have taken
some such freak.
The Dormouse has hid the brooch ; and, pray, why am I
for ever and ever to be denied the sight of my case ? Have
you got it in your own possession ? or where is it ? It would
give me very great pleasure if you would send it me. I hope
you have not already appropriated it, for if you have I shall
think it un-Pecksie of you, as Maie was to give it you with her
own hands on. your birthday ; but it is of little consequence, for
I have no hope of seeing you on that day ; but I am mistaken,
for I have hope and certainty, for if you are not here on or
before the 3d of August, I set off on the 4th, in early coach,
so as to be with you in the evening of that dear day at least.
To-morrow is the 2 8th of July. Dearest, ought we not to
have been together on that day ? Indeed we ought, my love,
as I shall shed some tears to think we are not. Do not be
angry, dear love; your Pecksie is a good girl, and is quite
well now again, except a headache, when she waits so anxiously
for her love's letters.
Dearest, best Shelley, pray come to me ; pray, pray do not
stay away from me ! This is delightful weather, and you
better, we might have a delightful excursion to Tintern Abbey.
My dear, dear love, I most earnestly, and with tearful eyes, beg
that I may come to you if you do not like to leave the searches
after a house.
It is a long time to wait, even for an answer. To-morrow
may bring you news, but I have no hope, for you only set
off to look after one in the afternoon, and what can be done
at that hour of the day ? You cannot.
122 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
They finally settled on a house at Bishopsgate
just outside Windsor Park, where they passed
several months of tranquillity and comparative
health ; perhaps the most peacefully happy time
that Shelley had ever known or was ever to
know. Shadows he, too, had to haunt him, but
he was young, and the reaction from the long-
continued strain of anxiety, .fear, discomfort, and
ill-health was so strong that it is no wonder if he
yielded himself up to its influence. The summer
was warm and dry, and most of the time was
passed out of doors. They visited the source of
the Thames, making the voyage in a wherry from
Windsor to Cricklade. Charles Clairmont was of
the party, and Peacock also, who gives a humor--
ous account of the expedition, and of the cure
he effected of Shelley's ailments by his prescrip-
tion of " three mutton chops, well peppered."
Shelley was at this time a strict vegetarian.
Mary, Peacock says, kept a diary of the excur-
sion, which, however, has been lost. Shelley's
" Stanzas in the churchyard of Lechlade " were
an enduring memento of the occasion. At
Bishopsgate, under the oak shades of Windsor
Great Park, he composed Alastor, the first mature
production of his genius, and at Bishopsgate
Mary's son William was born, on 24th January
1816.
The list of books read during 1815 by Shelley
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY
123
and Mary is worth appending, as giving some idea
of their wonderful mental activity and insatiable
thirst for knowledge, and the singular sympathy
which existed between them in these intellectual
pursuits.
LIST OF BOOKS READ IN 1815.
MARY.
Those marked *
Posthumous Works. 3 vols.
Sorrows of Werter.
Don Roderick. By Southey.
*Gibbon's Decline and Fall.
12 vols.
*Gibbon's Life and Letters.
ist Edition. 2 vols.
*Lara.
New Arabian Knights. 3
vols.
Corinna.
Fall of the Jesuits.
Rinaldo Rinaldini.
Fontenelle's Plurality of
Worlds.
Hermsprong.
Le Diable Boiteux.
Man as he is.
Rokeby.
Ovid's Metamorphoses in
Latin.
*Wordsworth's Poems.
*Spenser's Fairy Queen.
*Life of the Phillips.
*Fox's History of James II.
The Reflector.
Fleetwood.
Wieland.
Shelley read also.
Don Carlos.
*Peter Wilkins.
Rousseau's Confessions.
Leonora : a Poem.
Emile.
*Milton's Paradise Lost.
*Life of Lady Hamilton.
De 1'Allemagne. By Madame
de Stae'l.
Three vols. of Barruet.
*Caliph Vathek.
Nouvelle Heloise.
*Kotzebue's Account of his
Banishment to Siberia.
Waverley.
Clarissa Harlowe.
Robertson's History of Amer-
ica.
*Virgil.
*Tale of a Tub.
*Milton's Speech on Unlicensed
Printing.
*Curse of Kehama.
*Madoc.
La Bible Expliquee.
Lives of Abelard and Heloise.
*The New Testament.
*Coleridge's Poems.
124
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
First vol. of Systeme de la
Nature.
Castle of Indolence.
Chatterton's Poems.
*Paradise Regained.
Don Carlos.
*Lycidas.
*St. Leon.
Shakespeare's Plays (part of
which Shelley read aloud).
*Burke's Account of Civil Society.
^Excursion.
Pope's Homer's Illiad.
*Sallust
Micromejas.
*Life of Chaucer.
Canterbury Tales.
Peruvian Letters.
Voyages round the World.
Plutarch's Lives.
*Two vols. of Gibbon.
Ormond.
Hugh Trevor.
*Labaume's History of the
Russian War.
Lewis's Tales.
Castle of Udolpho.
Guy Mannering.
*Charles XII by Voltaire.
Tales of the East.
SHELLEY.
Pastor Fido.
Orlando Furioso.
Livy's History.
Seneca's Works.
Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata.
Tasso's Aminta.
Two vols. of Plutarch in Italian.
Some of the Plays of Euripides.
Seneca's Tragedies.
Reveries of Rousseau.
Hesoid.
Novum Organum.
Alfieri's Tragedies.
Theocritus.
Ossian.
Herodotus.
Thucydides.
Homer.
Locke on the Human Under-
standing.
Conspiration de Rienzi.
History of Arianism.
Ockley's History of the
Saracens.
Madame de Stael sur la Litera-
ture.
These months of rest were needed to fit them
for the year of shocks, of blows, of conflicting
emotions which was to follow. As usual, the
first disturbing cause was Clara Clairmont.
Early in 1816 she was in town, possibly with
her brother Charles, with whom she kept up
125
correspondence, and with whom (thanks to funds
provided by Shelley) she had in the autumn been
travelling, or paying visits. She now started one
of her " wild projects in the Clairmont style,"
which brought as its consequence the over-
shadowing of her whole life. She thought she
would like to go on the stage, and she applied to
Lord Byron, then connected with the manage-
ment of Drury Lane Theatre, for some theatrical
employment. The fascination of Byron's poetry,
joined to his very shady social reputation, sur-
rounded him with a kind of romantic mystery
highly interesting to a wayward, audacious young
spirit, attracted by anything that excited its
curiosity. Clara never went on the stage. But
she became Byron's mistress. Their connection
lasted but a short time. Byron quickly tired of
her, and when importuned with her or her affairs,
soon came to look on her with positive antipathy.
Nothing in Clara's letters to him 1 goes to prove
that she was very deeply in love with him. The
episode was an excitement and an adventure :
one, to him, of the most trivial nature, but
fraught with tragic indirect results to her, and,
through her, to the Shelleys. They, although
they knew of her acquaintance with Byron, were
in complete and unsuspecting ignorance of its
intimate nature. It might have been imagined
1 Which, unfortunately, may not be published.
126 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
that Clara would confide in them, and would even
rejoice in doing so. But she had, on the con-
trary, a positive horror and dread of their finding
out anything about her secret. She told Byron
who Mary was, one evening when she knew they
were to meet, but implored him beforehand to
talk only on general subjects, and, if possible, not
even to mention her name.
This introduction probably took place in
March, when Shelley and Mary were, for a short
time, staying up in town. Shelley was occupied
in transacting business, which had reference, as
usual, to Godwin's affairs. A suit in Chancery
was proceeding, to enable him to sell, to his father,
the reversion of a portion of his estates. Short
of obtaining this permission, he could not assist
Godwin to the full extent demanded and ex-
pected by this latter, who chose to say, and was
encouraged by his man of business to think that,
if Shelley did not get the money, it was owing to
slackness of effort or inclination on his part.
The suit was, however, finally decided against
Shelley. The correspondence between him and
Godwin was painful in the highest degree, and
must have embittered Mary's existence.
Godwin, while leaving no stone unturned to
get as much of Shelley's money as possible, and
while exerting himself with feverish activity to
control and direct to his own advantage the legal
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 127
negotiations for disposal of part of the Shelley
estates, yet declined personal communication with
Shelley, and wrote to him in insulting terms,
carrying sophistry so far as to assert that his
dignity (save the mark !) would be compromised,
not by taking Shelley's money, but by taking it
in the form of a cheque made out in his, God-
win's, own name. Small wonder if Shelley was
wounded and indignant. More than any one else,
Godwin had taught and encouraged him to
despise what he would have called prejudice.
"In my judgment," wrote Shelley, "neither I, nor your
daughter, nor her offspring, ought to receive the treatment
which we encounter on every side. It has perpetually ap-
peared to me to have been your especial duty to see that, so
far as mankind value your good opinion, we were dealt justly
by, and that a young family, innocent, and benevolent, and
united should not be confounded with prostitutes and
seducers. My astonishment and I will confess, when I
have been treated with most harshness and cruelty by you,
my indignation has been extreme, that, knowing as you do
my nature, any consideration should have prevailed on you to
be thus harsh and cruel I lamented also over my ruined
hopes, of all that your genius once taught me to expect from
your virtue, when I found that for yourself, your family, and
your creditors, you would submit to that communication with
me which you once rejected and abhorred, and which no pity
for my poverty or sufferings, assumed willingly for you, could
avail to extort. Do not talk of forgiveness again to me, for
my blood boils in my veins, and my gall rises against all that
bears the human form, when I think of what I, their bene-
factor and ardent lover, have endured of enmity and contempt
from you and from all mankind."
128 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
That other, ordinary, people should resent his
avowed opposition to conventional morality was,
even to Shelley, less of an enigma than that
Godwin, from whom he expected support, should
turn against him. Yet he never could clearly
realise the aspect which his relations with Mary
bore to the world, who merely saw in him a mar-
ried man who had deserted his wife and eloped
with a girl of sixteen. He thought people should
understand all he knew, and credit him with all he
did not tell them ; that they should sympathise
and fraternise with him, and honour Mary the
more, not the less, for what she had done and
dared. Instead of this, the world accepted his
family's estimate of its unfortunate eldest son, and
cut him. It is no wonder that, as Peacock puts
it, " the spirit of restlessness came over him again,"
and drove him abroad once more. His first inten-
tion was to settle with Mary and their infant child
in some remote region of Scotland or Northern
England. But he was at all times delicate, and
he longed for balmy air and sunny skies. To
these motives were added Clara's wishes, and,
as she herself states, her pressing solicitations.
Byron, she knew, was going to Geneva, and she
persuaded the Shelleys to go there also, in the
hope and intention of meeting him. Shelley had
read and admired several of Byron's poems, and
the prospect of possible companionship with a
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLE Y 129
kindred mind was now and at all times supremely
attractive to him. He had made repeated, but
fruitless efforts to get a personal interview with
Godwin, in the hope, probably, of coming to some
definite understanding as to his hopelessly involved
and intricate affairs. Godwin went off to Scotland
on literary business and was absent all April.
Before he returned Shelley, Mary, and Clara had
started for Switzerland. The Shelleys were still
ignorant and unsuspecting of the intrigue between
Byron and Clara. Byron, knowing of Clara's wish
to follow him to Geneva, enjoined her on no
account to come alone or without protection, as
he knew she was capable of doing ; hence her
determinate wish that the Shelleys should come.
She wrote to Byron from Paris to tell him that
she was so far on her way, accompanied by " the
whole tribe of Otaheite philosophers," as she
styles her friends and escort. Just before sailing
from Dover Shelley wrote to Godwin, who was
still in Scotland, telling him finally of the unsuc-
cessful issue to his Chancery suit, of his doubtful
and limited prospects of income or of ability to
pay more than ^"300 for Godwin, and that only
some months hence. He referred again to his
painful position in England, and his present deter-
mination to remain abroad, perhaps for ever,
with the exception of a possible, solitary, visit to
London, should business make this inevitable.
VOL. i Q
130 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
He touched on his old obligations to Godwin,
assuring him of his continued respect and admira-
tion in spite of the painful past, and of his regret
for any too vehement words he might have used.
It is unfortunate for me that the part of your character
which is least excellent should have been met by my convic-
tions of what was right to do. But I have been too indignant,
I have been unjust to you forgive me burn those letters
which contain the records of my violence, and believe that how-
ever what you erroneously call fame and honour separate us, I
shall always feel towards you as the most affectionate of friends.
The travellers reached Geneva by the middle
of May ; their arrival preceding that of Byron by
several days. A letter written by Mary Shelley
from their first resting-place, the Hotel de Secheron,
the descriptive portions of which were afterwards
published by her, with the Journal of a Six Weeks
Tour, gives a graphic account of their journey and
their first impressions of Geneva.
HdxEL DE SECHERON, GENEVA,
\1th May 1816.
We arrived at Paris on the 8th of this month, and were
detained two days for the purpose of obtaining the various
signatures necessary to our passports, the French Government
having become much more circumspect since the escape of
Lavalette. We had no letters of introduction, or any friend
in that city, and were therefore confined to our hotel, where
we were obliged to hire apartments for the week, although,
when we first arrived, we expected to be detained one night
only; for in Paris there are no houses where you can be
accommodated with apartments by the day.
The manners of the French are interesting, although less
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLE Y 131
attractive, at least to Englishmen, than before the last invasion
of the Allies ; the discontent and sullenness of their minds
perpetually betrays itself. Nor is it wonderful that they
should regard the subjects of a Government which fills their
country with hostile garrisons, and sustains a detested dynasty
on the throne, with an acrimony and indignation of which
that Government alone is the proper object. This feeling is
honourable to the French, and encouraging to all those of
every nation in Europe who have a fellow-feeling with the
oppressed, and who cherish an unconquerable hope that the
cause of liberty must at length prevail.
Our route after Paris as far as Troyes lay through the same
uninteresting tract of country which we had traversed on foot
nearly two years before, but on quitting Troyes we left the
road leading to Neufchatel, to follow that which was to
conduct us to Geneva. We entered Dijon on the third
evening after our departure from Paris, and passing through
Dole, arrived at Poligny. This town is built at the foot of
Jura, which rises abruptly from a plain of vast extent. The
rocks of the mountain overhang the houses. Some difficulty
in procuring horses detained us here until the evening closed
in, when we proceeded by the light of a stormy moon to
Champagnolles, a little village situated in the depth of the
mountains. The road was serpentine and exceedingly steep,
and was overhung on one side by half-distinguished precipices,
whilst the other was a gulf, filled by ' the darkness of the
driving clouds. The dashing of the invisible streams announced
to us that we had quitted the plains of France, as we slowly
ascended amidst a violent storm of wind and rain, to Cham-
pagnolles, where we arrived at twelve o'clock the fourth night
after our departure from Paris. The next morning we pro-
ceeded, still ascending among the ravines and valleys of the
mountain. The scenery perpetually grows more wonderful
and sublime ; pine forests of impenetrable thickness and un-
trodden, nay, inaccessible expanse spread on every side.
Sometimes the dark woods descending follow the route into
the valleys, the distorted trees struggling with knotted roots
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
between the most barren clefts ; sometimes the road winds
high into the regions of frost, and then the forests become
scattered, and the branches of the trees are loaded with snow,
and half of the enormous pines themselves buried in the wavy
drifts. The spring, as the inhabitants informed us, was un-
usually late, and indeed the cold was excessive; as we ascended
the mountains the same clouds which rained on us in the
valleys poured forth large flakes of snow thick and fast. The
sun occasionally shone through these showers, and illuminated
the magnificent ravines of the mountains, whose gigantic pines
were, some laden with snow, some wreathed round by the lines
of scattered and lingering vapour ; others darting their spires
into the sunny sky, brilliantly clear and azure.
As the evening advanced, and we ascended higher, the
snow, which we had beheld whitening the overhanging rocks,
now encroached upon our road, and it snowed fast as we
entered the village of Les Rousses, where we were threatened
by the apparent necessity of passing the night in a bad inn
and dirty beds. For, from that place there are two roads to
Geneva; one by Nion, in the Swiss territory, where the
mountain route is shorter and comparatively easy at that time
of the year, when the road is for several leagues covered with
snow of an enormous depth ; the other road lay through Gex,
and was too circuitous and dangerous to be attempted at so
late an hour in the day. Our passport, however, was for Gex,
and we were told that we could not change its destination ;
but all these police laws, so severe in themselves, are to be
softened by bribery, and this difficulty was at length overcome.
We hired four horses, and ten men to support the carriage,
and departed from Les Rousses at six in the evening, when
the sun had already far descended, and the snow pelting
against the windows of our carriage assisted the coming dark-
ness to deprive us of the view of the lake of Geneva and the
far-distant Alps.
The prospect around, however, was sufficiently sublime to
command our attention never was scene more awfully desolate.
The trees in these regions are incredibly large, and stand in
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 133
scattered clumps over the white wilderness ; the vast expanse
of snow was chequered only by these gigantic pines, and the
poles that 'marked our road; no river nor rock-encircled lawn
relieved the eye, by adding the picturesque to the sublime.
The natural silence of that uninhabited desert contrasted
strangely with the voices of the men who conducted us, who,
with animated tones and gestures, called to one another in a
patois composed of French and Italian, creating disturbance
where, but for them, there was none. To what a different
scene are we now arrived ! To the warm sunshine, and to
the humming of sun-loving insects. From the windows of our
hotel we see the lovely lake, blue as the heavens which it
reflects, and sparkling with golden beams. The opposite
shore is sloping and covered with vines, which, however, do
not so early in the season add to the beauty of the prospect.
Gentlemen's seats are scattered over these banks, behind which
rise the various ridges of black mountains, and towering far
above, in the midst of its snowy Alps, the majestic Mont Blanc,
highest and queen of all. Such is the view reflected by the
lake ; it is a bright summer scene without any of that sacred
solitude and deep seclusion that delighted us at Lucerne.
We have not yet found out any very agreeable walks, but you
know our attachment to water excursions. We have hired a
boat, and every evening, at about six o'clock, we sail on the
lake, which is delightful, whether we glide over a glassy surface
or are speeded along by a strong wind. The waves of this
lake never afflict me with that sickness that deprives me of
all enjoyment in a sea-voyage ; on the contrary, the tossing of
our boat raises my spirits and inspires me with unusual hilarity.
Twilight here is of short duration, but we at present enjoy the
benefit of an increasing moon, and seldom return until ten
o'clock, when, as we approach the shore, we are saluted by
the delightful scent of flowers and new-mown grass, and the
chirp of the grasshoppers, and the song of the evening birds.
We do not enter into society here, yet our time passes
swiftly and delightfully.
We read Latin and Italian during the heats of noon, and
134 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
when the sun declines we walk in the garden of the hotel,
looking at the rabbits, relieving fallen cockchafers, and watching
the motions of a myriad of lizards, who inhabit a southern
wall of the garden. You know that we have just escaped from
the gloom of winter and of London ; and coming to this
delightful spot during this divine weather, I feel as happy as a
new-fledged bird, and hardly care what twig I fly to, so that I
may try my new-found wings. A more experienced bird may
be more difficult in its choice of a bower ; but, in my present
temper of mind, the budding flowers, the fresh grass of spring,
and the happy creatures about me that live and enjoy these
pleasures, are quite enough to afford me exquisite delight,
even though clouds should shut out Mont Blanc from my
sight. Adieu! M. S.
On the 25th of May Byron, accompanied by
his young Italian physician, Polidori, and attended
by three men-servants, arrived at the Hotel de
Secheron. It was now that he and Shelley be-
came for the first time personally acquainted ; an
acquaintance which, though it never did and never
could ripen quite into friendship, developed with
time and circumstances into an association more or
less familiar which lasted all Shelley's life. After
the arrival of the English Milord and his retinue,
the hotel quarters probably became less quiet and
comfortable, and before June the Shelleys, with
Clare 1 (who, while her secret remained a secret,
must have found it inexpedient to live under the
same roof with Byron) moved to a cottage on the
other side of the lake, near Coligny ; known as
1 From this time Miss Clairmont is always mentioned as Clare, or Claire,
except by the Godwins, who adhered to the original "Jane."
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 135
Maison Chapuis, but sometimes called Campagne
Mont Alegre.
CAMPAGNE CHAPUIS, NEAR COLIGNY,
ist June.
You will perceive from my date that we have changed our
residence since my last letter. We now inhabit a little cottage
on the opposite shore of the lake, and have exchanged the
view of Mont Blanc and her snowy aiguilles for the dark
frowning Jura, behind whose range we every evening see the
sun sink, and darkness approaches our valley from behind the
Alps, which are then tinged by that glowing rose -like hue
which is observed in England to attend on the clouds of an
autumnal sky when daylight is almost gone. The lake is at
our feet, and a little harbour contains our boat, in which we
still enjoy our evening excursions on the water. Unfortunately
we do not now enjoy those brilliant skies that hailed us on
our first arrival to this country. An almost perpetual rain
confines us principally to the house ; but when the sun bursts
forth it is with a splendour and heat unknown in England.
The thunderstorms that visit us are grander and more terrific
than I have ever seen before. We watch them as they
approach from the opposite side of the lake, observing the
lightning play among the clouds in various parts of the heavens,
and dart in jagged figures upon the piny heights of Jura, dark
with the shadow of the overhanging clouds, while perhaps the
sun is shining cheerily upon us. One night we enjoyed a finer
storm than I had ever before beheld. The lake was lit up, the
pines on Jura made visible, and all the scene illuminated for an
instant, when a pitchy blackness succeeded, and the thunder
came in frightful bursts over our heads amid the darkness.
But while I still dwell on the country around Geneva, you
will expect me to say something of the town itself; there is
nothing, however, in it that can repay you for the trouble of
walking over its rough stones. The houses are high, the
streets narrow, many of them on the ascent, and no public
building of any beauty to attract your eye, or any architecture
136 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
to gratify your taste. The town is surrounded by a wall, the
three gates of which are shut exactly at ten o'clock, when no
bribery (as in France) can open them. To the south of the
town is the promenade of the Genevese, a grassy plain planted
with a few trees, and called Plainpalais. Here a small obelisk
is erected to the glory of Rousseau, and here (such is the
mutability of human life) the magistrates, the successors of
those who exiled him from his native country, were shot by
the populace during that revolution which his writings mainly
contributed to mature, and which, notwithstanding the tem-
porary bloodshed and injustice with which it was polluted, has
produced enduring benefits to mankind, which not all the
chicanery of statesmen, nor even the great conspiracy of kings,
can entirely render vain. From respect to the memory of
their predecessors, none of the present magistrates ever walk
in Plainpalais. Another Sunday recreation for the citizens is
an excursion to the top of Mont Salere. This hill is within a
league of the town, and rises perpendicularly from the culti-
vated plain. It is ascended on the other side, and I should
judge from its situation that your toil is rewarded by a delight-
ful view of the course of the Rhone and Arne, and of the
shores of the lake. We have not yet visited it. There is
more equality of classes here than in England. This occa-
sions a greater freedom and refinement of manners among the
lower orders than we meet with in our own country. I fancy
the haughty English ladies are greatly disgusted with this
consequence of republican institutions, for the Genevese
servants complain very much of their scolding, an exercise of
the tongue, I believe, perfectly unknown here. The peasants
of Switzerland may not however emulate the vivacity and grace
of the French. They are more cleanly, but they are slow and
inapt. I know a girl of twenty who, although she had lived
all her life among vineyards, could not inform me during what
month the vintage took place, and I discovered she was utterly
ignorant of the order in which the months succeed one
another. She would not have been surprised if I had talked
of the burning sun and delicious fruits of December, or of
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 137
the frosts of July. Yet she is by no means deficient in under-
standing.
The Genevese are also much inclined to puritanism. It is
true that from habit they dance on a Sunday, but as soon as
the French Government was abolished in the town, the magis-
strates ordered the theatre to be closed, and measures were
taken to pull down the building.
We have latterly enjoyed fine weather, and nothing is more
pleasant than to listen to the evening song of the wine-dressers.
They are all women, and most of them have harmonious
although masculine voices. The theme of their ballads consists
of shepherds, love, flocks, and the sons of kings who fall in love
with beautiful shepherdesses. Their tunes are monotonous,
but it is sweet to hear them in the stillness of evening, while
we are enjoying the sight of the setting sun, either from the
hill behind our house or from the lake.
Such are our pleasures here, which would be greatly in-
creased if the season had been more favourable, for they chiefly
consist in such enjoyments as sunshine and gentle breezes
bestow. We have not yet made any excursion in the environs of
the town, but we have planned several, when you shall again hear
of us; and we will endeavour, by the magic of words, to transport
the ethereal part of you to the neighbourhood of the Alps, and
mountain streams, and forests, which, while they clothe the for-
mer, darken the latter with their vast shadows. Adieu ! M.
Less than a fortnight after this Byron also left
the hotel, annoyed beyond endurance by the un-
bounded curiosity of which he was the object.
He established himself at the Villa Diodati, on
the hill above the Shelleys' cottage, from which
it was separated by a vineyard. Both he and
Shelley were devoted to boating, and passed
much time on the water, on one occasion narrowly
escaping being drowned. Visits from one house
138 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
to the other were of daily occurrence. The
evenings were generally spent at Diodati, when
the whole party would sit up into the small hours
of the morning, discussing all possible and im-
possible things in earth and heaven. In tempera-
ment Shelley and Byron were indeed radically
opposed to each other, but the intellectual inter-
course of two men, alike condemned to much
isolation from their kind by their gifts, their dis-
positions, and their misfortunes, could not but be
a source of enjoyment to each. Despite his deep
grain of sarcastic egotism, Byron did justice to
Shelley's sincerity, simplicity, and purity of nature,
and appreciated at their just value his mental
powers and literary accomplishments. On the
other hand, Shelley's admiration of Byron's genius
was simply unbounded, while he apprehended the
mixture of gold and' clay in Byron's disposition
with singular acuteness. His was the "pure
mind that penetrateth heaven and hell." But at
Geneva the two men were only finding each other
out, and, to Shelley at least, any pain arising from
difference of feeling or opinion was outweighed
by the intense pleasure and refreshment of intel-
lectual comradeship.
Naturally fond of society, and indeed requiring
its stimulus to elicit her best powers, Mary yet
took a passive rather than an active share in these
symposia. Looking back on them many years
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 139
afterwards she wrote : " Since incapacity and
timidity always prevented my mingling in the
nightly conversations of Diodati, they were, as it
were, entirely tte-a-tete between my Shelley and
Albe." 1 But she was a keen, eager listener.
Nothing escaped her observation, and none of
this time was ever obliterated from her memory.
To the intellectual ferment, so to speak, of the
Diodati evenings, working with the new experi-
ences and thoughts of the past two years, is due
the conception of the story by which, as a writer,
she is best remembered, the ghastly but powerful
allegorical romance of Frankenstein. In her
introduction to a late edition of this work (part of
which has already been quoted here) Mary
Shelley has herself told the history of its origin.
In the summer of 1816 we visited Switzerland, and became
the neighbours of Lord Byron. At first we spent our pleasant
hours on the lake, or wandering on its shores, and Lord Byron,
who was writing the third canto of Childe Harold^ was the only
one among us who put his thoughts upon paper. These, as he
brought them successively to us, clothed in all the light and
harmony of poetry, seemed to stamp as divine the glories of
heaven and earth, whose influences we partook with him.
But it proved a wet, ungenial summer, and incessant rain
often confined us for days to the house. Some volumes of
ghost stories, translated from the German into French, fell into
our hands. There was the history of the Inconstant Lover,
who, when he thought to clasp the bride to whom he had
pledged his vows, found himself in the arms of the pale ghost
1 Byron.
140 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
of her whom he had deserted. There was the tale of the sinful
founder of his race, whose miserable doom it was to bestow the
kiss of death on all the younger sons of his fated house, just
when they reached the age of promise. His gigantic shadowy
form, clothed, like the ghost in Hamlet, in complete armour,
but with the beaver up, was seen at midnight, by the moon's
fitful beams, to advance slowly along the gloomy avenue. The
shape was lost beneath the shadow of the castle walls ; but
soon a gate swung back, a step was heard, the door of the
chamber opened, and he advanced to the couch of the bloom-
ing youths, cradled in healthy sleep. Eternal sorrow sat upon
his face as he bent down and kissed the forehead of the boys,
who from that hour withered like flowers snapt upon the stalk.
I have not seen these stories since then, but their incidents are
as fresh in my mind as if I had read them yesterday. " We
will each write a ghost story," said Byron ; and his proposition
was acceded to. There were four of us. The noble author
began a tale, a fragment of which he printed at the end of his
poem of Mazeppa. Shelley, more apt to embody ideas and
sentiments in the radiance of brilliant imagery, and in the
music of the most melodious verse that adorns our language,
than to invent the machinery of a story, commenced one
founded on the experiences of his early life. Poor Polidori
had some terrible idea about a skull-headed lady, who was so
punished for peeping through a keyhole what to see I forget
something very shocking and wrong of course ; but when
she was reduced to a worse condition than the renowned Tom
of Coventry he did not know what to do with her, and he was
obliged to despatch her to the tomb of the Capulets, the only
place for which she was fitted. The illustrious poets also,
annoyed by the platitude of prose, speedily relinquished their
ungrateful task. I busied myself to think of a story, a story
to rival those which had excited us to this task. One that
would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature, and awaken
thrilling horror one to make the reader dread to look round,
to curdle the blood and quicken the beatings of the heart.
If I did not accomplish these things my ghost story would be
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 141
unworthy of its name. I thought and wondered vainly. I
felt that blank incapability of invention which is the greatest
misery of authorship, when dull Nothing replies to our anxious
invocations. " Have you thought of a story 1" I was asked
each morning, and each morning I was forced to reply with
a mortifying negative.
Everything must have a beginning, to speak in Sanchean
phrase : and that beginning must be linked to something that
went before. The Hindoos give the world an elephant to
support it, but they make the elephant stand upon a tortoise.
Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in
creating out of void, but out of chaos ; the materials must, in
the first place, be afforded : it can give form to dark shapeless
substances, but cannot bring into being the substance itself.
In all matters of discovery and invention, even of those that
appertain to the imagination, we are continually reminded of
the story of Columbus and his egg. Invention consists in the
capacity of seizing on the capabilities of a subject, and in the
power of moulding and fashioning ideas suggested to it.
Many and long were the conversations between Lord Byron
and Shelley, to which I was a devout but nearly silent listener.
During one of these various philosophical doctrines were dis-
cussed, and, among others, the nature of the principle of life,
and whether there was any probability of its ever being dis-
covered and communicated. They talked of the experiments
of Dr. Darwin (I speak not of what the doctor really did, or said
that he did, but, as more to my purpose, of what was then
spoken of as having been done by him), who preserved a piece
of vermicelli in a glass case till by some extraordinary means
it began to move with voluntary motioa Not thus, after all,
would life be given. Perhaps a corpse would be reanimated ;
galvanism had given token of such things ; perhaps the com-
ponent parts of a creature might be manufactured, brought
together, and endued with vital warmth.
Night waned upon this talk, and even the witching hour
had gone by, before we retired to rest. When I placed my
head upon my pillow I did not sleep, nor could I be said to
142 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
think. My imagination, unbidden, possessed and guided me,
gifting the successive images that arose in my mind with a
vividness far beyond the usual bounds of reverie. I saw
with shut eyes, but acute mental vision, I saw the pale student
of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put to-
gether I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out,
and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs
of life, and stir with an uneasy, half vital motion. Frightful
must it be ; for supremely frightful would be the effect of any
human endeavour to mock the stupendous mechanism of the
Creator of the world. His success would terrify the artist ; he
would rush away from his odious handiwork, horrorstricken.
He would hope that, left to itself, the slight spark which he had
communicated would fade ; that this thing, which had received
such imperfect animation, would subside into dead matter;
and he might sleep in the belief that the silence of the grave
would quench for ever the transient existence of the hideous
corpse which he had looked upon as the cradle of life. He
sleeps ; but he is awakened ; he opens his eyes ; behold the
horrid thing stands at his bedside, opening his curtains, and
looking on him with yellow, watery, but speculative eyes.
I opened mine in terror. The idea so possessed my mind
that a thrill of fear ran through me, and I wished to exchange
the ghastly image of my fancy for the realities around. I see
them still ; the very room, the dark parquet, the closed shutters,
with the moonlight struggling through, and the sense I had
that the glassy lake and white high Alps were beyond. I
could not so easily get rid of my hideous phantom ; still it
haunted me. I must try to think of something else. I re-
curred to my ghost story my tiresome unlucky ghost story.
O ! if I could only contrive one which would frighten my
reader as I myself had been frightened that night !
Swift as light and as cheering was the idea that broke in
upon me. " I have found it ! What terrified me will terrify
others ; and I need only describe the spectre which had
haunted my midnight pillow." On the morrow I announced
that I had thought of a story. I began that day with the
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 143
words, // was on a dreary night of November, making only a
transcript of the grim terrors of my waking dream.
At first I thought of but a few pages of a short tale ; but
Shelley urged me to develop the idea at greater length. I
certainly did not owe the suggestion of one incident, nor
scarcely of one train of feeling, to my husband, and yet, but
for his incitement, it would never have taken the form in which
it was presented to the world. From this declaration I must
except the preface. As far as I can recollect, it was entirely
written by him.
Every one now knows the story of the
" Modern Prometheus," the student who, hav-
ing devoted himself to the search for the prin-
ciple of life, discovers it, manufactures an imitation
of a human being, endows it with vitality, and
having thus encroached on divine prerogative,
finds himself the slave of his own creature, for
he has set in motion a force beyond his power
to control or annihilate. Aghast at the actual
and possible consequences of his own achieve-
ment, he recoils from carrying it out to its
ultimate end, and stops short of doing what is
necessary to render this force independent. The
being has, indeed, the perception and desire of
goodness ; but is, by the circumstances of its
abnormal existence, delivered over to evil, and
Frankenstein, and all whom he loves, fall victims
to its vindictive malice. Surely no girl, before
or since, has imagined, and carried out to its
pitiless conclusion so grim an idea.
Mary began her rough sketch of this story
144 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
during the absence of Shelley and Byron on a
voyage round the lake of Geneva ; the memor-
able excursion during which Byron wrote the
Prisoner of Chillon and great part of the
third canto of Childe Harold, and Shelley con-
ceived the idea of that " Hymn to Intellectual
Beauty," which may be called his confession of
faith. When they returned they found Mary
hard at work on the fantastic speculation which
possessed her mind and exerted over it a fascina-
tion and a power of excitement beyond that of
the sublime external nature which inspired the
two poets.
When, in July, she set off with Shelley and
Clare on a short tour to the Valley of Chamounix,
she took her MS. with her. They visited the Mer
de Glace, and the source of the Arveiron. The
magnificent scenery which inspired Shelley with
his poem on " Mont Blanc," and is described
by Mary in the extracts from her journal which
follow, served her as a fitting background for
the most preternatural portions of her romance.
Tuesday, July 23 (Chamounix). In the morning, after
breakfast, we mount our mules to see the source of the
Arveiron. When we had gone about three parts of the way,
we descended and continued our route on foot, over loose
stones, many of which were an enormous size. We came to
the source, which lies (like a stage) surrounded on the three
sides by mountains and glaciers. We sat on a rock, which
formed the fourth, gazing on the scene before us. An immense
glacier was on our left, which continually rolled stones to its
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 145
foot. It is very dangerous to be directly under this. Our
guide told us a story of two Hollanders who went, without any
guide, into a cavern of the glacier, and fired a pistol there,
which drew down a large piece on them. We see several
avalanches, some very small, others of great magnitude, which
roared and smoked, overwhelming everything as it passed
along, and precipitating great pieces of ice into the valley
below. This glacier is increasing every day a foot, closing up
the valley. We drink some water of the Arveiron and return.
After dinner think it will rain, and Shelley goes alone to the
glacier of Boison. I stay at home. Read several tales of
Voltaire. In the evening I copy Shelley's letter to Peacock.
Wednesday \ July 34. To-day is rainy ; therefore we can-
not go to Col de Balme. About 10 the weather appears
clearing up. Shelley and I begin our journey to Montanvert.
Nothing can be more desolate than the ascent of this moun-
tain ; the trees in many places having been torn away by
avalanches, and some half leaning over others, intermingled
with stones, present the appearance of vast and dreadful deso-
lation. It began to rain almost as soon as we left our inn.
When we had mounted considerably we turned to look on the
scene. A dense white mist covered the vale, and tops of
scattered pines peeping above were the only objects that pre-
sented themselves. . The rain continued in torrents. We were
wetted to the skin ; so that, when we had ascended halfway,
we resolved to turn back. As we descended, Shelley went be-
fore, and, tripping up, fell upon his knee. This added to the
weakness occasioned by a blow on his ascent ; he fainted, and
was for some minutes incapacitated from continuing his route.
We arrived wet to the skin. I read Nouvelles Nouvelles,
and write my story. Shelley writes part of letter.
Saturday ^ July 27. It is a most beautiful day, without a
cloud. We set off at 12. The day is hot, yet there is a
fine breeze. We pass by the Great Waterfall, which presents an
aspect of singular beauty. The wind carries it away from the
VOL. i 10
146 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
rock, and on towards the north, and the fine spray into which
it is entirely dissolved passes before the mountain like a mist.
The other cascade has very little water, and is consequently
not so beautiful as before. The evening of the day is calm
and beautiful. Evening is the only time I enjoy travelling.
The horses went fast, and the plain opened before us. We
saw Jura and the Lake like old friends. I longed to see my
pretty babe. At 9, after much inquiring and stupidity, we
find the road, and alight at Diodati. We converse with Lord
Byron till 1 2, and then go down to Chapuis, kiss our babe,
and go to bed.
Circumstances had modified Shelley's previous
intention of remaining permanently abroad, and
the end of August found him moving homeward.
The following extracts from Mary's diary give
a sketch of their life during the few weeks pre-
ceding their return to England.
Sunday, July 28 (Montalegre). I read Voltaire's Romans.
Shelley reads Lucretius, and talks with Clare. After dinner he
goes out in the boat with Lord Byron, and we all go up to
Diodati in the evening. This is the second anniversary since
Shelley's and my union.
Monday, July 29. Write; read Voltaire and Quintus
Curtius. A rainy day, with thunder and lightning. Shelley
finishes Lucretius, and reads Pliny's Letters.
Tuesday, July 30. Read Quintus Curtius. Shelley read
Pliny's Letters. After dinner we go up to Diodati, and stay
the evening.
Thursday, August i. Make a balloon for Shelley, after
which he goes up to Diodati, to dine and spend the evening.
Read twelve pages of Curtius. Write, and read the Reveries
of Rousseau. Shelley reads Pliny's Letters.
Friday, August 2. I go to the town with Shelley, to buy
a telescope for his birthday present. In the evening Lord
Byron and he go out in the boat, and, after their return,
Shelley and Clare go up to Diodati ; I do not, for Lord Byron
did not seem to wish it. Shelley returns with a letter from
Longdill, which requires his return to England. This puts us
in bad spirits. I read Reveries and Adele et Theodore de
Madame de Genlis, and Shelley reads Pliny's Letters.
Saturday, August 3. Finish the first volume of Adele, and
write. After dinner write to Fanny, and go up to Diodati,
where I read the Life of Madame du Deffand. We come
down early and talk of our plans. Shelley reads Pliny's
Letters, and writes letters.
Sunday, August 4. Shelley's birthday. Write; read
Tableau de famille. Go out with Shelley in the boat, and read
to him the fourth book of Virgil. After dinner we go up to
Diodati, but return soon. I read Curtius with Shelley, and
finish the first volume, after which we go out in the boat to set
up the balloon, but there is too much wind ; we set it up from
the land, but it takes fire as soon as it is up. I finish the
Reveries of Rousseau. Shelley reads and finishes Pliny's Letters,
and begins the Panegyric of Trajan.
Wednesday, August 7. Write,, and read ten pages of
Curtius. Lord Byron and Shelley go out in the boat. I
translate in the evening, and afterwards go up to Diodati.
Shelley reads Tacitus.
Friday, August 9. Write and translate ; finish Adele, and
read a little Curtius. Shelley goes out ih'^the boat with Lord
Byron in the morning and in the evening, and reads Tacitus.
About 3 o'clock we go up to Diodati. We receive a long
letter from Fanny.
FANNY TO MARY.
LONDON, zyth July 1816.
MY DEAR MARY I have just received yours, which gave me
great pleasure, though not quite so satisfactory a one as I could
have wished. I plead guilty to the charge of having written in
some degree in an ill humour ; but if you knew how I am
harassed by a variety of trying circumstances, I am sure you
would feel for me. Besides other plagues, I was oppressed
148 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
with the most violent cold in my head when I last wrote you
that I ever had in my life. I will now, however, endeavour to
give as much information from England as I am capable of
giving, mixed up with as little spleen as possible. I have re-
ceived Jane's letter, which was a very dear and a very sweet
one, and I should have answered it but for the dreadful state
of mind I generally labour under, and which I in vain en-
deavour to get rid of. From your and Jane's description of
the weather in Switzerland, it has produced more mischief
abroad than here. Our rain has been as constant as yours, for
it rains every day, but it has not been accompanied by violent
storms. All accounts from the country say that the corn has
not yet suffered, but that it is yet perfectly green ; but I fear
that the sun will not come this year to ripen it. As yet we
have had fires almost constantly, and have just got a few straw-
berries. You ask for particulars of the state of England. I
do not understand the causes for the distress which I see, and
hear dreadful accounts of, every day; but I know that
they really exist. Papa, I believe, does not think much, or
does not inquire, on these subjects, for I never can get him to
give me any information. From Mr. Booth I got the clearest
account, which has been confirmed by others since. He says
that it is the " Peace " that has brought all this calamity upon
us ; that during the war the whole Continent were employed
in fighting and defending their country from the incursions of
foreign armies ; that England alone was free to manufacture in
peace ; that our manufactories, in consequence, employed
several millions, and at higher wages, than were wanted for our
own consumption. Now peace is come, foreign ports are shut,
and millions of our fellow-creatures left to starve. He also
says that we have no need to manufacture for ourselves that
we have enough of the various articles of our manufacture to
last for seven years and that the going on is only increasing
the evil. They say that in the counties of Staffordshire and
Shropshire there are 26,000 men out of employment, and
without the means of getting any. A few weeks since there
were several parties of colliers, who came as far as St. Albans
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRA FT SHELLE Y 1 49
and Oxford, dragging coals in immense waggons, without
horses, to the Prince Regent at Carlton House ; one of these
waggons was said to be conducted by a hundred colliers. The
Ministers, however, thought proper, when these men had got
to the distance from London of St. Albans, to send Magis-
trates to them, who paid them handsomely for their coals, and
gave them money besides, telling them that coming to London
would only create disturbance and riot, without relieving their
misery ; they therefore turned back, and the coals were given
away to the poor people of the neighbourhood where they were
met. This may give you some idea of the misery suffered.
At Glasgow, the state of wretchedness is worse than anywhere
else. Houses that formerly employed two or three hundred
men now only employ three or four individuals. There have
been riots of a very serious nature in the inland counties,
arising from the same causes. This, joined to this melancholy
season, has given us all very serious alarm, and helped to make
me write so dismally. They talk of a change of Ministers ; but
this can effect no good ; it is a change of the whole system of
things that is wanted. Mr. Owen, however, tells us to cheer
up, for that in two years we shall feel the good effect of his
plans ; he is quite certain that they will succeed. I have no
doubt that he will do a great deal of good ; but how he can
expect to make the rich give up their possessions, and live in
a state of equality, is too romantic to be believed. I wish I
could send you his Address to the People of New Lanark, on
the ist of January 1816, on the opening of the Institution for
the Formation of Character. He dedicates it " To those who
have no private ends to accomplish, who are honestly in search
of truth for the purpose of ameliorating the condition of
society, and who have the firmness to follow the truth, wherever
it may lead, without being turned aside from the pursuit by the
prepossessions or prejudices of any part of mankind.
This dedication will give you some idea of what sort of an
Address it is. This Address was delivered on a Sunday
evening, in a place set apart for the purposes of religion, and
brought hundreds of persons from the regular clergymen to
150 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
hear his profane Address, against all religions, governments,
and all sorts of aristocracy, which, he says, was received with
the greatest attention and highly approved. The outline of his
plan is this : " That no human being shall work more than
two or three hours every day ; that they shall be all equal; that
no one shall dress but after the plainest and simplest manner ;
that they be allowed to follow any religion, as they please ;
and that their [studies] shall be Mechanics and Chemistry." I
hate and am sick at heart at the misery I see my fellow-
beings suffering, but I own I should not like to live to see the
extinction of all genius, talent, and elevated generous feeling
in Great Britain, which I conceive to be the natural conse-
quence of Mr. Owen's plan. I am not either wise enough,
philosophical enough, nor historian enough, to say what will
make man plain and simple in manners and mode of life, and
at the same time a poet, a painter, and a philosopher; but
this I know, that I had rather live with the Genevese, as you
and Jane describe, than live in London, with the most brilliant
beings that exist, in its present state of vice and misery. So
much for Mr. Owen, who is, indeed, a very great and good
man. He told me the other day that he wished our Mother
were living, as he had never before met with a person who
thought so exactly as he did, or who would have so warmly
and zealously entered into his plans. Indeed, there is nothing
very promising in a return to England at least for some time
to come, for it is better to witness misery in a foreign country
than one's own, unless you have the means of relieving it. I
wish I could send you the books you ask for. I should have
sent them, if Longdill had not said he was not sending that
he expected Shelley in England. I shall send again imme-
diately, and will then send you Christabel and the " Poet's "
Poems. Were I not a dependent being in every sense
of the word, but most particularly in money, I would send
you other things, which perhaps you would be glad of. I
am much more interested in Lord Byron since I have read
all his poems. When you left England I had only read
Childe Harold and his smaller poems. The pleasure he has
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 151
excited in me, and gratitude I owe him for having cheered
several gloomy hours, makes me wish for a more finished
portrait, both of his mind and countenance. From Childe Harold
I gained a very ill impression of him, because I conceived it
was himself, notwithstanding the pains he took to tell us it
was an imaginary being. The Giaour, Lara, and the Cor-
sair make me justly style him a poet. Do in your next
oblige me by telling me the minutest particulars of him, for it
is from the small things that you learn most of character. Is
his face as fine as in your portrait of him, or is it more like
the other portrait of him ? Tell me also if he has a pleasing
voice, for that has a great charm with me. Does he come
into your house in a careless, friendly, dropping-in manner?
I wish to know, though not from idle curiosity, whether he
was capable of acting in the manner that the London scandal-
mongers say he did ? You must by this time know if he is
a profligate in principle a man who, like Curran, gives him-
self unbounded liberty in all sorts of profligacy. I cannot
think, from his writings, that he can be such a detestable being.
Do answer me these questions, for where I love the poet I
should like to respect the man. Shelley's boat excursion with
him must have been very delightful. I think Lord Byron
never writes so well as when he writes descriptions of water
scenes ; for instance, the beginning of the Giaour. There
is a fine expressive line in Childe Harold: "Blow, swiftly
blow, thou keen compelling gale," etc. There could have
been no difference of sentiment in this divine excursion ;
they were both poets, equally alive to the charms of nature
and the eloquent writing of Rousseau. I long very much to
read the poem the "Poet" has written on the spot where
Julie was drowned. When will they come to England ? Say
that you have a friend who has few pleasures, and is very im-
patient to read the poems written at Geneva. If they are not
to be published, may I see them in manuscript ? I am angry
with Shelley for not writing himself. It is impossible to tell
the good that POETS do their fellow-creatures, at least those
that can feel. ' Whilst I read I am a poet. I am inspired
152 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
with good feelings feelings that create perhaps a more per-
manent good in me than all the everyday preachments in the
world ; it counteracts the dross which one gives on the
everyday concerns of life, and tells us there is something yet
in the world to aspire to something by which succeeding
ages may be made happy and perhaps better. If Shelley can-
not accomplish any other good, he can this divine one.
Laugh at me, but do not be angry with me, for taking up
your time with my nonsense. I have sent again to Longdill,
and he has returned the same answer as before. I can [not],
therefore, send you Christdbel. Lamb says it ought never
to have been published; that no one understands it; and
Kubla Khan (which is the poem he made in his sleep) is
nonsense. Coleridge is living at Highgate ; he is living with
an apothecary, to whom he pays ^5 a week for board, lodg-
ing, and medical advice. The apothecary is to take care that
he does not take either opium or spirituous liquors. Coleridge,
however, was tempted, and wrote to a chemist he knew in
London to send a bottle of laudanum to Mr. Murray's in
Albemarle Street, to be enclosed in a parcel of books to him ;
his landlord, however, felt the parcel outside, and discovered
the fatal bottle. Mr. Morgan told me the other day that
Coleridge improved in health under the care of the apothe-
cary, and was writing fast a continuation of ChristabeL
You ask me if Mr. Booth mentioned Isabel's having received
a letter from you. He never mentioned your name to me, nor
I to him ; but he told Mamma that you had written a letter to
her from Calais. He is gone back, and promises to bring
Isabel next year. He has given us a volume of his poetry
true, genuine poetry not such as Coleridge's or Wordsworth's,
but Miss Seward's and Dr. Darwin's
Dying swains to sighing Delias.
You ask about old friends ; we have none, and see none.
Poor Marshal is in a bad way; we see very little of him.
Mrs. Kenny is going immediately to live near Orleans, which
is better for her than living in London, afraid of her creditors.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 153
The Lambs have been spending a month in the neighbourhood
of Clifton and Bristol ; they were highly delighted with Clifton.
Sheridan is dead. Papa was very much grieved at his death.
William and he went to his funeral. He was buried in the
Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey, attended by all the high
people. Papa has visited his grave many times since. I am
too young to remember his speeches in Parliament. I never
admired his style of play-writing. I cannot, therefore, sympa-
thise in the elegant tributes to his memory which have been
paid by all parties. Those things which I have heard from all
parties of his drunkenness I cannot admire. We have had
one great pleasure since your departure, in viewing a fine
collection of the Italian masters at the British Institution.
Two of the Cartoons are there. Paul preaching at Athens is
the finest picture I ever beheld. ... I am going again to see this
Exhibition next week, before it closes, when I shall be better
able to tell you which I most admire of Raphael, Titian,
Leonardo da Vinci, Domenichino, Claude, S. Rosa, Poussin,
Murillo, etc., and all of which cannot be too much examined.
I only wish I could have gone many times. Charles's letter
has not yet arrived. Do give me every account of him when
you next hear from him. I think it is of great consequence
the mode of life he now pursues, as it will most likely decide
his future good or ill doing. You ask what I mean by " plans
with Mr. Blood?" I meant a residence in Ireland. How-
ever, I will not plague you with them till I understand them
myself. My Aunt Everina will be in London next week, when
my future fate will be decided. I shall then give you a full
and clear account of what my unhappy life is to be spent in,
etc. I left it to the end of my letter to call your attention
most seriously to what I said in my last letter respecting Papa's
affairs. They have now a much more serious and threaten-
ing aspect than when I last wrote to you. You perhaps think
that Papa has gained a large sum by his novel engagement,
which is not the case. He could make no other engagement
with Constable than that they should share the profits equally
between them, which, if the novel is successful, is an advan-
154 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
tageous bargain. Papa, however, prevailed upon him to
advance 200, to be deducted hereafter out of the part he
is to receive ; and if two volumes of the novel are not forth-
coming on the ist of January 1817, Constable has a promis-
sory note to come upon papa for the ^200. This ^200 I
told you was appropriated to Davidson and Hamilton, who
had lent him 200 on his Caleb Williams last year; so that
you perceive he has as yet gained nothing on his novel, and
all depends upon his future exertions. He has been very
unwell and very uneasy in his mind for the last week, unable
to write ; and it was not till this day I discovered the cause,
which has given me great uneasiness. You seem to have
forgotten Kingdon's ^300 to be paid at the end of June.
He has had a great deal of plague and uneasiness about it,
and has at last been obliged to give Kingdon his promissory
note for ^300, payable on demand, so that every hour is not
safe. Kingdon is no friend, and the money Government
money, and it cannot be expected he will show Papa any
mercy. I dread the effect on his health. He cannot sleep at
night, and is indeed very unwell. This he concealed from
Mamma and myself until this day. Taylor of Norwich has
also come upon him again ; he says, owing to the distress of
the country, he must have the money for his children ; but I
do not fear him like Kingdon. Shelley said in his letter, some
weeks ago, that the ^300 should come the end of June.
Papa, therefore, acted upon that promise. From your last
letter I perceive you think I colour my statements. I assure
you I am most anxious, when I mention these unfortunate
affairs, to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth, as it is.
I think it my duty to tell you the real state of the case, for I
know you deceive yourself about things. If Papa could go on
with his novel in good spirits, I think it would perhaps be his
very best. He said the other day that he was writing upon a
subject no one had ever written upon before, and that it would
require great exertion to make it what he wished. Give my
love to Jane ; thank her for her letter. I will write to her
next week, though I consider this long tiresome one as
MARY WOLLSTO NEC RAFT SHELLEY 155
addressed to you all. Give my love also to Shelley; tell
him, if he goes any more excursions, nothing will give me
more pleasure than a description of them. Tell him I like
your [ J 1 tour best, though I should like to visit Venice
and Naples. Kiss dear William for me ; I sometimes consider
him as my child, and look forward to the time of my old age
and his manhood. Do you dip him in the lake ? I am much
afraid you will find this letter much too long ; if it affords you
any pleasure, oblige me by a long one in return, but write
small, for Mamma complains of the postage of a double letter.
I pay the full postage of all the letters I send, and you know
I have not a sous of my own. Mamma is much better, though
not without rheumatism. William is better than he ever was
in his life. I am not well ; my mind always keeps my body
in a fever ; but never mind me. Do entreat J. to attend to
her eyes. Adieu, my dear Sister. Let me entreat you to
consider seriously all that I have said concerning your Father.
Yours, very affectionately, FANNY.
Journal, Saturday, August 10. Write to Fanny. Shelley
writes to Charles. We then go to town to buy books and a
watch for Fanny. Read Curtius after my return ; translate.
In the evening Shelley and Lord Byron go out in the boat.
Translate, and when they return go up to Diodati. Shelley
reads Tacitus. A writ of arrest comes from Polidori, for
having " casse ses lunettes et fait tomber son chapeau " of the
apothecary who sells bad magnesia.
Monday, August 12. Write my story and translate.
Shelley goes to the town, and afterwards goes out in the boat
with Lord Byron. After dinner I go out a little in the boat,
and then Shelley goes up to Diodati. I translate in the
evening, and read Le Vieux de la Montagne, and write.
Shelley, in coming down, is attacked by a dog, which delays
him ; we send up for him, and Lord Byron comes down ; in
the meantime Shelley returns.
1 Word obliterated.
156 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Wednesday, August 14. Read Le Vieux de la Montagne ;
translate. Shelley reads Tacitus, and goes out with Lord
Byron before and after dinner. Lewis 1 comes to Diodati.
Shelley goes up there, and Clare goes up to copy. Remain
at home, and read Le Vieux de la Montagne.
Friday, August 16. Write, and read a little of Curtius;
translate ; read Walther and some of Rienzi. Lord Byron
goes with Lewis to Ferney. Shelley writes, and reads Tacitus.
Saturday, August 17. Write, and finish Walther. In the
evening I go out in the boat with Shelley, and he afterwards
goes up to Diodati. Began one of Madame de Genlis's
novels. Shelley finishes Tacitus. Polidori comes down.
Little babe is not well.
Sunday, August 18. Talk with Shelley, and write; read
Curtius. Shelley reads Plutarch in Greek. Lord Byron
comes down, and stays here an hour. I read a novel in the
evening. Shelley goes up to Diodati, and Monk Lewis.
Tuesday, August 20. Read Curtius; write; read Herman
d'Unna. Lord Byron comes down after dinner, and remains
with us until dark. Shelley spends the rest of the evening at
Diodati. He reads Plutarch.
Wednesday, August 21. Shelley and I talk about my story.
Finish Herman d'Unna and write. Shelley reads Milton.
After dinner Lord Byron comes down, and Clare and Shelley
go up to Diodati. Read Rienzi.
Friday, August 23. Shelley goes up to Diodati, and then
in the boat with Lord Byron, who has heard bad news of
Lady Byron, and is in bad spirits concerning it. ... Letters
arrive from Peacock and Charles. Shelley reads Milton.
Saturday, August 24. Write. Shelley goes to Geneva.
Read. Lord Byron and Shelley sit on the wall before dinner.
After I talk with Shelley, and then Lord Byron comes down
and spends an hour here. Shelley and he go up together.
1 Matthew Gregory Lewis, known as " Monk " Lewis.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 157
Monday, August 26. Hobhouse and Scroop Davis come
to Diodati. Shelley spends the evening there, and reads
Germania. Several books arrive, among others Coleridge's
Christabel, which Shelley reads aloud to me before going to
bed.
Wednesday, August 28. Packing. Shelley goes to town.
Work. Polidori comes down, and afterwards Lord Byron.
After dinner we go upon the water ; pack ; and Shelley goes
up to Diodati. Shelley reads Histoire de la Revolution par
Rabault.
Thursday, August 29. We depart from Geneva at 9 in
the morning.
They travelled to Havre via Dijon, Auxerre,
and Villeneuve ; allowing only a few hours for
visiting the palaces of Fontainebleau and Ver-
sailles, and the Cathedral of Rouen. From
Havre they sailed to Portsmouth, where, for a
short time, they separated. Shelley went to
stay with Peacock, who was living at Great
Marlow, and had been looking about there for
a house to suit his friends. Mary and Clare
proceeded to Bath, where they were to spend
the next few months.
Journal, Tuesday, September 10. Arrive at Bath about 2.
Dine, and spend the evening in looking for lodgings. Read
Mrs. Robinson's Valcenga.
Wednesday, September 1 1. Look for lodgings ; take some,
and settle ourselves. Read the first volume of The Antiquary,
and work.
CHAPTER IX
SEPTEMBER l8l6 FEBRUARY I 817
TROUBLE had, for some time past, been gathering
in heavy clouds. Godwin's affairs were in worse
plight than ever, and the Shelleys, go where they
might, were never suffered to forget them. Fanny
constituted herself his special pleader, and made it
evident that she found it hard to believe Shelley
could not, if he chose, get more money than he
did for Mary's father. Her long letters, bearing
witness in every line to her great natural intelli-
gence and sensibility, excite the deepest pity for her,
and not a little, it must be added, for those to whom
they were addressed. The poor girl's life was,
indeed, a hard one, and of all her trials perhaps
the most insurmountable was that inherited melan-
choly of the Wollstonecraft temperament which
permitted her no illusions, no moments, even, of
respite from care in unreasoning gaiety such as are
incidental to most young and healthy natures.
Nor, although she won every one's respect and
most people's liking, had she the inborn gift of
inspiring devotion or arousing enthusiasm. She
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 159
was one of those who give all and take nothing.
The people she loved all cared for others more
than they did for her, or cared only for themselves.
Full of warmth and affection and ideal aspirations ;
sympathetically responsive to every poem, every
work of art appealing to imagination, she was
condemned by her temperament and the surround-
ings of her life to idealise nothing, and to look at
all objects as they presented themselves to her, in
the light of the very commonest day.
Less pressing than Godwin, but still another
disturbing cause, was Charles Clairmont, who was
travelling abroad in search, partly of health, partly
of occupation ; had found the former, but not the
latter, and, of course, looked to Shelley as the
magician who was to realise all his plans for him.
Of his discursive letters, which are immensely
long, in a style of florid eloquence, only a few
specimen extracts can find room here. One,
received by Shelley and Mary at Geneva, openly
confesses that, though it was a year since he had
left England, he had abstained, as yet, from writing
to Skinner Street, being as unsettled as ever, and
having had nothing to speak of but his pleasures ;
having in short been going on "just like a butter-
fly, though still as a butterfly of the best inten-
tions." He proceeds to describe the country, his
manner of living there, his health, he details
his symptoms, and sets forth at length the
160 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
various projects he might entertain, and the
marvellous cheapness of one and all of them, if
only he could afford to have any projects at all.
He enumerates items of expenditure connected
with one of his schemes, and concludes thus
I lay this proposal before you, without knowing anything of
your finances, which, I fear, cannot be in too flourishing a
situation. You will, I trust, consider of the thing, and treat it
as frankly as it has been offered. I know you too well not to
know you would do for me all in your power. Have the good-
ness to write to me as instantly as possible.
And Shelley did write, so says the journal.
Last not least, there was Clare. At what point
of all this time did her secret become known to
Shelley and Mary ? No document as yet has
seen the light which informs us of this. Perhaps
some day it may. Unfortunately for biographers
and for readers of biography, Mary's journal is
almost devoid of personal gossip, or indeed of
personalities of any kind. Her diary is a record
of outward facts, and, occasionally, of intellectual
impressions ; no intimate history and no one else's
affairs are confided to it. No change of tone is
perceptible anywhere. All that can be asserted is
that they knew nothing of it when they went to
Geneva. In the absence of absolute proof to the
contrary it is impossible to believe that they were
not aware of it when they came back. Clare was
an expecting mother. For four months they had
all been in daily intercourse with 'Byron, who
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 161
never was or could be reticent, and who was not
restrained either by delicacy or consideration for
others from saying what he chose. But when and
how the whole affair was divulged and what its
effect was on Shelley and Mary remains a mystery.
From this time, however, Clare resumed her
place as a member of their household. It cannot
have been a matter of satisfaction to Mary :
domestic life was more congenial without Clare's
presence than with it, but now that there was a
true reason for her taking shelter with them,
Mary's native nobility of heart was equal to the
occasion, and she gave help, support, and con-
fidence, ungrudgingly and without stint. Never
in her journal, and only once in her letters
does any expression of discontent appear. They
settled down together in their lodgings at Bath,
but on the igth of September Mary set out to join
Shelley at Marlow for a few days, leaving Clara
in charge of little Willy and the Swiss nurse
Elise. On the 25th both were back at Bath,
where they resumed their quiet, regular way of
life, resting and reading. But this apparent
peace was not to be long unbroken. Letters from
Fanny followed each other in quick succession,
breathing nothing but painful, perpetual anxiety.
FANNY TO MARY.
26//* September 1816.
MY DEAR MARY I received your letter last Saturday, which
rejoiced my heart. I cannot help envying your calm, con-
VOL. I II
1 62 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
tented disposition, and the calm philosophical habits of life
which pursue you, or rather which you pursue everywhere.
I allude to your description of the manner in which you pass
your days at Bath, when most women would hardly have
recovered from the fatigues of such a journey as you had been
taking. I am delighted to hear such pleasing accounts of
your William; I should like to see him, dear fellow; the
change of air does him infinite good, no doubt. I am very
glad you have got Jane a pianoforte ; if anything can do her
good and restore her to industry, it is music. I think I gave
her all the music here ; however, I will look again for what I
can find. I am angry with Shelley for not giving me an
account of his health. All that I saw of him gave me great
uneasiness about him, and as I see him but seldom, I am
much more alarmed perhaps than you, who are constantly
with him. I hope that it is only the London air which does
not agree with him, and that he is now much better ; however,
it would have been kind to have said so.
Aunt Everina and Mrs. Bishop left London two days ago.
It pained me very much to find that they have entirely lost their
little income from Primrose Street, which is very hard upon them
at their age. Did Shelley tell you a singular story about Mrs. B.
having received an annuity which will makeup in part for her loss?
Poor Papa is going on with his novel, though I am sure it
is very fatiguing to him, though he will not allow it ; he is not
able to study as much as formerly without injuring himself; this,
joined to the plagues of his affairs, which he fears will never
be closed, make me very anxious for him. The name of his
novel is Mandeville, or a Tale of the Seventeenth Century. I
think, however, you had better not mention the name to any
one, as he wishes it not to be announced at present. Tell
Shelley, as soon as he knows certainly about Longdill, to
write, that he may be eased on that score, for it is a great
weight on his spirits at present. Mr. Owen is come to town
to prepare for the meeting of Parliament. There never was
so devoted a being as he is ; and it certainly must end in his
doing a great deal of good, though not the good he talks of.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 163
Have you heard from Charles ? He has never given us a
single line. I am afraid he is doing very ill, and has the con-
science not to write a parcel of lies. Beg the favour of Shelley,
to copy for me his poem on the scenes at the foot of Mont
Blanc, and tell him or remind him of a letter which you said
he had written on these scenes ; you cannot think what a
treasure they would be to me ; remember you promised them
to me when you returned to England. Have you heard from
Lord Byron since he visited those sublime scenes ? I have had
great pleasure since I saw Shelley in going over a fine gallery
of pictures of the Old Masters at Dulwich. There was a St.
Sebastian by Guido, the finest picture I ever saw ; there were
also the finest specimens of Murillo, the great Spanish painter,
to be found in England, and two very fine Titians. But the
works of art are not to be compared to the works of nature,
and I am never satisfied. It is only poets that are eternal
benefactors of their fellow-creatures, and the real ones never
fail of giving us the highest degree of pleasure we are capable
of; they are, in my opinion, nature and art united, and as
such never fading.
Do write to me immediately, and tell me you have got a
house, and answer those questions I asked you at the be-
ginning of this letter.
Give my love to Shelley, and kiss William for me.
Your affectionate Sister, FANNY.
When Shelley sold to his father the reversion
of a part of his inheritance, he had promised to
Godwin a sum of ^300, which he had hoped to
save from the money thus obtained. Owing to
certain conditions attached to the transaction by
Sir Timothy Shelley, this proved to be impossible.
The utmost Shelley could do, and that only by
leaving himself almost without resources, was to
send something over ^200 ; a bitter disappoint-
1 64 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
ment to Godwin, who had given a bill for the full
amount. Shelley had perhaps been led by his
hopes, and his desire to serve Godwin, to speak
in too sanguine a tone as to his prospect of obtain-
ing the money, and the letter announcing his
failure came, Fanny wrote, "like a thunderclap."
In her disappointment she taxed Shelley with want
of frankness, and Shelley and Mary both with an
apparent wish to avoid the subject of Godwin's
affairs.
"You know," she writes, "the peculiar temperature of
Papa's mind (if I may so express myself) ; you know he
cannot write when pecuniary circumstances overwhelm him ;
you know that it is of the utmost consequence, for his own and
the world's sake that he should finish his novel ; and is it not
your and Shelley's duty to consider these things, and to
endeavour to prevent, as far as lies in your power, giving him
unnecessary pain and anxiety ? "
To the Shelleys, who had strained every nerve
to obtain this money, unmindful of the insulting
manner in which such assistance was demanded
and received by Godwin, these appeals to their
sense of duty must have been exasperating. Nor
were matters mended by hearing of sundry
scandalous reports abroad concerning themselves
reports sedulously gathered by Mrs. Godwin,
and of which Fanny thought it her duty to inform
them, so as to put them on their guard. They,
on their part, were indignant, especially with Mrs.
Godwin, who had evidently, they surmised, gone
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 165
out of her way to collect this false information,
and had helped rather than hindered its circula-
tion ; and they expressed themselves to this effect.
Fanny stoutly defended her stepmother against
these attacks.
Mamma and I are not great friends, but, always alive to her
virtues, lam anxious to defend her from a charge so foreign to her
character. ... I told Shelley these (scandalous reports), and
I still think they originated with your servants and Harriet, whom
I know has been very industrious in spreading false reports about
you. I at the same time advised Shelley always to keep French
servants, and he then seemed to think it a good plan. You
are very careless, and are for ever leaving your letters about.
English servants like nothing so much as scandal and gossip ;
but this you know as well as I, and this is the origin of the
stories that are told. And this you choose to father on
Mamma, who (whatever she chooses to say in a passion to me
alone) is the woman the most incapable of such low conduct.
I do not say that her inferences are always the most just or
the most amiable, but they are always confined to myself and
Papa. Depend upon it you are perfectly safe as long as you
keep your French servant with you. ... I have now to
entreat you, Shelley, to tell Papa exactly what you can and
what you cannot do, for he does not seem to know what you
mean in your letter. I know that you are most anxious to do
everything in your power to complete your engagement to
him, and to do anything that will not ruin yourself to save
him ; but he is not' convinced of this, and I think it essential
to his peace that he should be convinced of this. I do not
on any account wish you to give him false hopes. Forgive
me if I have expressed myself unkindly. My heart is warm
in your cause, and I am anxious, most anxious, that Papa
should feel for you as I do, both for your own and his sake.
. . . All that I have said about Mamma proceeds from the
hatred I have of talking and petty scandal, which, though
166 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
trifling in itself, often does superior persons much injury, though
it cannot proceed from any but vulgar souls in the first instance.
This letter was crossed by Shelley's, enclosing
more than ^"200 insufficient, however, to meet
the situation or to raise the heavy veil of gloom
which had settled on Skinner Street. Fanny
could bear it no longer. Despairing gloom from
Godwin, whom she loved, and who in his gloom
was no philosopher ; sordid, nagging, angry gloom
from "Mamma," who, clearly enough, did not
scruple to remind the poor girl that she had been
a charge and a burden to the household (this may
have been one of the things she only " chose to
say in a passion, to Fanny alone ") ; her sisters
gone, and neither of them in complete sympathy
with her ; no friends to cheer or divert her
thoughts ! A plan had been under consideration
for her residing with her relatives in Ireland, and
the last drop of bitterness was the refusal of her
aunt, Everina Wollstonecraft, to have her. What
was left for her? Much, if she could have be-
lieved it, and have nerved herself to patience.
But she was broken down and blinded by the
strain of over endurance. On the Qth of October
she disappeared from home. Shelley and Mary
in Bath suspected nothing of the impending crisis.
The journal for that week is as follows
Saturday, October 5 (Mary). Read Clarendon and Curtius ;
walk with Shelley. Shelley reads Tasso.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 167
Sunday, October 6 (Shelley). On this day Mary put her
head through the door and said, " Come and look ; here's a cat
eating roses ; she'll turn into a woman ; when beasts eat these
roses they turn into men and women."
(Mary). Read Clarendon all day; finish the eleventh
book. Shelley reads Tasso.
Monday, October 7. Read Curtius and Clarendon ; write.
Shelley reads Don Quixote aloud in the evening.
Tuesday, October 8. Letter from Fanny (this letter has not
been preserved). Drawing lesson. Walk out with Shelley to
the South Parade ; read Clarendon, and draw. In the evening
work, and Shelley reads Don Quixote; afterwards read Memoirs
of the Princess of Bareith aloud.
Wednesday, October 9. Read Curtius ; finish the Memoirs ;
draw. In the evening a very alarming letter comes from
Fanny. Shelley goes immediately to Bristol; we sit up for
him till 2 in the morning, when he returns, but brings no
particular news.
Thursday, October 10. Shelley goes again to Bristol, and
obtains more certain trace. Work and read. He returns at
ii o'clock.
Friday, October 1 1. He sets off to Swansea. Work and
read.
Saturday, October 12. He returns with the worst account.
A miserable day. Two letters from Papa. Buy mourning,
and work in the evening.
From Bristol Fanny had written not only to
the Shelleys, but to the Godwins, accounting for
her disappearance, and adding, " I depart immedi-
ately to the spot from which I hope never to
remove."
During the ensuing night, at the Mackworth
Arms Inn, Swansea, she traced the following
words
1 68 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
I have long determined that the best thing I could do was
to put an end to the existence of a being whose birth was
unfortunate, and whose life has only been a series of pain to
those persons who have hurt their health in endeavouring to
promote her welfare. Perhaps to hear of my death may give
you pain, but you will soon have the blessing of forgetting
that such a creature ever existed as ...
This note and a laudanum bottle were beside
her when, next morning, she was found lying dead.
The persons for whose sake it was so she
had persuaded herself that she committed this
act were reduced to a wretched condition by the
blow. Shelley's health was shattered ; Mary
profoundly miserable ; Clare, although by her
own avowal feeling less affection for Fanny than
might have been expected, was shocked by the
dreadful manner of her death, and infected by the
contagion of the general gloom. She was not far
from her confinement, and had reasons enough of
her own for any amount" of depression.
Godwin was deeply afflicted; to him Fanny
was a great and material loss, and the last re-
maining link with a happy past. As usual, public
comment was the thing of all others from which
he shrank most, and in the midst of his first
sorrow his chief anxiety was to hide or disguise
the painful story from the world. In writing (for
the first time) to Mary he says-
Do not expose us to those idle questions which, to a mind
in anguish, is one of the severest of all trials. We are at this
moment in doubt whether, during the first shock, we shall not
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 169
say that she is gone to Ireland to her aunt, a thing that had
been in contemplation. Do not take from us the power to
exercise our own discretion. You shall hear again to-morrow.
What I have most of all in horror is the public papers, and
I thank you for your caution, as it may act on this.
We have so conducted ourselves that not one person in
our home has the smallest apprehension of the truth. Our
feelings are less tumultuous than deep. God only knows what
they may become.
Charles Clairmoht was not informed at all of
Fanny's death ; a letter from him a year later
contains a message to her. Mrs. Godwin busied
herself with putting the blame on Shelley. Four
years later she informed Mrs. Gisborne that the
three girls had been simultaneously in love with
Shelley, and that Fanny's death was due to jealousy
of Mary ! This shows that the Shelleys' instinct
did not much mislead them when they held Mary's
stepmother responsible for the authorship and
diffusion of many of those slanders which for years
were to affect their happiness and peace. Any
reader of Fanny's letters can judge how far Mrs.
Godwin's allegation is borne out by actual facts ;
and to any one knowing aught of women and
women's lives these letters afford clue enough to
the situation and the story, and further explana-
tion is superfluous. Fanny was fond of Shelley,
fond enough even to forgive him for the trouble
he had brought on their home, but her part was
throughout that of a long-suffering sister, one,
too, to whose lot it always fell to say all the
i;o THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
disagreeable things that had to be said a truly
ungrateful task. Her loyalty to the Godwins,
though it could not entirely divide her from the
Shelleys, could and did prevent any intimacy of
friendship with them. Her enlightened, liberal
mind, and her generous, loving heart had won
Shelley's recognition and his affection, and in a
moment a veil was torn from his eyes, revealing
to him unsuspected depths of suffering, sacrifice,
and heroism now it was too late. How much
more they might have done for Fanny had they
understood what she endured ! There was he,
Shelley, offering sympathy and help to the op-
pressed and the miserable all the world over, and
here, here under his very eyes, this tragic
romance was acted out to the death.
Her voice did quiver as we parted,
Yet knew I not that heart was broken
From which it came, and I departed,
Heeding not the misery then spoken
Misery, ah ! misery !
This world is all too wide for thee.
If the echo of those lines reached Fanny in
the world of shadows, it may have calmed the
restless spirit with the knowledge that she had
not lived for nothing after all.
During the next two months another tragedy
was silently advancing towards its final catas-
trophe. Shelley was anxious for intelligence of
Harriet and her children ; she had, however, dis-
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 171
appeared, and he could discover no clue to her
whereabouts. Mr. Peacock, who, during June,
had been in communication with her on money
matters, had now, apparently, lost sight of her.
The worry of Godwin's money-matters and the
fearful shock of Fanny's self-sought death, followed
as it was by collapse of his own health and nerves,
probably withdrew Shelley's thoughts from the
subject for a time. In November, however, he
wrote to Hookham, thinking that he, to whom
Harriet had once written to discover Shelley's
whereabouts, might now know or have the means
of finding out where she was living. No answer
came, however, to these inquiries for some weeks,
during which Shelley, Mary, and Clare lived in
their seclusion, reading Lucian and Horace,
Shakespeare, Gibbon, and Locke ; in occasional
correspondence with Skinner Street, through Mrs.
Godwin, who was now trying what she could do
to obtain money loans (probably raised on Shelley's
prospects), requisite, not only to save Godwin
from bankruptcy, but to repay Shelley a small
fraction of what he had given and lent, and with-
out which he was unable to pay his own way.
The plan for settling at Marlow was still pend-
ing, and on the 5th of December Shelley went
there again to stay with Mr. Peacock and his
mother, and to look about for a residence to suit
him. Mary during his absence was somewhat
i?2 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
tormented by anxiety for his fragile health ; fearful,
too, lest in his impulsive way he should fall in love
with the first pretty place he saw, and burden him-
self with some unsuitable house, in the idea of
settling there " for ever," Clare and all. To that
last plan she probably foresaw the objections more
clearly than Shelley did. But her cheery letters
are girlish and playful.
5//z December 1816.
SWEET ELF I got up very late this morning, so that I
could not attend Mr. West. I don't know any more. Good-
night.
NEW BOND STREET, BATH,
6th December 1816.
SWEET ELF I was awakened this morning by my pretty
babe, and was dressed time enough to take my lesson from
Mr. West, and (thank God) finished that tedious ugly picture
I have been so long about. I have also finished the fourth
chapter of Frankenstein, which is a very long one, and I think
you would like it. And where are you ? and what are you
doing ? my blessed love. I hope and trust that, for my sake,
you did not go outside this wretched day, while the wind howls
and the clouds seem to threaten rain. And what did my love
think of as he rode along did he think about our home, our
babe, and his poor Pecksie? But I am sure you did, and
thought of them all with joy and hope. But in the choice of
a residence, dear Shelley, pray be not too quick or attach your-
self too much to one spot. Ah ! were you indeed a winged Elf,
and could soar over mountains and seas, and could pounce on
the little spot. A house with a lawn, a river or lake, noble
trees, and divine mountains, that should be our little mouse-
hole to retire to. But never mind this ; give me a garden,
and absentia Claire, and I will thank my love for many favours.
If you, my love, go to London, you will perhaps try to pro-
cure a good Livy, for I wish very much to read it. I must
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 173
be more industrious, especially in learning Latin, which I
neglected shamefully last summer at intervals, and those
periods of not reading at all put me back very far.
The Morning Chronicle, as you will see, does not make
much of the riots, which they say are entirely quelled, and
you would be almost inclined to say, " Out of the mountain
comes forth a mouse," although, I daresay, poor Mrs. Platt
does not think so.
The blue eyes of your sweet Boy are staring at me while
I write this ; he is a dear child, and you love him tenderly,
although I fancy that your affection will increase when he has
a nursery to himself, and only comes to you just dressed and
in good humour ; besides when that conies to pass he will be
a wise little man, for he improves in mind rapidly. Tell me,
shall you be happy to have another little squaller? You will
look grave on this, but I do not mean anything.
Leigh Hunt has not written. I would advise a letter
addressed to him at .the Examiner Office, if there is no
answer to-morrow. He may not be at the Vale of Health, for
it is odd that he does not acknowledge the receipt of so large
a sum. There have been no letters of any kind to-day.
Now, my dear, when shall I see you ? Do not be very
long away ; take care of yourself and take a house. I have a
great fear that bad weather will set in. My airy Elf, how
unlucky you are ! I shall write to Mrs. Godwin to-morrow ;
but let me know what you hear from Hayward and papa, as I
am greatly interested in those affairs. Adieu, sweetest ; love
me tenderly, and think of me with affection when anything
pleases you greatly. Your affectionate girl MARY.
I have not asked Clare, but I dare say she would send her
love, although I dare say she would scold you well if you were
here. Compliments and remembrances to Dame Peacock
and Son, but do not let them see this.
Sweet, adieu !
Percy B. Shelley, Esq.,
Great Marlow, Bucks.
174 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
On 6th December the journal records-
Letter from Shelley ; he has gone to visit Leigh Hunt.
This was the beginning of a lifelong intimacy.
On the 1 4th Shelley returned to Bath, and on
the very next day a letter from Hookham informed
him that on the Qth Harriet's body had been taken
out of the Serpentine. She had disappeared three
weeks before that time from the house where she
was living. An inquest had been held at which
her name was given as Harriet Smith ; little or no
information about her was given to the jury, who
returned a verdict of " Found drowned."
Life and its complications had proved too much
for the poor silly woman, and she took the only
means of escape she saw open to her. Her piteous
story was sufficiently told by the fact that when
she drowned herself she was not far from her con-
finement. But it would seem from subsequent
evidence that harsh treatment on the part of her
relatives was what finally drove her to despair.
She had lived a fast life, but had been, nominally
at any rate, under her father's protection until a
comparatively short time before her disappearance,
when some act or occurrence caused her to be
driven from his house. From that moment she
sank lower and lower, until at last, deserted by one
said to be a groom to whom she had looked
for protection, she killed herself.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 175
It is asserted that she had had, all her life, an
avowed proclivity to suicide. She had been fond,
in young and happy days, of talking jocosely about
it, as silly girls often do ; discoursing of " some
scheme of self-destruction as coolly as another
lady would arrange a visit to an exhibition or a
theatre." ] But it is a wide dreary waste that lies
between such an idea and the grim reality, and
poor Harriet had traversed it.
Shelley's first thought on receiving the fatal
news was of his children. His sensations were
those of horror, not of remorse. He never spoke
or thought of Harriet with harshness, rather with
infinite pity, but he never regarded her save in the
light of one who had wronged him and failed him,
whom he had left, indeed, but had forgiven, and
had tried to save from the worst consequences of
her own acts. Her dreadful death was a shock
to him of which he said (to Byron) that he knew
not how he had survived it ; and he regarded
her father and sister as guilty of her blood. But
Fanny's death caused him acuter anguish than
Harriet's did.
As for Mary, she regarded the whole West-
brook family as the source of grief and shame to
Shelley. Harriet she only knew for a frivolous,
heartless, faithless girl, whom she had never had
the faintest cause to respect, hardly even to pity.
1 Hogg.
176 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Poor Harriet was indeed deserving of profound
commiseration, and no one could have known and
felt this more than Mary would have done, in later
years. But she heard one side of the case only,
and that one the side on which her own strongest
feelings were engaged. She was only nineteen,
with an exalted ideal of womanly devotion ; and
at nineteen we may sternly judge what later on we
may condemn indeed, but with a depth of pity
quite beyond the power of its object to fathom or
comprehend.
No comment whatever on the occurrence
appears in her journal. She threw herself ar-
dently into Shelley's eagerness to get possession
of his elder children ; ready, for his sake, to love
them as her own.
It could not but occur to her that her own
position was altered by this event, and that
nothing now stood between her and her legal
marriage to Shelley and acknowledgment as his
wife. So completely, however, did they regard
themselves as united for all time by indissoluble
ties that she thought of the change chiefly as it
affected other people.
MARY TO SHELLEY.
BATH, ^th December 1816.
MY BELOVED FRIEND I waited with the greatest anxiety
for your letter. You are well, and that assurance has restored
some peace to me.
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRA FT SHELLE Y 177
How very happy shall I be to possess those darling
treasures that are yours. I do not exactly understand what
Chancery has to do in this, and wait with impatience for
to-morrow, when I shall hear whether they are with you ; and
then what will you do with them ? My heart says, bring them
instantly here ; but I submit to your prudence. You do not
mention Godwin. When I receive your letter to-morrow I
shall write to Mrs. Godwin. I hope, yet I fear, that he will
show on this occasion some disinterestedness. Poor, dear
Fanny, if she had lived until this moment she would have been
saved, for my house would then have been a proper asylum
for her. Ah ! my best love, to you do I owe every joy, every
perfection that I may enjoy or boast of. Love me, sweet, for
ever. I hardly know what I mean, I am so much agitated.
Clare has a very bad cough, but I think she is better to-day.
Mr. Carn talks of bleeding if she does not recover quickly, but
she is positively resolved not to submit to that. She sends
her love. My sweet love, deliver some message from me to
your kind friends at Hampstead ; tell Mrs. Hunt that I am
extremely obliged to her for the little profile she was so kind
as to send me, and thank Mr. Hunt for his friendly message
which I did not hear.
These Westbrooks ! But they have nothing to do with
your sweet babes ; they are yours, and I do not see the pre-
tence for a suit ; but to-morrow I shall know all.
Your box arrived to-day. I shall send soon to the up-
holsterer, for now I long more than ever that our house should
be quickly ready for the reception of those dear children whom
I love so tenderly. Then there will be a sweet brother and sister
for my William, who will lose his pre-eminence as eldest, and
be helped third at table, as Clare is continually reminding him.
Come down to me, sweetest, as soon as you can, for I long
to see you and embrace.
As to the event you allude to, be governed by your friends
and prudence as to when it ought to take place, but it must
be in London.
VOL. I 12
178 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Clare has just looked in ; she begs you not to stay away
long, to be more explicit in your letters, and sends her love.
You tell me to write a long letter, and I would, but that
my ideas wander and my hand trembles. Come back to
reassure me, my Shelley, and bring with you your darling
lanthe and Charles. Thank your kind friends. I long to hear
about Godwin. Your affectionate MARY.
Have you called on Hogg ? I would hardly advise you.
Remember me, sweet, in your sorrows as well as your pleasures ;
they will, I trust, soften the one and heighten the other
feeling. Adieu.
To Percy Bysshe Shelley,
5 Gray's Inn Square, London.
No time was lost in putting things on their
legal footing. Shelley took Mary up to town,
where the marriage ceremony took place at
St. Mildred's Church, Broad Street, in presence
of Godwin and Mrs. Godwin. On the previous
day he had seen his daughter for the first time
since her flight from his house two and a half
years before.
Both must have felt a strange emotion which,
probably, neither of them allowed to appear.
Mary for a fortnight left a blank in her journal.
On her return to Clifton she thus shortly chronicled
her days
I have omitted writing my journal for some time. Shelley
goes to London and returns ; I go with him ; spend the time
between Leigh Hunt's and Godwin's: A marriage takes place
on the 2Qth of December 1816. Draw; read Lord Chester-
field and Locke.
Godwin's relief and satisfaction were great
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 179
indeed. His letter to his brother in the country,
announcing his daughter's recent marriage with a
baronet's eldest son, can only be compared for
adroit manipulation of facts with a later letter to
Mr. Baxter of Dundee, in which he tells of poor
Fanny's having been attacked in Wales by an
inflammatory fever "which carried her off."
He now surpassed himself " in polished and
cautious attentions" both to Shelley and Mary,
and appeared to wish to compensate in every way
for the red-hot, righteous indignation which,
owing to wounded pride rather than to offended
moral sense, he had thought it his duty to exhibit
in the past.
Shelley's heart yearned towards his two poor
little children by Harriet, and to get possession of
them was now his feverish anxiety. On this
business he was obliged, within a week of his
return to Bath, to go up again to London. During
his absence, on the i3th of January, Clare's little
girl, Byron's daughter, was born. " Four days of
idleness," are Mary's only allusion to this event.
It was communicated to the absent father by
Shelley, in a long letter from London. He quite
simply assumes the event to be an occasion of
great rejoicing to all concerned, and expects Byron
to feel the same. The infant, who afterwards
developed into a singularly fascinating and lovely
child, was described in enthusiastic terms by Mary
i8o THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
as unusually beautiful and intelligent, even at this
early stage. Their first name for her was Alba,
or " the Dawn " ; a reminiscence of Byron's nick-
name, "Albe."
Most of this month of January, while Mary had
Clare and the infant to look after, was of necessity
spent by Shelley in London. Harriet's father, Mr.
Westbrook, and his daughter Eliza had filed an
appeal to the Court of Chancery, praying that
her children might be placed in the custody of
guardians to be appointed by the Court, and not
in that of their father. On 24th January, poor
little William's first birthday, the case was heard
before Lord Chancellor Eldon. Mary, expecting
that the decision would be known at once, waited
in painful suspense to hear the result.
Journal, Friday, January 24. My little William's birthday.
How many changes have occurred during this little year ; may
the ensuing one be more peaceful, and my William's star be a
fortunate one to rule the decision of this day. Alas ! I fear it
will be put off, and the influence of the star pass away. Read
the Arcadia and Amadis; walk with my sweet babe.
Her fears were realised, for two months were
to elapse ere judgment was pronounced.
Saturday, January 25. An unhappy day. I receive bad
news and determine to go up to London. Read the Arcadia
and Amadis. Letter from Mrs. Godwin and William.
Accordingly, next day, Mary went up to join
her husband in town, and notes in her diary that
MAR Y WOLLS TO NEC RAFT SHELLE Y j 8 1
she was met at the inn by Mrs. Godwin and
William. Well might Shelley say of the ceremony
that it was "magical in its effects."
As it turned out, this was her final departure
from Bath : she never returned there. On her
arrival in London she was warmly welcomed by
Shelley's new friends, the Leigh Hunts, at whose
house most of her time was spent, and whose
genial, social circle was most refreshing to her.
The house at Marlow had been taken, and was
now being prepared for her reception. Little
William and his nurse, escorted by Clare, joined
her at the Hunts on the i8th of February, but
Clare herself stayed elsewhere. At the end of the
month they all departed for their new home, and
were established there early in March.
CHAPTER X
MARCH i8i7-MARCH 1818
THE Shelleys' new abode, although situated in a
lovely part of the country, was cold and cheerless,
and, at that bleak time of year, must have ap-
peared at its worst. Albion House stood (and,
though subdivided and much altered in appear-
ance, still stands) in what is now the main street
of Great Marlow, and at a considerable distance
from the river. At the back the garden-plot
rises gradually from the level of the house, ter-
minating in a kind of artificial mound, over-
shadowed by a spreading cedar ; a delightfully
shady lounge in summer, but shutting off sky
and sunshine from the house. There are two
large, low, old - fashioned rooms ; one on the
ground floor, somewhat like a farmhouse kitchen ;
the other above it ; both facing towards the
garden. In one of these Shelley fitted up a
library, little thinking that the dwelling, which
he had rashly taken on a more than twenty
years' lease, would be his home for only a year.
The rest of the house accommodated Mary,
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLE Y \ 83
Clare, the children and servants, and left plenty
of room for visitors. Shelley was hospitality itself,
and though he never was in greater trouble for
money than during this year, he entertained a
constant succession of guests. First among these
was Godwin ; next, and most frequent, the genial
but needy Leigh Hunt, with all his family. With
Mary, as with Shelley, he had quickly established
himself on a footing of easy, affectionate friend-
liness, as may be inferred from Mary's letter,
written to him during her first days at Marlow.
MARLOW, i o'clock, $th March 1817.
MY DEAR HUNT Although you mistook me in thinking I
wished you to write about politics in your letters to me as such
a thought was very far from me, yet I cannot help mentioning
your last week's Examiner, as its boldness gave me extreme
pleasure. I am very glad to find that you wrote the leading
article, which I had doubted, as there was no significant hand.
But though I speak of this, do not fear that you will be teased by
me on these subjects when we enjoy your company at Marlow.
When there, you shall never be serious when you wish to be
merry, and have as many nuts to crack as there are words in
the Petitions to Parliament for Reform a tremendous promise.
Have you never felt in your succession of nervous feelings
one single disagreeable truism gain a painful possession of
your mind and keep it for some months? A year ago, I
remember, my private hours were all made bitter by reflections
on the certainty of death, and now the flight of time has the
same power over me. Everything passes, and one is hardly
conscious of enjoying the present until it becomes the past.
I was reading the other day the letters of Gibbon. He
entreats Lord Sheffield to come with all his family to visit him
at Lausanne, and dwells on the pleasure such a visit 'will
1 84 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
occasion. There is a little gap in the date of his letters, and
then he complains that this solitude is made more irksome by
their having been there and departed. So will it be with us
in a few months when you will all have left Marlow. But I
will not indulge this gloomy feeling. The sun shines brightly,
and we shall be very happy in our garden this summer.
Affectionately yours, MARINA.
Not only did Shelley keep open house for his
friends ; his kindliness and benevolence to the
distressed poor in Marlow and the surrounding
country was unbounded. Nor was he content to
give money relief ; he visited the cottagers ; and
made himself personally acquainted with them,
their needs, and their sufferings.
In all these labours of love and charity he was
heartily and constantly seconded by Mary.
No more alone through the world's wilderness,
Although (he) trod the paths of high intent,
(He) journeyed now. 1
From the time of her union with him Mary
had been his consoler, his cherished love, all the
dearer to him for the thought that she was de-
pendent on him and only on him for comfort and
support, and enlightenment of mind ; but yet she
was a child, a clever child, sedate and thought-
ful beyond her years, and full of true womanly
devotion, but still one whose first and only ac-
quaintance with the world had been made by
coming violently into collision with it, a dan-
gerous experience, and hardening, especially if
1 Revolt of Islam, Dedication.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 185
prolonged. From the time of her marriage a
maturer, mellower tone is perceptible throughout
her letters and writings, as though, the unnatural
strain removed, and, above all, intercourse with
her father restored, she glided naturally and im-
perceptibly into the place Nature intended her
to fill, as responsible woman and wife, with social
as well as domestic duties to fulfil.
The suffering of the past two or three years had
left her wiser if also sadder than before ; already
she was beginning to look on life with a calm
liberal judgment of one who knew both sides of
many questions, yet still her mind retained the
simplicity and her spirit much of the buoyancy of
youth. The unquenchable spring of love and
enthusiasm in Shelley's breast, though it led him
into .errors and brought him grief and disillusion -
ment, was a talisman that saved him from Byronic
sarcasm, from the bitterness of recoil and the death
of stagnation. He suffered from reaction, as all
such natures must suffer, but Mary was by his side
to steady and balance and support him, and to
bring to him for his consolation the balm she had
herself received from him. Well might he write
Now has descended a serener hour,
And, with inconstant fortune, friends return;
Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power
Which says : Let scorn be not repaid with scorn. 1
1 Revolt of Islam, Dedication.
186 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
And consolation and support were sorely needed.
In March Lord Chancellor Eldon pronounced
the judgment by which he was deprived, on
moral and religious grounds, of the custody of
his two elder children. How bitterly he felt,
how keenly he resented, this decree all the world
knows. The paper which he drew up during this
celebrated case, in which he declared, as far as
he chose to declare them, his sentiments with
regard to his separation from Harriet and his
union with Mary, is the nearest approach to
self- vindication Shelley ever made. But the
decision of the Court cast a slur on his name,
and on that of his second wife. The final ar-
rangements about the children dragged on for
many months. They were eventually given over
to the guardianship of a clergyman, a stranger
to their father, who had to set aside ^200 a year
of his income for their maintenance in exile.
Meanwhile Godwin's exactions were incessant,
and his demands, sometimes impossible to grant,
were harder than ever to deal with now that
they were couched in terms of friendship, almost
of affection. On gth March we find Shelley
writing to him
It gives me pain that I cannot send you the whole of what
you want. I enclose a cheque to within a few pounds of my
possessions.
On 22d March (Godwin has been begging
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 187
again, but this time in behalf of his old assistant
and amanuensis, Marshall)
Marshall's proposal is one in which, however reluctantly, I
must refuse to engage. It is that I should grant bills to the
amount of his debts, which are to expire in thirty months.
On 1 5th April Godwin writes on his own
behalf
The fact is I owe ^400 on a similar score, beyond the
;ioo that I owed in the middle of 1815 ; and without
clearing this, my mind will never be perfectly free for in-
tellectual occupations. If this were done, I am in hopes that
the produce of Mandevillc, and the sensible improvement in
the commercial transactions of Skinner Street would make me
a free man, perhaps, for the rest of my life. . . .
My life wears away in lingering sorrow at the endless delays
that attend on this affair. . . . Once every two or three months
I throw myself prostrate beneath the feet of Taylor of Norwich,
and my other discounting friends, protesting that this is ab-
solutely for the last time. Shall this ever have an end ? Shall
I ever be my own man again ?
One can imagine how such a letter would
work on his daughter's feelings.
Nor was Charles Clairmont backward about
putting in his claims, although his modest little
requests require, like gems, to be extracted care-
fully from the discursive raptures, the eloquent
flights of fancy and poetic description in which
they are embedded. In January he had written
from Bagneres de Bigorre, where he was "ac-
quiring the language "
Sometimes I hardly dare believe, situated as I am, that I
ought for a moment to nourish the feelings of which I am
1 88 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
now going to talk to you ; at other times I am so thoroughly
convinced of their infinite utility with regard to the moral
existence of a being with strong sensations, or at all events
with regard to mine, that I fly to this subject as to a tranquil-
Using medicine, which has the power of so arranging and
calming every violent and illicit sensation of the soul as to
spread over the frame a deep and delightful contentment, for
such is the effect produced upon me by a contemplation of the
perfect state of existence, the perfect state of social domestic
happiness which I propose to myself. My life has hitherto
been a tissue of irregularity, which I assure you I am little
content to reflect upon. ... I have been always neglectful of
one of the most precious possessions which a young man can
hold of my character. . . . You will now see the object of
this letter. ... I desire strongly to marry, and to devote
myself to the temperate, rational duties of human life. . . .
I see, I confess, some objections to this step. ... I am not
forgetful of what I owe to Godwin and my Mother, but we
are in a manner entirely separated. ... It is true my feelings
towards my Mother are cold and inactive, but my attachment
and respect for Godwin are unalterable, and will remain so to
the last moment of my existence. . . . The news of his death
would be to me a stroke of the severest affliction ; that of my
own Mother would be no more than the sorrow occasioned
by the loss of a common acquaintance.
. . . Unless every obstacle on the part of the object of my
affection were laid aside, you may suppose I should not speak
so decisively. She is perfectly acquainted with every circum-
stance respecting me, and we feel that we love and are suited
to each other ; we feel that we should be exquisitely happy in
being devoted to each other.
... I feel that I could not offer myself to the family
without assuring them of my capability of commanding an
annual sufficiency to support a little menage that is to say, as
near as I can obtain information, 2000 francs, or about ^80.
... Do I dream, my dear Shelley, when a gleam of gay hope
gives me reason to doubt of the possibility of my scheme ?
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLS Y 1 89
. . . Pray lose no time in writing to me, and be as explicit as
possible.
The following extract is from a letter to Mary,
written in August (the matrimonial scheme is
now quite forgotten)
I will begin by telling you that I received ;io some days
ago, minus the expenses. ... I also received your letter, but
not till after the money. ... I am most extremely vexed that
Shelley will not oblige me with a single word. It is now
nearly six months that I have expected from him a letter about
my future plans.
Do, my dear Mary, persuade him to talk with you about
them ; and if he always persists in remaining silent, I beg you
will write for him, and ask him what he would be inclined to
approve. . . . Had I a little fortune of ^"200 or ^300 a year,
nothing should ever tempt me to make an effort to increase
this golden sufficiency. . . .
Respecting money matters. ... I still owe (on the score of
my pension] nearly i 5, this is all my debt here. Another
month will accumulate before I can receive your answer, and
you will judge of what will be necessary to me on the road, to
whatever place I may be destined. I cannot spend less than
33. 6d. per day.
If Papa's novel is finished before you write, I wish to God
you would send it. I am now absolutely without money, but
I have no occasion for any, except for washing and postage,
and for such little necessaries I find no difficulty in borrowing
a small sum.
If I knew Mamma's address, I should certainly write to her
in France. I have no heart to write to Skinner Street, for they
will not answer my letters. Perhaps, now that this haughty
woman is absent, I should obtain a letter. I think I shall
make an effort with Fanny. As for Clare, she has entirely
forgotten that she has a brother in the world. . . . Tell me if
Godwin has been to visit you at Marlow ; if you see Fanny
190 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
often ; and all about the two Williams. What is Shelley
writing ?
Shelley, when this letter arrived, was writing
The Revolt of Islam. To this poem, in spite
of duns, sponges, and law's delays, his thoughts
and time were consecrated during his first six
months at Marlow ; in spite, too, of his constant
succession of guests ; but society with him was
not always a hindrance to poetic creation or
intellectual work. Indeed, a congenial presence
afforded him a kind of relief, a half-unconscious
stimulus which yet was no serious interruption to
thought, for it was powerless to recall him from
his abstraction.
Mary's life at Marlow was very different from
what it had been at Bishopsgate and Bath. Her
duties as house-mistress and hostess as well as
Shelley's companion and helpmeet left her not
much time for reverie. But her regular habits of
study and writing stood her in good stead.
Frankenstein was completed and corrected before
the end of May. It was offered to Murray, who,
however, declined it, and was eventually pub-
lished by Lackington.
The negotiations with publishers calling her
up to town, she paid a visit to Skinner Street.
Shelley accompanied her, but was obliged to
return to Marlow almost immediately, and as
Mrs. Godwin also appears to have been absent,
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 191
Mary stayed alone with her father in her old
home. To him this was a pleasure.
" Such a visit," he had written to Shelley,
"will tend to bring back years that are passed,
and make me young again. It will also operate
to render us more familiar and intimate, meeting
in this snug and quiet house, for such it appears
to me, though I daresay you will lift up your
hands, and wonder I can give it that appellation."
To Mary every room in the house must have
been fraught with unspeakable associations. Alone
with the memories of those who were gone, of
others who were alienated ; conscious of the com-
plete change in herself and transference of her
sphere of sympathy, she must have felt, when
Shelley left her, like a solitary wanderer in a land
of shadows.
" I am very well here," she wrote, " but so intolerably rest-
less that it is painful to sit still for five minutes. Pray write.
I hear so little from Marlow that I can hardly believe that you
and Willman live there."
Another train of mingled recollections was
awakened by the fact of her chancing, one evening,
to read through that third canto of Childe Harold
which Byron had written during their summer in
Switzerland together.
Do you remember, Shelley, when you first read it to me
one evening after returning from Diodatl The lake was
before us, and the mighty Jura. That time is past, and this
will also pass, when I may weep to read these words. . .
192 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Death will at length come, and in the last moment all will be
a dream.
What Mary felt was crystallised into expression
by Shelley, not many months later
The stream we gazed on then, rolled by,
Its waves are unreturning ;
But we yet stand
In a lone land,
Like tombs to mark the memory
Of hopes and fears, which fade and flee
In the light of life's dim morning.
On the last day of May, Mary returned to Mar-
low, where the Hunts were making a long stay.
Externally life went quietly on. The summer
was hot and beautiful, and they passed whole
days in their boat or their garden, or in the woods.
Their studies, as usual, were unremitting. Mary
applied herself to the works of Tacitus, Buffon,
Rousseau, and Gibbon. Shelley's reading at this
time was principally Greek : Homer, ^Eschylus,
and Plato. His poem was approaching comple-
tion. Mary, now that Frankenstein was off her
hands, busied herself in writing out the journal of
their first travels. It was published, in December,
as Journal of a Six Weeks Tour, together with
the descriptive letters from Geneva of 1816.
But her peace and Shelley's was threatened
by an undercurrent of ominous disturbance which
gained force every day.
Byron remained abroad. But Clare and Clare's
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 193
baby remained with the Shelleys. At Bath she
had passed as "Mrs." Clairmont, but now resumed
her former style, while Alba was said to be the
daughter of a friend in London, sent for her health
into the country. As time, however, went by, and
the infant still formed one of the Marlow house-
hold, curiosity, never long dormant, became
aroused. Whose was this child ? And if, as
officious gossip was not slow to suggest, it was
Clare's, then who was its father ? As month
after month passed without bringing any solution
of this problem, the vilest reports arose concern-
ing the supposed relations of the inhabitants of
Albion House false rumours that embittered
the lives of Alba's generous protectors, but to
which Shelley's unconventionality and unorthodox
opinions, and the stigma attached to his name
by the Chancery decree, gave a certain colour of
probability, and which in part, though indirectly,
conduced to his leaving England again, as it
proved, for ever.
Again and again did he write to Byron, point-
ing out with great gentleness and delicacy, but
still in the plainest terms, the false situation in
which they were placed with regard to friends and
even to servants by their effort to keep Clare's
secret ; suggesting, almost entreating, that, if no
permanent decision could be arrived at, some tem-
porary arrangement should at least be made for
VOL. i 13
194 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Alba's boarding elsewhere. Byron, at this time
plunged in dissipation at Venice, shelved or
avoided the subject as long as he could. Clare
was friendless and penniless, and her chances of
ever earning an honest living depended on her
power of keeping up appearances and preserving
her character before the world. But the child
was a remarkably beautiful, intelligent, and engag-
ing creature, and its mother, impulsive, uncon-
trolled, and reckless, was at no trouble to conceal
her devotion to it, regardless of consequences,
and of the fact that these consequences had to be
endured by others.
Those who had forfeited the world's kindness
seemed, as such, to be the natural prote'ge's of
Shelley; and even Mary, who, not long before, had
summed up all her earthly wishes in two items,
" a garden, et absentia Claire," stood by her now
in spite of all. But their letters make it perfectly
evident that they were fully alive to the danger
that threatened them, and that, though they will-
ingly harboured the child until some safe and fitting
asylum should be found for it, they had never
contemplated its residing permanently with them.
To Mary Shelley this state of things brought
one bitter personal grief and disappointment in
the loss of her earliest friend, Isabel or Isobel
Baxter, now married to Mr. David Booth, late
brewer and subsequently schoolmaster at New-
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 195
burgh-on-Tay, a man of shrewd and keen intellect,
an immense local reputation for learning, and an
estimation of his own gifts second to that of none
of his admirers.
The Baxters, as has already been said, were
people of independent mind, of broad and liberal
views ; full of reverence and admiration for the
philosophical writings of Godwin. Mary, in her
extreme youth and inexperience, had quite ex-
pected that Isabel would have upheld her action
when she first left her father's house with Shelley.
In that she was disappointed, as was, after all, not
surprising.
Now, however, her friend, whose heart must
have been with her all along, would surely feel
justified in following that heart's dictates, and
would return to the familiar, affectionate friendship
which survives so many differences of opinion.
And her hope received an encouragement when,
in August, Mr. Baxter, Isabel's father, accepted
an invitation to stay at Marlow. He arrived on
the ist of September, full of doubts as to what sort
of place he was coming to, apprehensions which,
after a very short intercourse with Shelley, were
changed into surprise and delight.
But his visit was cut short by the birth, on the
very next day, of Mary's little girl, Clara. He
found it expedient to depart for a time, but re-
turned later in the month for a longer stay.
196 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
This second visit more than confirmed his first
impression, and he wrote to his daughter in warm,
nay, enthusiastic praise of Shelley, against whom
Isabel was, not unnaturally, much prejudiced, so
much so, it seems, as to blind her even to the
merits of his writings.
After a warm panegyric of Shelley as
A being of rare genius and talent, of truly republican frugality and
plainness of manners, and of a soundness of principle and deli-
cacy of moral tact that might put to shame (if shame they had)
many of his detractors, and withal so amiable that you have
only to be half an hour in his company to convince you that
there is not an atom of malevolence in his whole composition.
Mr. Baxter proceeds
Is there any wonder that I should become attached to such
a man, holding out the hand of kindness and friendship towards
me ? Certainly not. Your praise of his book l put me in mind
of what Pope says of Addison
Damn with faint praise ; assent with civil leer,
And, without sneering, others teach to sneer.
[You say] "some parts appear to be well written, but the
arguments appear to me to be neither new nor very well
managed." After Hume such a publication is quite puerile !
As to the arguments not being new, it would be a wonder
indeed if any new arguments could be adduced in a con-
troversy which has been carried on almost since ever letters
were known. As to their not being well managed, I should be
happy if you would condescend on the particular instances of
their being ill managed ; it was the first of Shelley's works I
had read. I read it with the notion that it could only contain
silly, crude, undigested and puerile remarks on a worn-out
subject ; and yet I was unable to discover any of that want of
management which you complain of; but, God help me, I
1 The work referred to would seem to be Shelley's Oxford pamphlet.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 197
thought I saw in it everything that was opposite. As to its
being puerile to write on such a subject after David Hume, I by
no means think that he has exhausted the subject. I think
rather that he has only proposed it thrown it out, as it were,
for a matter of discussion to others who might come after him,
and write in a less bigoted, more liberal, and more enlightened
age than the one he lived in. Think only how many great
men's labours we should decree to be puerile if we were to
hold everything puerile that has been written on this subject
since the days of Hume ! Indeed, my dear, the remark
altogether savours more of the envy and illiberality of one
jealous of his talents than the frankness and candour charac-
teristic of my Isobel. Think, my dear, think for a moment
what you would have said of this work had it come from
Robert, 1 who is as old as Shelley was when he wrote it, or had
it come from me, or even from O ! I must not say
David : 2 he, to be sure, is far above any such puerility.
Her father's letter made Isabel waver, but in
vain. It had no effect on Mr. Booth, who had
been at the trouble of collecting and believing all
the scandals about Alba, or "Miss Auburn," as
she seems to have been called. He was not one to
be biassed by personal feelings or beguiled by fair
appearances, in the face of stubborn, unaccountable
facts. He preferred to take the facts and draw
his own inference an inference which apparently
seemed to him no improbable one.
For a long time nothing decisive was said or
done, but while the fate of her early friendship
hung in the balances, Mary's anxiety for some
settlement about Alba became almost intolerable
1 Baxter's son. a Mr. Booth.
198 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
to her, weighing on her spirits, and helping, with
other depressing causes, to retard her restoration
to health.
On the 1 9th of September she summed up
in her journal the heads of the seventeen days
after Clara's birth during which she had written
nothing.
I am confined'Tuesday, 2d. Read Rhoda, Pastor's Fireside,
Missionary, Wild Irish Girl, The Anaconda, Glenarvon, first
volume of Percy's Northern Antiquities. Bargain with Lack-
ington concerning Frankenstein.
Letter from Albe (Byron). An unamiable letter from
Godwin about Mrs. Godwin's visits. Mr. Baxter returns to
town. Thursday, 4th, Shelley writes his poem ; his health
declines. Friday, ipth, Hunts arrive.
As the autumn advanced it became evident
that the sunless house at Marlow was exceedingly
cold, and far too dreary a winter residence to be
desirable for one of Shelley's feeble constitu-
tion, or even for Mary and her infant children.
Shelley's health grew worse and worse. His
poem was finished and dedicated to Mary in the
beautiful lines beginning
So now my summer-task is ended, Mary,
And I return to thee, mine own heart's home ;
As to his Queen some victor Knight of Faery,
Earning bright spoils for her enchanted dome ;
Nor thou disdain, that ere my fame become
A star among the stars of mortal night,
If it indeed may cleave its natal gloom,
Its doubtful promise thus I would unite
With thy beloved name, thou Child of love and light.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 199
But the reaction from the "agony and bloody
sweat of intellectual travail," the troubles and
griefs of the past year, and the ceaseless worry
about money, all told injuriously on his physical
state. He had to be constantly away from his
home, up in town, on business ; and his thoughts
turned longingly again towards Italy. Byron had
signified his consent to receive and provide for
his daughter, subject to certain stringent con-
ditions, chief among which was the child's
complete separation from its mother, from the
time it passed into his keeping. In writing to
him on 24th September, Shelley adverts to his
own wish to winter at Pisa, and the possibility in
this case of his being himself Alba's escort to
Italy.
" Now, dearest, let me talk to you," he writes to Mary.
" I think we ought to go to Italy. I think my health might
receive a renovation there, for want of which perhaps I should
never entirely overcome that state of diseased action which
is so painful to my beloved. I think Alba ought to be with
her father. This is a thing of incredible importance to the
happiness, perhaps, of many human beings. It might be
managed without our going there. Yes ; but not without an
expense which would, in fact, suffice to settle us comfortably in
a spot where I might be regaining that health which you con-
sider so valuable. It is valuable to you, my own dearest. I
see too plainly that you will never be quite happy till I am
well. Of myself I do not speak, for I feel only for you.
He goes on to discuss the practicability of the
plan from the financial point of view, calculating
what sum they may hope to get by the sale of
their lease and furniture, and how much he may
be able to borrow, either from his kind friend
Horace Smith, or from money-lenders on post
obits, a ruinous process to which he was, all his
life, forced to resort.
Poor Mary in the chilly house at Marlow, with
her three-weeks-old baby, her strength far from
re-established, and her house full of guests, who
made themselves quite at home, was not likely to
take the most sanguine view of affairs.
September 1817.
You tell me, dearest, to write you long letters, but I do not
know whether I can to-day, as I am rather tired. My spirits,
however, are much better than they were, and perhaps your
absence is the cause. Ah ! my love ! you cannot guess how
wretched it was to see your languor and increasing illness. I
now say to myself, perhaps he is better ; but then I watched
you every moment, and every moment was full of pain both to
you and to me. Write, my love, a long account of what
Lawrence says ; I shall be very anxious until I hear.
I do not see a great deal of our guests ; they rise late, and
walk all the morning. This is something like a contrary fit
of Hunt's, for I meant to walk to-day, and said so ; but they
left me, and I hardly wish to take my first walk by myself;
however, I must to-morrow, if he still shows the same want of
tact. Peacock dines here every day, uninvited, to drink his
bottle. I have not seen him ; he morally disgusts me ; and
Marianne says that he is very ill-tempered.
I was much pained last night to hear from Mr. Baxter that
Mr. Booth is ill-tempered and jealous towards Isabel ; and
Mr. Baxter thinks she half regrets her marriage ; so she is to
be another victim of that ceremony. Mr. Baxter is not at all
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLE Y 20 1
pleased with his son-in-law ; but we can talk of that when we
meet.
... A letter came from Godwin to-day, very short. You
will see him ; tell me how he is. You are loaded with busi-
ness, the event of most of which I am anxious to learn, and
none so much as whether you can do anything for my Father.
MARLOW, 26th September 1817.
You tell me to decide between Italy and the sea. I think,
dearest, if what you do not seem to doubt, but which I do,
a little our finances are in sufficiently good a state to bear
the expense of the journey, our inclination ought to decide.
I feel some reluctance at quitting our present settled state,
but as we must leave Marlow, I do not know that stopping
short on this side the Channel would be pleasanter to me
than crossing it. At any rate, my love, do not let us encum-
ber ourselves with a lease again. ... By the bye, talking of
authorship, do get a sketch of Godwin's plan from him. I
do not think that I ought to get out of the habit of writing,
and I think that the thing he talked of would just suit me.
I am glad to hear that Godwin is well. ... As to Mrs. God-
win, something very analogous to disgust arises whenever
I mention her. That last accusation of Godwin's 1 adds
bitterness to every feeling I ever felt against her. . . . Mr.
Baxter thinks that Mr. Booth keeps Isabel from writing to
me. He has written to her to-day warmly in praise of us
both, and telling her by all means not to let the acquaintance
cool, and that in such a case her loss would be much greater
than mine. He has taken a prodigious fancy to us, and is
continually talking of and praising " Queen Mab," which he
vows is the best poem of modern days.
MARLOW, 2&t/i September 1817.
DEAREST LOVE Clare arrived yesterday night, and
whether it might be that she was in a croaking humour (in
ill spirits she certainly was), or whether she represented things
1 \yhat this accusation was does not appear.
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
as they really were, I know not, but certainly affairs, did not
seem to wear a very good face. She talks of Harriet's debts
to a large amount, and something about Longdill's having
undertaken for them, so that they must be paid. She men-
tioned also that you were entering into a post obit transaction.
Now this requires our serious consideration on one account.
These things (post obits), as you well know, are affairs of won-
derful length ; and if you must complete one before you
settle on going to Italy, Alba's departure ought certainly not
to be delayed. . . . You have not mentioned yet to Godwin
your thoughts of Italy ; but if you determine soon, I would
have you do it, as these things are always better to be talked
of some days before they take place. I took my first walk to-
day. What a dreadfully cold place this house is ! I was shiver-
ing over a fire, and the garden looked cold and dismal ; but
as soon as I got into the road, I found, to my infinite surprise,
that the sun was shining, and the air warm and delightful
... I will now tell you something that will make you laugh,
if you are not too teased and ill to laugh at anything. Ah !
dearest, is it so ? You know now how melancholy it makes
me sometimes to think how ill and comfortless you may be,
and I so far away from you. But to my story. In Elise's
last letter to her chere amie, Clare put in that Madame Clair-
mont was very ill, so that her life was in danger, and added,
in Elise's person, that she (Elise) was somewhat shocked to
perceive that Mademoiselle Clairmont's gaiety was not abated
by the douloureuse situation of her amiable sister. Jenny
replies
" Mon amie, avec quel chagrin j'apprends la maladie de
cette jolie et aimable Madame Clairmont ; pauvre chere dame,
comme je la plains. Sans doute elle aime tendrement son
mari, et en etre separe"e pour toujours en avoir la certitude
elle sentir quelle cruelle chose ; qu'il doit etre un mechant
homme pour quitter sa femme. Je ne sais ce qu'il y a, mais
cette jeune et jolie femme me tient singulierement au cceur ;
je 1'avoue que je n'aime point mademoiselle sa soeur. Com-
ment ! avoir a craindre pour les jours d'une si charmante
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 203
soeur, et n'en pas perdre un grain de gait ; elle me met en
colere."
Here is a noble resentment thrown away ! Really I think
this mystification of Clare's a little wicked, although laughable.
I am just now surrounded by babes. Alba is scratching and
crowing, William is amusing himself with wrapping a shawl
round him, and Miss Clara staring at the fire. . . . Adieu,
dearest love. I want to say again, that you may fully answer
me, how very, very anxious I am to know the whole extent of
your present difficulties and pursuits ; and remember also that
if this post obit is to be a long business, Alba must go before
it is finished. Willy is just going to bed. When I ask him
where you are, he makes me a long speech that I do not
understand. But I know my own one, that you are away,
and I wish that you were with me. Come soon, my own
only love. Your affectionate girl, M. W. S.
P,S. What of Frankenstein ? and your own poem
have you fixed on a name ? Give my love to Godwin when
Mrs. Godwin is not by, or you must give it her, and I do not
love her.
5//fc October 1817.
. . . How happy I shall be, my own dear love, to see you
again. Your last was so very, very short a visit; and after
you were gone I thought of so many things I had to say to
you, and had no time to say. Come Tuesday, dearest, and
let us enjoy some of each other's company ; come and see
your sweet babes and the little Commodore ; l she is lively
and an uncommonly interesting child. I never see her without
thinking of the expressions in my mother's letters concerning
Fanny. If a mother's eyes were not partial, she seemed like
this Alba. She mentions her intelligent eyes and great viva-
city ; but this is a melancholy subject.
But Shelley's enforced absences became more
and more frequent ; brief visits to his home were
1 Alba.
204 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
all that he could snatch. As the desire to escape
grew stronger, the fair prospect only seemed to
recede. New complications appeared in the
shape of Harriet's creditors, who pressed hard on
Shelley for a settlement of their hitherto unknown
and unsuspected claims. So perilous with regard
to them was his position that Mary herself was
fain to caution him to stay away and out of sight
for fear of arrest. It was almost more than she
could do to keep up the mask of cheerfulness,
yet her letters of counsel and encouragement were
her husband's mainstay.
" Dearest and best of living beings," he wrote in October,
"how much do your letters console me when I am away from
you. Your letter to-day gave me the greatest delight ; so
soothing, so powerful and quiet are your expressions, that it is
almost like folding you to my heart. . . . My own Mary,
would it not be better for you to come to London at once ?
I think we could quite as easily do something with the house
if you were in London that is to say, all of you as in the
country.
The next two letters were written in much
depression. She could not get up her strength ;
she dared not indulge in the hope of going
abroad, for she realised, as Shelley could not do,
how little money they would have and how much
they already owed. Their income, and more,
went in supporting and paying for other people,
and left them nothing to live on ! Clare was un-
settled, unhappy, and petulant. Godwin, ignorant
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 205
like the rest of the world of her story and her
present situation, unaware of Shelley's proposed
move, and certain to oppose it with the energy of
despair when he heard of it, was an impending
visitor.
\6th October 1817.
So you do not come to-night love, nor any night ; you are
always away, and this absence is long and becomes each day
more dreary. Poor Curran ! so he is dead, and a sod on his
breast, as four years ago I heard him prophesy would be the
case within that year.
Nothing is done, you say in your letter, and indeed I do
not expect anything will be done these many months. This,
if you continued well, would not give me so much pain, ex-
cept on Alba's account. If she were with her father, I could
wait patiently, but the thought of what may come "between
the cup and the lip " between now and her arrival at Venice
is a heavy burthen on my soul. He may change his mind,
or go to Greece, or to the devil ; and then what happens ?
My dearest Shelley, be not, I entreat you, too self-negli-
gent ; yet what can you do ? If you were here, you might
retort that question upon me; but when I write to you I
indulge false hopes of some miraculous answer springing
up in the interval. Does not Longdill 1 treat you ill? he
makes out long bills and does nothing. You say nothing of
the late arrest, and what may be the consequences, and may
they not detain you? and may you not be detained many
months ? for Godwin must not be left unprovided. All these
things make me run over the months, and know not where to
put my finger and say during this year your Italian journey
shall commence. Yet when I say that it is on Alba's account
that I am anxious, this is only when you are away, and with
too much faith I believe you to be well. When I see you,
drooping and languid, in pain, and unable to enjoy life, then
1 Shelley's solicitor.
206 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
on your account I ardently wish for bright skies and Italian
sun.
You will have received, I hope, the manuscript that I sent
yesterday in a parcel to Hookham. I am glad to hear that
the printing goes on well ; bring down all that you can with
you.
If we were free and had no anxiety, what delight would
Godwin's visit give me ; as it is, I fear that it will make
me dreadfully miserable. Cannot you come with him ? By
the way you write I hardly expect you this week, but is it
really so?
I think Alba's remaining here exceedingly dangerous, yet
I do not see what is to be done. Your babes are well.
Clara already replies to her nurse's caresses by smiles, and
Willy kisses her with great tenderness. Your affectionate
MARY.
P.S. I wish you would purchase a gown for Milly, 1 with
a little note with it from Marianne, 2 that it may appear to
come from her. You can get one, I should think, for izs. or
1 43. ; but it must be stout ; such a kind of one as we gave to
the servant at Bath.
Willy has just said good-night to me ; he kisses the paper
and says good-night to you. Clara is asleep.
MARLOW, Saturday, i8//z October 1817.
Mr. Wright has called here to-day, my dearest Shelley, and
wished to see you. I can hardly have any doubt that his
business is of the same nature as that which made him call
last week. You will judge, but it appears to me that an
arrest on Monday will follow your arrival on Sunday.
My love, you ought not to come down. A long, long week
has passed, and when at length I am allowed to expect you,
I am obliged to tell you not to come. This is very cruel.
You may easily judge that I am not happy ; my spirits sink
during this continued absence. Godwin, too, will come
1 The nursemaid. 2 Mrs. Hunt.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 207
down ; he will talk as if we meant to stay here ; and I must
must I? tell fifty prevarications or direct lies. When I
thought that you would be here also, I knew that your pres-
ence would lead to general conversation ; but Clare will absent
herself. We shall be alone, and he will talk of your private
affairs. I am sure that I shall never be able to support it
And when is this to end ? Italy appears to me farther off
than ever, and the idea of it never enters my mind but God-
win enters also, and makes it lie heavy at my heart. Had
you not better speak ? you might relieve me from a heavy
burden. Surely he cannot be blind to the many heavy
reasons that urge us. Your health, the indispensable one, if.
every other were away. I assure you that if my Father said,
" Yes, you must go ; do what you can for me ; I know that
you will do all you can ; " I should, far from writing so melan-
choly a letter, prepare everything with a light heart ; arrange
our affairs here ; and come up to town, to await patiently the
effect of your efforts. I know not whether it is early habit or
affection, but the idea of his silent quiet disapprobation makes
me weep as it did in the days of my childhood.
I shall not see you to-morrow. God knows when I shall
see you ! Clare is for ever wearying with her idle and child-
ish complaints. Can you not send me some consolation ?
Ever your affectionate MARY.
The fears of an arrest were not realised.
Early in November Shelley came for three days
to Marlow, after which Mary went up to stay
with him in London.
During this fortnight's visit the question of
renewed intercourse with Isabel Booth was
practically decided, and decided against Mary.
She had written on the 4th of November to Mr.
Baxter inviting Christy to come on a visit. Sub-
sequently a plan was started for Isabel Booth's
208 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
accompanying the Shelleys in their Italian trip,
they little dreaming that when they left England
it would be for the last time.
Apparently Mr. Baxter made some effort to
bring Mr. Booth round to his way of thinking.
The two passed an evening with the Shelleys at
their lodgings. But it availed nothing, and in
the end poor Mr. Baxter was driven himself to
write to Shelley, breaking off the acquaintance.
The letter was written much against the grain, and
contrary to the convictions of the writer, who
seems to have been much put to it to account for
his action, the true grounds for which he could
not bring himself to give. Shelley, however, was
not slow to divine the real instigator in the affair,
and wrote back a letter which, by its temperance,
simplicity, and dignity, must have pricked Baxter
to the heart. Mary added a playful postscript,
showing that she still clung to hope
MY DEAR SIR You see I prophesied well three months
ago, when you were here. I then said that I was sure Mr.
Booth was averse to our intercourse, and would find some
means to break it off. I wish I had you by the fire here in
my little study, and it might be "double, double, toil and
trouble," but I could quickly convince you that your girls are
not below me in station, and that, in fact, I am the fittest
companion for them in the world, but I postpone the argument
until I see you, for I know (pardon me) that viva voce is all
in all with you.
Two or three times more Mary wrote to
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 209
Isabel, but the correspondence dropped and the
friends met no more for many years.
The preparations for their migration extended
over two or three months more. During January
Shelley suffered much from the renewal of an
attack of ophthalmia, originally caught while
visiting the poor people at Marlow. The house
there was finally sold, and on the loth of February
they quitted it and went up to London. Their final
departure from England did not take place until
March. They made the most of their time of
waiting, seeing as much of their friends and of
objects of interest as circumstances allowed.
Journal, Thursday, Febmary 1 2 (Mary). Go to the Indian
Library and the Panorama of Rome. On Friday, 1 3th, spend
the morning at the British Museum looking at the Elgin
marbles. On Saturday, 1 4th, go to Hunt's. Clare and Shelley
go to the opera. On Sunday, i5th, Mr. Bransen, Peacock,
and Hogg dine with us.
Wednesday, February 18. Spend the day at Hunt's. On
Thursday, igth, dine at Horace Smith's, and copy Shelley's
Eclogue. On Friday, zoth, copy Shelley's critique on
Rhododaphne. Go to the Apollonicon with Shelley. On
Saturday, 2 1 st, copy Shelley's critique, and go to the opera in
the evening. Spend Sunday at Hunt's. On Monday, 23d
February, finish copying Shelley's critique, and go to the play
in the evening The Bride of Abydos. On Tuesday go to the
opera Figaro. On Wednesday Hunt dines with us. Shelley
is not well.
Sunday, March i. Read Montaigne. Spend the evening
at Hunt's. On Monday, 2d, Shelley calls on Mr. Baxter.
Isabel Booth is arrived, but neither comes nor sends. Go to
the play in the evening with Hunt and Marianne, and see a
VOL. i 14
2 1 o MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLS Y
new comedy damned. On Thursday, 5th, Papa calls, and
Clare visits Mrs. Godwin. On Sunday, 8th, we dine at Hunt's,
and meet Mr. Novello. Music.
Monday, March 9. Christening the children.
This was doubtless a measure of precaution,
lest the omission of any such ceremony might in
some future time operate as a civil disadvantage
towards the children. They received the names
of William, Clara Everina, and Clara Allegra.
Tuesday, March 10. Packing. Hunt and Marianne spend
the day with us. Mary Lamb calls. Papa in the evening. Our
adieus.
Wednesday, March 1 1 . Travel to Dover.
Thursday ', March 12. France. Discussion of whether we
should cross. Our passage is rough ; a sick lady is frightened
and says the Lord's Prayer. We arrive at Calais for the third
time.
Mary little thought how long it would be
before she saw the English shores again, nor
that, when she returned, it would be alone.
CHAPTER XI
MARCH i8i8-JuNE 1819
THE external events of the four Italian years have
been repeatedly told and profusely commented on
by Shelley's various biographers. Summed up,
they are the history of a long strife between the
intellectual and creative stimulus of lovely scenes
and immortal works of art on the one hand, and
the wearing friction of vexatious outward events
and crushing afflictions on the other. For Shelley
they were a period of rapid, of exotic, mental
growth and development, interspersed with inter-
vals of exhaustion and depression, of restlessness,
or unnatural calm. For Mary they were years of
courageous effort, of heroic resistance to over-
powering odds. She endured, and she overcame ;
but some victories are obtained at such cost as to
be at the time scarcely distinguishable from defeats,
and the story of hers survives in no one act or work
of her own, but in the Cenci, Prometheus Un-
bound, Epipsychidion, and Adonais.
The travellers proceeded, via Lyons and
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Chambery, to Milan, whence Shelley and Mary
made an expedition to Como in search of a house.
After looking at several, one "beautifully situ-
ated, but too small," another " out of repair, with
an excellent garden, but full of serpents," a third
which seemed promising, but which they failed to
get, they appear to have given up the scheme
altogether, and to have returned to Milan. For
the next week they were in frequent correspond-
ence with Byron on the subject of Allegra. This
had to be carried on entirely by Shelley, as Byron
refused all communication with Clare, and under-
took to provide for his child on the sole condition
that, from the day it left her, its mother entirely
relinquished it, and never saw it again.
This appeared to Shelley cruelly and needlessly
harsh. His own paternal heart was still bleeding
from fresh wounds, and although, as he again
pointed out, his interest in the matter was entirely
on the opposite side to Clare's, he pleaded her
cause with earnestness. He did not touch on the
question of Byron's attitude towards Clare herself,
he contended only for the mother and child, in
letters as remarkable for their simple good sense
as for their perfect delicacy and courtesy of expres-
sion, and every line of which is inspired with the
unselfish ardour of a heart full of love.
Poor Clare herself was dreadfully unhappy.
Any illusion she may ever have had about Byron
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 213
had long been over, but she had possibly not
realised before coming to Italy the perfect horror
he had of seeing her ; an event, as he told his
friends the Hoppners, which would make it neces-
sary for him instantly to quit Venice. The re-
ports about his present mode of life, which, even
at Milan did not fail to reach them, were, to say
the least, not encouraging ; and from a later letter
of Shelley's it would seem that he warned Clare
now, at the last minute, to pause and reflect before
she sent Allegra away to such a father. She,
however, was determined that till seven years old,
at least, the child should be with one or other of
its parents, and Byron would only consent to be
that one on condition that it grew up in ignorance
of its mother. It appears to have been assumed
by all parties that, in refusing to hand Allegra
altogether over to her father, they would be sacri-
ficing for her the prospect of a brilliant position
and fortune. Even supposing that this had been
so, it is impossible to think that such a considera-
tion would have weighed, at any rate with the
Shelleys, but for the impossibility of keeping Clare's
secret if Allegra remained with them, and the con-
stant danger of worse scandal to which her
unexplained presence must expose them. Clare,
distracted with grief as she was, yet dreaded dis-
covery acutely, and firmly believed she was acting
for Allegra's best interests in parting from her.
214 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
It ended in the little girl's being sent to Venice
on the 28th of April in the care of Elise, the Swiss
nurse, with whom Mary Shelley, for Allegra's sake,
consented to part, though she valued her very
much, but who, not long afterwards, returned to her.
As soon as they had gone, the Shelley s and
Clare left Milan ; and travelling leisurely through
Parma, Modena, Bologna, and Pisa (where a letter
from Elise reached them), they arrived on the Qth
of May at Leghorn. Here they made the ac-
quaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Gisborne. The lady,
formerly Mrs. Reveley, had been an intimate
friend of Mary Wollstonecraft's (when Mary
Godwin), and had been so warmly admired by
Godwin before his first marriage as to arouse some
jealousy in Mr. Reveley. Indeed, his admiration
had been returned by so warm a feeling of friend-
ship on her part that Godwin was frankly sur-
prised when on his pressing her, shortly after her
widowhood, to become his second wife, she
refused him point blank, nor, by all his eloquence,
was to be persuaded to change her mind. A
beautiful girl, and highly accomplished, she had
married very young, and had one son of her first
marriage, Henry Reveley, a young civil engineer,
who was now living in Italy with her and her
second husband.
This Mr. Gisborne struck Mary as being the
reverse of intelligent, and is described in Shelley's
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 215
letters in most uncomplimentary terms. His
appearance cannot certainly have been in his
favour, but that there must have been more in him
than met the eye seems also beyond a doubt, as,
at a later time, Shelley addressed to him some of
his most interesting and most intimate letters.
To Mrs. Gisborne they bore a letter of intro-
duction from Godwin, and it was not long before
her acquaintance with Mrs. Shelley ripened into
friendship. "Reserved, yet with easy manners;"
so Mary described her at their first meeting. On
the next day the two had a long conversation
about Mary's father and mother. Of her mother,
indeed, Mary learned more from Mrs. Gisborne
than from any one else. She wrote her father an
immediate account of these first interviews, and
his answer is unusually demonstrative in expression.
I received last Friday a delightful letter from you. I was
extremely gratified by your account of Mrs. Gisborne. I have
not seen her, I believe, these twenty years ; I think not since
she was Mrs. Gisborne; and yet by your description she is
still a delightful woman. How inexpressibly pleasing it is to
call back the recollection of years long past, and especially
when the recollection belongs to a person in whom one deeply
interested oneself, as I did in Mrs. Reveley. I can hardly hope
for so great a pleasure as it would be to me to see her agaia
At the Bagni di Lucca, where they settled
themselves for a time, Mary heard from her father
of the review of Frankenstein in the Quarterly.
Peacock had reported it to be unfavourable, so it
216 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
was probably a relief to find that the reviewers
"did not pretend to find anything blasphemous in
the story."
They say that the gentleman who has written the book is a
man of talents, but that he employs his powers in a way dis-
agreeable to them.
All this, however, tended to keep Mary's old
ardour alive. She never was more strongly
impelled to write than at this time ; she felt her
powers fresh and strong within her ; all she
wanted was some motive, some suggestion to
guide her in the choice of a subject. While at
Leghorn Shelley had come upon a manuscript
account, which Mary transcribed, of that terrible
story of the Cenci afterwards dramatised by him-
self. His first idea was that Mary should take
it for the subject of a play. He was convinced
that she had dramatic talent as a writer, and that
he had none ; two erroneous conclusions, as the
sequel showed. But such an assurance from such
a source could not but be flattering to Mary's
ambition, and stimulating to her innate love of
literary work. During all the early part of their
time in Italy their thoughts were busy with
some subject for Mary's tragedy. One proposed
and strongly urged by Shelley was Charles the
First. It was partially carried out by himself
before his death, and perhaps occurred to him
now in connection with a suggestion of Godwin's
MARY IVOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 217
for a book very different in scope and character,
and far better suited to Mary's genius than the
drama. It would have been a series of Lives
of the Commonwealth 's Men; "our calumniated
Republicans," as Shelley calls them.
She was immensely attracted by the idea, but
was forced to abandon it at the time, for lack of
the necessary books of reference. But Shelley,
who believed her powers to be of the highest
order, was as eager as she herself could be for her
to undertake original work of some kind, and was
constantly inciting her to effort in this direction.
More than two months were spent at the Bagni
di Lucca reading, writing, riding, and enjoying to
the full the balmy Italian skies. Shelley, in whom
the creative mood was more or less dormant, and
who "despaired of providing anything original,"
translated the Symposium of Plato, partly as an
exercise, partly to "give Mary some idea of the
manners and feelings of the Athenians, so different
on many subjects from that of any other com-
munity that ever existed." Together they studied
Italian, and Shelley reported Mary's progress to
her father.
Mary has just finished Ariosto with me, and indeed has
attained a very competent knowledge of Italian. She is now
reading Livy.
She also transcribed his translation of the
Symposium, and his Eclogue Rosalind and
2i8 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Helen, which,' begun at Marlow, had been
thrown aside till she found it and persuaded him
to complete it.
Meanwhile Clare hungered and thirsted for a
sight of Allegra, of whom she heard occasionally
from Elise, and who was not now under Byron's
roof, but living, by his permission, with Mrs.
Hoppner, wife of the British Consul at Venice,
who had volunteered to take temporary charge of
her. Her distress moved Shelley to so much
commiseration that he resolved or consented to
do what must have been supremely disagreeable
to him. He went himself to Venice, hoping by a
personal interview to modify in some degree
Byron's inexorable resolution. Clare accom-
panied him, unknown, of course, to Byron.
They started on the i/th of August. On that
day Mary wrote the following letter to Miss
Gisborne
MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE.
BAGNI DI LUCCA, 17^ August 1818.
MY DEAR MADAM It gave me great pleasure to receive
your letter after so long a silence, when I had begun to con-
jecture a thousand reasons for it, and among others illness,
in which I was half right. Indeed, I am much concerned to
hear of Mr. R.'s attacks, and sincerely hope that nothing will
retard his speedy recovery. His illness gives me a slight hope
that you might now be induced to come to the baths, if it
were even to try the effect of the hot baths. You would find
the weather cool ; for we already feel in this part of the world
that the year is declining, by the cold mornings and evenings.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 219
I have another selfish reason to wish that you would come,
which I have a great mind not to mention, yet I will not
omit it, as it might induce you. Shelley and Clare are gone;
they went to-day to Venice on important business ; and I am
left to take care of the house. Now, if all of you, or any of
you, would come and cheer my solitude, it would be exceed-
ingly kind. I daresay you would find many of your friends
here; among the rest there is the Signora Felichi, whom I
believe you knew at Pisa. Shelley and I have ridden almost
every evening. Clare did the same at first, but she has been
unlucky, and once fell from her horse, and hurt her knee so as
to knock her up for some time. It is the fashion here for all
the English to ride, and it is very pleasant on these fine even-
ings, when we set out at sunset and are lighted home by
Venus, Jupiter, and Diana, who kindly lend us their light after
the sleepy Apollo is gone to bed. The road which we
frequent is raised somewhat above, and overlooks the river,
affording some very fine points of view amongst these woody
mountains.
Still, we know no one ; we speak to one or two people at
the Casino, and that is all ; we live in our studious way, going
on with Tasso, whom I like, but who, now I have read
more than half his poem, I do not know that I like half so
well as Ariosto. Shelley translated the Symposium in ten days.
It is a most beautiful piece of writing. I think you will be
delighted with it. It is true that in many particulars it shocks
our present manners ; but no one can be a reader of the works
of antiquity unless they can transport themselves from these to
other times, and judge, not by our, but their morality.
Shelley is tolerably well in health ; the hot weather has
done him good. We have been in high debate nor have we
come to any conclusion concerning the land or sea journey
to Naples. We have been thinking that when we want to
go, although the equinox will be past, yet the equinoctial
winds will hardly have spent themselves ; and I cannot express
to you how I fear a storm at sea with two such young children
as William and Clara. Do you know the periods when the
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Mediterranean is troubled, and when the wintry halcyon days
come ? However, it may be we shall see you before we pro-
ceed southward.
We have been reading Eustace's Tour through Italy ; I do
not wonder the Italians reprinted it. Among other select
specimens of his way of thinking, he says that the Romans
did not derive their arts and learning from the Greeks ; that
Italian ladies are chaste, and the lazzaroni honest and indus-
trious ; and that, as to assassination and highway robbery in
Italy, it is all a calumny no such things were ever heard of.
Italy was the garden of Eden, and all the Italians Adams and
Eves, until the blasts of hell (i.e. the French for by that
polite name he designates them) came. By the bye, an Italian
servant stabbed an English one here it was thought danger-
ously at first, but the man is doing better.
I have scribbled a long letter, and I daresay you have long
wished to be at the end of it. Well, now you are ; so my
dear Mrs. Gisborne, with best remembrances, yours, obliged
and affectionately, MARY W. SHELLEY.
From Florence, where he arrived on the 2Oth,
Shelley wrote to Mary, telling her that Clare had
changed her intention of going in person to
Venice, and had decided on the more politic
course of remaining herself at Fusina or Padua,
while Shelley went on to see Byron.
"Well, my dearest Mary," he went on, "are you very
lonely? Tell me truth, my sweetest, do you ever cry? I
shall hear from you once at Venice and once on my return
here. If you love me, you will keep up your spirits ; and at
all events tell me truth about it, for I assure you I am not
of a disposition to be flattered by your sorrow, though I should
be by your cheerfulness, and above all by seeing such fruits of
my absence as was produced when I was at Geneva."
It was during Shelley's absence with Byron on
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 221
their voyage round the lake of Geneva that Mary
had begun to write Frankenstein. But on the
day when she received this letter she was very
uneasy about her little girl, who was seriously
unwell from the heat. On writing to Shelley she
told him of this ; and, from his answer, one may
infer that she had suggested the advisability of
taking the child to Venice for medical advice.
PADUA, MEZZOGIORNO.
MY BEST MARY I found at Mount Selica a favourable
opportunity for going to Venice, when I shall try to make
some arrangement for you and little Ca to come for some days,
and shall meet you, if I do not write anything in the mean-
time, at Padua on Thursday morning. Clare says she is
obliged to come to see the Medico, whom we missed this
morning, and who has appointed as the only hour at which he
can be at leisure, 8 o'clock in the morning. You must, there-
fore, arrange matters so that you should come to the Stella
d'Oro a little before that hour, a thing only to be accomplished
by setting out at half-past 3 in the morning. You will by
this means arrive at Venice very early in the day, and avoid
the heat, which might be bad for the babe, and take the time
when she would at least sleep great part of the time. Clare
will return with the return carriage, and I shall meet you, or
send to you, at Padua. Meanwhile, remember Charles the
First, and do you be prepared to bring at least some of Mirra
translated; bring the book also with you, and the sheets of
Prometheus Unbound, which you will find numbered from i
to 26 on the table of the Pavilion. My poor little Clara;
how is she to-day? Indeed, I am somewhat uneasy about
her ; and though I feel secure there is no danger, it would be
very comfortable to have some reasonable person's opinion
about her. The Medico at Padua is certainly a man in great
practice ; but I confess he does not satisfy me. Am I not
222 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
like a wild swan, to be gone so suddenly ? But, in fact, to
set off alone to Venice required an exertion. I felt myself
capable of making it, and I knew that you desired it. ...
Adieu, my dearest love. Remember, remember Charles the
First and Mirra, I have been already imagining how you
will conduct some scenes. The second volume of St. Leon
begins with this proud and true sentiment
" There is nothing which the human mind can conceive
which it may not execute." Shakespeare was only a human
being. Adieu till Thursday. Your ever affectionate,
P. B. S.
His next letter, however, announced yet
another revolution in Clare's plans. Her heart
failed her at the idea of remaining to endure her
suspense all alone in a strange place ; and so,
braving the possible consequences of Byron's
discovering her move before he was informed of
it, she went on with Shelley to Venice, and, the
morning after their arrival, proceeded to Mr.
Hoppner's house. Here she was kindly wel-
comed by him and his wife, a pretty Swiss
woman, with a sympathetic motherly heart, who
knew all about her and Allegra. They insisted,
too, on Shelley's staying with them, and he was
nothing loth to accept the offer, for Byron's circle
would not have suited him at all.
He was pleased with his hostess, something in
whose appearance reminded him of Mary. " She
has hazel eyes and sweet looks, rather Maryish,"
he wrote. And in another letter he described
her as
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 223
So good, so beautiful, so angelically mild that, were she
wise too, she would be quite a Mary. But she is not very
accomplished. Her eyes are like a reflection of yours ; her
manners are like yours when you know and like a person.
He could enjoy no pleasure without longing
for Mary to share it, and from the moment he
reached Venice he was planning impatiently for
her to follow him, to experience with him the
strange emotions aroused by the first sight of the
wonderful city, and to make acquaintance with
his new friends.
He lost no time in calling on Byron, who gave
him a very friendly reception. Shelley's inten-
tion on leaving Lucca was to go with his family
to Florence, and the plan he urged on Byron was
that Allegra should come to spend some time
there with her mother. To this Byron objected,
as likely to raise comment, and as a reopening of
the whole question. He was, however, in an
affable mood, and not indisposed to meet Shelley
halfway. He had heard of Clare's being at
Padua, but nothing of her subsequent change of
plan ; and, assuming that the whole party were
staying there, he offered to send Allegra as far as
that, on a week's visit. Finding that things were
not as he supposed, and that Mrs. Shelley was
likely to come presently to Venice, he proposed
to lend them for some time a villa which he
rented at Este, and to let Allegra stay with them.
224 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
The offer was promptly and gratefully accepted
by Shelley. The fact of Clare's presence in
Venice had, perforce, to be kept dark ; for that
there was no help ; the great thing was to get her
and Allegra away as soon as possible. He sent
directions to Mary to pack up at once and travel
with the least possible delay to Este. There he
would meet her with Clare, Allegra, and Elise,
who were to be established, with Mary's little
ones, at Byron's villa, Casa Cappucini, while she
and he proceeded to Venice.
When the letter came, Mary had the Gis-
bornes staying with her on a visit. For that
reason, and on account of little Clara's indisposi-
tion, the summons to depart so suddenly can
hardly have been welcome ; she obeyed it, how-
ever, and left the Bagni di Lucca on the 3ist of
August. Owing to delays about the passport,
her journey took rather longer than they had
expected. The intense heat of the weather,
added to the fatigue of travelling and probably
change of diet, seriously affected the poor baby,
who, by the time they got to Este on 5th Septem-
ber, was dangerously ill. Shelley, who had been
waiting for them impatiently, was also far from
well, and their visit to Venice had to be deferred
for more than a fortnight, during which Mary
had time to hear enough of Venetian society to
horrify and disgust her.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 225
Journal^ Saturday, September 5. Arrive at Este. Poor
Clara is dangerously ill. Shelley is very unwell, from taking
poison in Italian cakes. He writes his drama of Prometheus.
Read seven cantos of Dante. Begin to translate A Cajo
Graccho of Monti, and Measure for Measure.
Wednesday, September 16. Read the Filippo of Alfieri.
Shelley and Clare go to Padua. He is very ill from the effects
of his poison.
To Mrs. Gisborne she wrote as follows
September 1818.
MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE I hasten to write to you to
say that we have arrived safe, and yet I can hardly call it safe,
since the fatigue has given my poor Ca an attack of dysentery;
and although she is now somewhat recovered from that dis-
order, she is "still in a frightful state of weakness and fever,
and is reduced to be so thin in this short time that you would
hardly know her again.
The physician of Este is a stupid fellow ; but there is one
come from Padua, and who appears clever ; so I hope under
his care she will soon get well, although we are still in great
anxiety concerning her. I found Mr. Shelley very anxious for
our non-arrival, for, besides other delays, we were detained a
whole day at Florence for a signature to our passport. The
house at Este is exceedingly pleasant, with a large garden and
quantities of excellent fruit. I have not yet been to Venice,
and know not when I shall, since it depends upon the state of
Clara's health. I hope Mr. Reveley is quite recovered from
his illness, and I am sure the baths did him a great deal of
good. So now I suppose all your talk is how you will get to
England. Shelley agrees with me that you could live very
well for your ,200 per annum in Marlow or some such town;
and I am sure you would be much happier than in Italy.
How all the English dislike it ! The Hoppners speak with
the greatest acrimony of the Italians, and Mr. Hoppner says
that he was actually driven from Italian society by the young
VOL. i 15
226 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
men continually asking him for money. Everything is saleable
in Venice, even the wives of the gentry, if you pay well. It
appears indeed a most frightful system of society. Well !
wheEL shall we see you again ? Soon, I daresay. I am so much
hurried that you will be kind enough to excuse the abruptness
of this letter. I will write soon again, and in the meantime
write to me. Shelley and Clare desire the kindest remem-
brances. My dear Mrs. Gisborne, affectionately yours,
MARY W. S.
Casa Capuccini, Este.
Send our letters to this direction.
No more of the journal was written till the
24th, and in the meantime great trouble had
fallen on the writers. Shelley was impatient for
Clara to be within reach of better medical advice,
and anxious to get Mary to Venice. He went
forward himself on the 22d, returning next day as
far as Padua to meet Mary and Clara, with Clare,
who, however, only came over to Padua to see
the Medico. The baby was very ill, and was
getting worse every hour, but they judged it best
to press on. In their hurry they had forgotten
their passport, and had some difficulty in getting
past the dogana in consequence. Shelley's im-
petuosity carried all obstacles before it, and the
soldiers on duty had to give way. On reaching
Venice Mary went straight with her sick child to
the inn, while Shelley hurried for the doctor. It
was too late. When he got back (without the
medical man) he found Mary well-nigh beside
herself with distress. Another doctor had already
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 227
been summoned, but little Clara was dying, and
in an hour all was over.
This blow reduced Mary to " a kind of despair " ;
the expression is Shelley's. Mr. Hoppner, on
hearing what had happened, insisted on taking
them away at once from the inn to his house.
Four days she spent in Venice after that, the
first of which was a blank ; of the second she
merely records
An idle day. Go to the Lido and see Albe there.
After that she roused herself. There was
Shelley to be comforted and supported, there
was Byron to be interviewed. One of her objects
in coming had been to try and persuade him
after all to let Allegra stay. So she nerved
herself to pay this visit, and to go about and
see something of Venice with Shelley.
Sunday, September 27. Read fourth canto of Childe
Harold. It rains. Go to the Doge's Palace, Ponte dei
Sospiri, etc. Go to the Academy with Mr. and Mrs. Hoppner,
and see some fine pictures. Call at Lord Byron's and see the
Farmaretta.
Monday, September 28. Go with Mrs. Hoppner and
Cavaliere Mengaldo to the Library. Shopping. In the even-
ing Lord Byron calls.
Tuesday, September 29. Leave Venice, and arrive at Este
at night. Clare is gone with the children to Padua.
Wednesday, September 30. The chicks return. Transcribe
Mazeppa. Go to the opera in the evening.
A quiet, sad fortnight at Este followed. An
idle one it was not, for Shelley not only wrote
228 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Julian and Maddalo, but worked on portions of
his drama of Prometheus Unbound, the idea of
which had haunted him ever since he came
to Italy. Clare, for the time, was happy with
her child. Mary read several plays of Shake-
speare and the lives of Alfieri and Tasso in
Italian.
On the 1 2th of October she arrived once more
at Venice with Shelley. She passed the greater
part of her time there with the Hoppners, who
were exceedingly friendly. Shelley visited Byron
several times, probably trying to get an extension
of leave for Allegra. In this, however, he must
have failed, as on the 24th he went to Este to
fetch her, returning with her on the 29th. Hav-
ing restored the poor little girl to the Hoppners'
care, he and Mary went once more to Este, but
this time only to prepare for departure. On the
5th of November the whole party, including
Elise (who was not retained for Allegra's service),
left the Villa Capuccini and travelled by slow
stages to Rome.
No further allusion to her recent bereavement
is to be found in Mary's journal. She attempted
to behave like the Stoic her father had wished
her to be. 1 She had written to him of her afflic-
tion, and received the following answer from the
philosopher
1 See Godwin's letter to Baxter, chap. iii.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 229
SKINNER STREET, z^th October 1818.
MY DEAR MARY I sincerely sympathise with you in the
affliction which forms the subject of your letter, and which I
may consider as the first severe trial of your constancy and
the firmness of your temper that has occurred to you in the
course of your life ; you should, however, recollect that it is
only persons of a very ordinary sort, and of a pusillanimous
disposition, that sink long under a calamity of this nature. I
assure you such a recollection will be of great use to you. We
seldom indulge long in depression and mourning except when
we think secretly that there is something very refined in it,
and that it does us honour.
Such a homily, at such a time, must have
made Mary feel like a person of a very ordinary
sort indeed. But she strove, only too hard, to
carry out her father's principles ; for, by doing
violence to her sensitive nature, she might crush
but could not kill it. The passionate impulses of
her mother were curiously mated in her with her
father's reflective temperament ; and the noble
courage which she inherited from Mary Woll-
stonecraft went hand in hand with somewhat of
Godwin's constitutional shrinking from any mani-
festation of emotion. And the effect of deter-
minate, excessive self-restraint on a heart like
hers was to render the crushed feelings morbid in
their acuteness, and to throw on her spirits a load
of endurance which was borne, indeed, but at
ruinous cost, and operated largely, among other
causes, to make her seem cold when she was really
suffering.
230 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
At such times it was not altogether well for her
that she was Shelley's companion. For, when
his health and spirits were good, he craved and
demanded companionship, personal, intellectual,
playful, companionship of all sorts; but when they
ebbed, when his vitality was low, when the simul-
taneous exaltation of conception and labour of
realisation a tremendous expenditure of force
was over, and left him shattered, shaken, surprised
at himself like one who in a dream falls from a
height and awakens with the shock, tired, and
yet dull, then the one panacea for him was
animal spirits in some congenial acquaintance ;
whether a friend or a previous stranger mattered
little, provided the personality was congenial and
the spirits buoyant. Mary did her best, bravely
and nobly. But the loss of a child was one thing
to Shelley, another thing to her. She strove to
overcome the low spirits from which she suffered.
But endurance, though more heroic than spon-
taneous cheerfulness, is not to be compared with
it in its benign effect on other people ; nay, it
may even have a depressing effect when a
yielding to emotion "of the ordinary sort" may
not. All these truths, however, do not become
evident at once; like other life -experience they
have to be spelled out by slow and painful
degrees.
To seek for respite from grief or care in in-
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 231
tellectual culture and the acquisition of knowledge
was instinctive and habitual both in Shelley and
in Mary. They visited Ferrara and Bologna,
then travelled by a winding road among the
Apennines to Terni, where they saw the cele-
brated waterfall
It put me in mind of Sappho leaping from a rock, and her
form vanishing as in the shape of a swan in the distance.
Friday ', November 20. We travel all day the Campagna di
Roma a perfect solitude, yet picturesque, and relieved by
shady dells. We see an immense hawk sailing in the air for
prey. Enter Rome. A rainy evening. Doganas and cheating
innkeepers. We at length get settled in a comfortable hotel.
After one week in Rome, during which they
visited as many of the wonders of the Eternal
City as the time allowed, they journeyed on to
Naples, reading Montaigne by the way.
At Naples they remained for three months.
Of their life there Mary's journal gives no ac-
count ; she confines herself almost entirely to
noting down the books they read, and one or two
excursions. They lived in very great seclusion,
greater than was good for them, but Shelley
suffered much from ill-health, and not a little from
its treatment by an unskilful physician. They
read incessantly, Livy, Dante, Sismondi, Winkel-
mann, the Georgics and Plutarch's Lives, Gil
Bias, and Corinne. They left no beautiful or
interesting scene unvisited ; they ascended Vesu-
232 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
vius, and made excursions to Pompeii, Hercul-
aneum, and Paestum.
On the 8th of December Mary records
Go on the sea with Shelley. Visit Capo Miseno, the
Elysian Fields, Avernus, Solfatara. The Bay of Baiae is
beautiful, but we are disappointed by the various places we
visit.
The impression of the scene, however, re-
mained after the temporary disappointment had
been forgotten, and she sketched it from memory
many years later in the fanciful introduction to
her romance of The Last Man, the story of which
purports to be a tale deciphered from sibylline
leaves, picked up in the caverns.
Shelley, however, suffered from extreme de-
pression, which, out of solicitous consideration for.
Mary, he disguised as much as possible under a
mask of cheerfulness, insomuch that she never
fully realised what he endured at this time until
she read the mournful poems written at Naples,
after he who wrote them had passed for ever out
of sight.
She blamed herself then for what seemed to
her her blindness, for having perhaps let slip
opportunities of cheering him which she would
have sold her soul to recall when it was too late.
That he, at the time, felt in her no such want
of sympathy or help is shown by his concluding
words in the advertisement of Rosalind and
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 233
Helen, and Lines written among the Euganean
Hills, dated Naples, 2Oth December, where he
says of certain lines " which image forth the
sudden relief of a state of deep despondency by
the radiant visions disclosed by the sudden burst
of an Italian sunrise in autumn on the highest
peak of those delightful mountains," that, if they
were not erased, it was "at the request of a dear
friend, with whom added years of intercourse
only add to my apprehension of its value, and
who would have had more right than any one
to complain that she has not been able to ex-
tinguish in me the very power of delineating
sadness."
Much of this sadness was due to physical
suffering, but external causes of anxiety and
vexation were not wanting. One was the dis-
covery of grave misconduct on the part of their
Italian servant, Paolo. An engagement had been
talked of between him and the Swiss nurse Elise,
but the Shelleys, who thought highly of Elise and
by no means highly of Paolo, tried to dissuade
her from the idea. An illness of Elise's revealed
the fact that an illicit connection had been formed.
The Shelleys, greatly distressed, took the view
that it would not do to throw Elise on the world
without in some degree binding Paolo to do his
duty towards her, and they had them married.
How far this step was well-judged may be a
234 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
matter of opinion. Elise was already a mother
when she entered the Shelleys service. Whether
a woman already a mother was likely to do better
for being bound for life to a man whom they
" knew to be a rascal " may reasonably be doubted
even by those who hold the marriage -tie, as
such, in higher honour than the Shelleys did.
But whether the action was mistaken or not, it
was prompted by the sincerest solicitude for
Elise's welfare, a solicitude to be repaid, at no
distant date, by the basest ingratitude. Mean-
while Mary lost her nurse, and, it may be
assumed, a valuable one ; for any one who
studies the history of this and the preceding
years must see all three of the poor doomed
children throve as long as Elise was in charge
of them.
Clare was ailing, and anxious too ; how could
it be otherwise ? Just before Allegra's third birth-
day, Mary received a letter from Mrs. Hoppner
which was anything but reassuring. It gave an
unsatisfactory account of the child, who did not
thrive in the climate of Venice, and a still more
unsatisfactory account of Byron.
II faut espe"rer qu'elle se changera pour son mieux quand
il ne sera plus si froid ; mais je crois toujours que c'est tres
malheureux que Miss Clairmont oblige cette enfant de vivre a
Venise, dont le climat est nuisible en tout au physique de la
petite, et vraiment, pour ce que fera son pere, je le trouve un
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 235
peu triste d'y sacrifier 1'enfant My Lord continue de vivre
dans une de"bauche affreuse qui tot ou tard le menera a sa
mine. . . .
Quant a moi, je voudrois faire tout ce qui est en mon
pouvoir pour cette enfant, que je voudrois bien volontiers
rendre aussi heureuse que possible le temps qu'elle restera
avec nous ; car je crains qu'apres elle devra toujours vivre
avec des Strangers, indifferents a son sort My Lord bien
certainement ne la rendra jamais plus a sa mere ; ainsi il n'y
a rien de bon a esperer pour cette chere petite.
This letter, if she saw it, may well have
made Clare curse the day when she let Allegra
go-
Still, after they returned to Rome at the begin-
ing of March, a brighter time set in.
Journal, Friday, March 5. After passing over the beauti-
ful hills of Albano, and traversing the Campagna, we arrive at
the Holy City again, and see the Coliseum again.
All that Athens ever brought forth wise,
All that Afric ever brought forth strange,
All that which Asia ever had of prize,
Was here to see. Oh, marvellous great change !
Rome living was the world's sole ornament ;
And dead, is now the world's sole monument.
Sunday, March 7. Move to our lodgings. A rainy day.
Visit the Coliseum. Read the Bible.
Monday, March 8. Visit the Museum of the Vatican.
Read the Bible.
Tuesday, March 9. Shelley and I go to the Villa Borghese.
Drive about Rome. Visit the Pantheon. Visit it again by
moonlight, and see the yellow rays fall through the roof upon
the floor of the temple. Visit the Coliseum.
236 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Wednesday, March 10. Visit the Capitol, and see the most
divine statues.
Not one of the party but was revived and
invigorated by the beauty and overpowering
interest of the surrounding scenes, and the delight
of a lovely Italian spring. To Shelley it was life
itself.
"The charm of the Roman climate," says Mrs. Shelley,
" helped to clothe his thoughts in greater beauty than they
had ever worn before. And as he wandered among the ruins,
made one with nature in their decay, or gazed on the Praxi-
telean shapes that throng the Vatican, the Capitol, and the
palaces of Rome, his soul imbibed forms of loveliness which
became a portion of itself."
The visionary drama of Prometheus Unbound,
which had haunted, yet eluded him so long,
suddenly took life and shape, and stood before
him, a vivid reality. During his first month at
Rome he completed it in its original three -act
form. The fourth act was an afterthought, and
was added at a later date.
For a short, enchanted time his health re-
newed, the deadening years forgotten, his suscepti-
bilities sharpened, not paralysed, by recent grief-
he gave himself up to the vision of the realisation
of his life-dream ; the disappearance of evil from
the earth.
"He believed," wrote Mary Shelley, "that mankind had
only to will that there should be no evil, and there would be
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 237
none. . . . That man should be so perfectionised as to be
able to expel evil from his own nature, and from the greater
part of the creation was the cardinal point of his system. And
the subject he loved best to dwell on, was the image of one
warring with the Evil Principle, oppressed not only by it, but
by all, even the good, who were deluded into considering evil
a necessary portion of humanity. A victim full of fortitude
and hope, and the spirit of triumph emanating from a reliance
in the ultimate omnipotence of good."
"This poem," he himself says, "was chiefly written upon
the mountainous ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, among the
flowers, glades, and thickets of odoriferous blossoming trees,
which are extended in ever winding labyrinths upon its im-
mense platforms and dizzy arches suspended in the air. The
bright blue sky of Rome, and the effect of the vigorous awaken-
ing of spring in that divinest climate, and the new life with
which it drenches the spirits even to intoxication, were the
inspiration of this drama." l
And while he wrought and wove the radiant
web of his poem, Mary, excited to greatest
enthusiasm by the treasures of sculpture at
Rome, and infected by the atmosphere of art
around her, took up again her favourite pursuit
of drawing, which she had discontinued since
going to Marlow, and worked at it many hours
a day, sometimes all day. She was writing, too;
a thoroughly congenial occupation, at once sooth-
ing and stimulating to her. She studied the Bible,
with the keen fresh interest of one who comes
new to it, and she read Livy and Montaigne.
Little William was thriving, and growing more
1 Preface to Prometheus Unbound.
238 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
interesting every day. His beauty and promise
and angelic sweetness made him the pet and
darling of all who knew him, while to his parents
he was a perpetual source of ever fresh and in-
creasing delight. And his mother looked forward
to the birth in autumn of another little one who
might, in some measure, fill the place of her lost
Clara.
Clare, who, also, was in better health, was not
behindhand in energy or industry. Music was her
favourite pursuit ; she took singing-lessons from
a good master and worked hard.
They led a somewhat less secluded life than at
Naples, and at the house of Signora Dionizi, a
Roman painter and authoress (described by Mary
Shelley as "very old, very miserly, and very
mean "), Mary and Clare, at any rate, saw a little
of Italian society. For this, however, Shelley did
not care, nor was he attracted by any of the few
English with whom he came in contact. Yet he
felt his solitude. In April, when the strain of his
work was over, his spirits drooped, as usual ; and
he longed then for some congenial distraction,
some human help to bear the burden of life till the
moment of weakness should have passed. But
the fount of inspiration, the source of temporary
elation and strength, had not been exhausted by
Prometheus.
On the 22d of April Mary notes
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 239
Visit the Palazzo Corunna, and see the picture of Beatrice
Cenci.
The interest in the old idea was revived in him ;
he became engrossed in the subject, and soon
after his " lyrical drama " was done, he transferred
himself to this other, completely different work.
There was no talk, now, of passing it on to Mary,
and indeed she may well have recoiled from the
unmitigated horrors of the tale. But, though he
dealt with it himself, Shelley still felt on unfamiliar
ground, and, as he proceeded, he submitted what
he wrote to Mary for her judgment and criticism ;
the only occasion on which he consulted her about
any work of his during its progress towards com-
pletion.
Late in April they made the acquaintance of
one English (or rather, Irish) lady, who will always
be gratefully remembered in connection with the
Shelleys.
This was Miss Curran, a daughter of the late
Irish orator, who had been a friend of Godwin's,
and to whose death Mary refers in one of her
letters from Marlow. 1
Mary may, perhaps, have met her in Skinner
Street ; in any case, the old association was one
link between them, and another was afforded by
similarity in their present interests and occupa-
tions. Mary was very keen about her drawing
1 Page 205.
240 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
and painting. Miss Curran had taste, and some
skill, and was vigorously prosecuting her art-
studies in Rome. Portrait painting was her
especial line, and each of the Shelley party, at
different times, sat to her ; so that during the
month of May they met almost daily, and became
well acquainted.
This new interest, together with the un-
willingness to bring to an end a time at once so
peaceful and so fruitful, caused them once and
again to postpone their departure, originally fixed
for the beginning of May. They stayed on
longer than it is safe for English people to
remain in Rome. Ah ! why could no presenti-
ment warn them of impending calamity ? Could
they, like the Scottish witch in the ballad, have
seen the fatal winding-sheet creeping and cling-
ing ever higher and higher round the wraith
of their doomed child, they would have fled from
the face of Death. But they had no such fore-
boding.
Not a fortnight after his portrait had been
taken by Miss Curran, William showed signs of
illness. How it was that, knowing him to be so
delicate, having learned by bitterest experience
the danger of southern heat to an English-born
infant, having, as early as April, suspected the
Roman air of causing " weakness and depression,
and even fever " to Shelley himself, how, after all
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 241
this, they risked staying in Rome through May is
hard to imagine.
They were to pay for their delay with the best
part of their lives. William sickened on the 25th,
but had so far recovered by the 3Oth that his
parents, though they saw they ought to leave
Rome as soon as he was fit to travel, were in no
immediate anxiety about him, and were making
their summer plans quite in a leisurely way ; Mary
writing to ask Mrs. Gisborne to help them with
some domestic arrangements, begging her to
inquire about houses at Lucca or the Baths of
Pisa, and to engage a servant for her.
The journal for this and the following days runs
Sunday, May 30. Read Livy, and Persiles and Sigismunda.
Draw. Spend the evening at Miss Curran's.
Monday, May 31. Read Livy, and Persiles and Sigismunda,
Draw. Walk in the evening.
Tuesday, June i. Drawing lesson. Read Livy. Walk by
the Tiber. Spend the evening with Miss Curran.
Wednesday, June 2. See Mr. Vogel's pictures. William
becomes very ill in the evening.
Thursday, June 3. William is very ill, but gets better
towards the evening. Miss Curran calls.
Mary took this opportunity of begging her
friend to write for her to Mrs. Gisborne, telling
her of the inevitable delay in their journey.
ROME, Thursday, yi June 1819.
DEAR MRS. GISBORNE Mary tells me to write for her, for
she is very unwell, and also afflicted. Our poor little William
VOL. i 1 6
242 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
is at present very ill, and it will be impossible to quit Rome
so soon as we intended. She begs you, therefore, to forward
the letters here, and still to look for a servant for her, as she
certainly intends coming to Pisa. She will write to you a day
or two before we set out.
William has a complaint of the stomach ; but fortunately
he is attended by Mr. Bell, who is reckoned even in London
one of the first English surgeons.
I know you will be glad to hear that both Mary and Mr.
Shelley would be well in health were it not for the dreadful
anxiety they now suffer. EMELIA CURRAN.
Two days after, Mary herself wrote a few lines
to Mrs. Gisborne.
$th June 1819.
William is in the greatest danger. We do not quite
despair, yet we have the least possible reason to hope.
I will write as soon as any change takes place. The misery
of these hours is beyond calculation. The hopes of my life
are bound up in him. Ever yours affectionately,
M. W. S.
I am well, and so is Shelley, although he is more exhausted
by watching than I am. William is in a high fever.
Sixty death -like hours did Shelley watch,
without closing his eyes. Clare, her own troubles
forgotten in this moment of mortal suspense, was
a devoted nurse.
As for Mary, her very life ebbed with William's,
but as yet she bore up. There was no real hope
from the first moment of the attack, but the poor
child made a hard struggle for life. Two more
days and nights of anguish and terror and deadly
sinking of heart, and then, in the blank page
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRA FT SHELLE Y 243
following June 4, the last date entered in the
diary, are the words
The journal ends here. P. B. S.
On Monday, the yth of June, at noonday,
William died.
CHAPTER XII
JUNE iSlQ-SEPTEMBER l82O
IT was not fifteen months since they had all left
England ; Shelley and Mary with the sweet, blue-
eyed " Willmouse," and the pretty baby, Clara, so
like her father ; Clare and the " bluff, bright-eyed
little Commodore," Allegra ; the Swiss nurse and
English nursemaid ; a large and lively party, in
spite of cares and anxieties and sorrows to come.
In one short, spiritless paragraph Mary, on the
4th of August, summed up such history as there
was of the sad two months following on the blow
which had left her childless.
Journal, Wednesday, August 4, 1819, Leghorn (Mary). I
begin my journal on Shelley's birthday. We have now lived five
years together ; and if all the events of the five years were blotted
out, I might be happy ; but to have won and then cruelly to
have lost, the associations of four years, is not an accident to
which the human mind can bend without much suffering.
Since I left home I have read several books of Livy,
Clarissa Harlowe, the Spectator, a few novels, and am now
reading the Bible, and Lucan's Pharsalia, and Dante. Shelley
is to-day twenty-seven years of age. Write ; read Lucan
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 245
and the Bible. Shelley writes the Cenci, and reads Plutarch's
Lives. The Gisbornes call in the evening. Shelley reads
Paradise Lost to me. Read two cantos of the Purgatoiio.
Three days after William's death, Shelley,
Mary, and Clare had left Rome for Leghorn.
Once more they were alone together how
different now from the three heedless young
things who, just five years before, had set out to
walk through France with a donkey !
Shelley, then, a creature of feelings and
theories, full of unbalanced impulses, vague aspira-
tions and undeveloped powers ; inexperienced in
everything but uncomprehended pain and the dim
consciousness of half- realised mistakes. Mary,
the fair, quiet, thoughtful girl, earnest and im-
passioned, calm and resolute, as ignorant of practi-
cal life as precocious in intellect ; with all her mind
worshipping the same high ideals as Shelley's,
and with all her heart worshipping him as the
incarnation of them. Clare her very opposite ;
excitable and enthusiastic, demonstrative and
capricious, clever, but silly ; with a mind in which
a smattering of speculative philosophy, picked up
in Godwin's house, contended for the mastery with
such social wisdom as she had picked up in a
boarding school. Both of them mere children in
years. Now poor Clare was older without being
much wiser, saddened yet not sobered ; suffering
bitterly from her ambiguous position, yet unable
246 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
or unwilling to put an end to it ; the worse by her
one great error, which had brought her to dire
grief; the better by one great affection for her
child, the source of much sorrow, it is true, but
also of truest joy of self-devotion, and the only
instrument of such discipline that ever she had.
Shelley had found what he wanted, the faithful
heart which to his own afforded peace and stability
and the balance which, then, he so much needed ;
a kindred mind, worthy of the best his had to
give ; knowing and expecting that best, too, and
satisfied with nothing short of it. And his best
had responded. In these few years he had real-
ised powers the extent of which could not have
been foretold, and which might, without that
steady sympathy and support, have remained un-
fulfilled possibilities for ever. In spite of the far-
reaching consequences of his errors, in spite of
torturing memories, in spite of ill-health, anxiety,
poverty, vexation, and strife, the Shelley of
Queen Mab had become the Shelley of "Pro-
metheus Unbound and the Cenci.
Of this development he himself was conscious
enough. In so far as he was known to his con-
temporaries, it was only by his so-called atheistic
opinions, and his departures theoretical and actual,
from conventional social morality ; and even these
owed their notoriety, not to his genius, but to the
fact that they were such strange vagaries in the
MARY WO LLS TO NEC RAFT SHELLEY. 247
heir to a baronetcy. In his new life he had,
indeed, known the deepest grief as well as the
purest love, but those griefs which are memorial
shrines of love did not paralyse him. They were
rather among the influences which elicited the
utmost possibilities of his nature ; his lost children,
as lovely ideals, were only half lost to him.
But with Mary it was otherwise. Her occupa-
tion was gone. When after the death of her first
poor little baby, she wrote : "Whenever I am left
alone to my own thoughts, and do not read to
divert them, they always come back to the same
point that I was a mother, and am so no longer ;"
a new sense was dawning in her which never
had waned, and which, since William's birth, had
asserted itself as the key to her nature.
She had known very little of the realities of
life when she left her father's house with Shelley,
and he, her first reality, belonged in many ways
more to the ideal than to the real world. But
for her children, her association with him, while
immeasurably expanding her mental powers, might
have tended to develop these at the expense of
her emotional nature, and to starve or to stifle her
human sympathies. In her children she found
the link which united her ideal love with the
universal heart of mankind, and it was as a mother
that she learned the sweet charities of human
nature. This maternal love deepened her feelings
248 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
towards her own father, it gave her sympathy with
Clare and helped towards patience with her, it
saved her from overmuch literary abstraction, and
prevented her from pining when Shelley was
buried in dreams or engrossed in work, and she
loved these children with the unconscious pas-
sionate gratitude of a reserved nature towards
anything that constrains from it the natural ex-
pression of that fund of tenderness and devotion
so often hidden away under a perversely un-
demonstrative manner. Now, in one short year,
all this was gone, and she sank under the blow
of William's loss. She could not even find com-
fort in the thought of the baby to be born in
autumn, for, after the repeated rending asunder
of beloved ties, she looked forward to new ones
with fear and trembling, rather than with hope.
The physical reaction after the strain of long
suspense and watching had told seriously on her
health, never strong at these times ; the efforts
she had made at Naples were no longer possible
to her. Even Clare with all her misery was, in
one sense, better off than she, for Allegra lived.
She tried to rise above her affliction, but her care
for everything was gone ; the whole world seemed
dull and indifferent. Poor Shelley, only too
liable to depression at all times, and suffering
bitterly himself from the loss of his beloved child,
tried to keep up his spirits for Mary's sake.
249
Thou sittest on the hearth of pale Despair,
Where,
For thine own sake, I cannot follow thee.
Perhaps the effort he thus made for her sake had
a bracing effect on himself, but the old Mary
seemed gone, lost, and even he was powerless
to bring her back ; she could not follow him ; any
approach of seeming forgetfulness in others in-
creased her depression and gloom.
The letter to Miss Curran, which follows, was
written within three weeks of William's death.
LEGHORN, zith June 1819.
MY DEAR Miss CURRAN I wrote to you twice on our jour-
ney, and again from this place, but I found the other day that
Shelley had forgotten to send the letter ; and I have been so un-
well with a cold these last two or three days that I have not been
able to write. We have taken an airy house here, in the vicinity
of Leghorn, for three months, and we have not found it yet too
hot. The country around us is pretty, so that I daresay we
shall do very well. I am going to write another stupid letter to
you, yet what can I do? I no sooner take up my pen than
my thoughts run away with me, and I cannot guide it except
about one subject, and that I must avoid. So I entreat you
to join this to your many other kindnesses, and to excuse me.
I have received the two letters forwarded from Rome. My
father's lawsuit is put off until July. It will never be termin-
ated. I hear that you have quitted the pestilential air of
Rome, and have gained a little health in the country. Pray
let us hear from you, for both Shelley and I are very anxious
more than I can express to know how you are. Let us
hear also, if you please, anything you may have done about
the tomb, near which I shall lie one day, and care not, for my
own sake, how soon. I never shall recover that blow ; I feel
it more than at Rome ; the thought never leaves me for a
250 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
single moment; everything on earth has lost its interest to
me. You see I told you that I could only write to you on
one subject ; how can I, since, do all I can (and I endeavour
very sincerely) I can think of no other, so I will leave off.
Shelley is tolerably well, and desires his kindest remembrances.
Most affectionately yours, MARY W. SHELLEY.
Their sympathetic friend, Leigh Hunt, grieved
at the tone of her letters and at Shelley's account of
her, tried to convey to her a little kindly advice and
Tericouragement.
8 YORK BUILDINGS, NEW ROAD.
July 1819.
MY DEAR MARY I was just about to write to you, as you
will see by my letter to Shelley, when I received yours. I
need not say how it grieves me to see you so dispirited. Not
that I wonder at it under such sufferings ; but I know, at least
I have often suspected, that you have a tendency, partly
constitutional perhaps, and partly owing to the turn of your
philosophy, to look over-intensely at the dark side of human
things ; and they must present double dreariness through such
tears as you are now shedding. Pray consent to take care of
your health, as the ground of comfort; and cultivate your laurels
on the strength of it. I wish you would strike your pen into
some more genial subject (more obviously so than your last),
and bring up a fountain of gentle tears for us. That exquisite
passage about the cottagers shows what you could do. 1
Mary received his counsels submissively, and
would have carried them out if she could. But
her nervous prostration was beyond her own power
to cure or remove, and it was hard for others and
impossible for herself to know how far her dejected
state was due to mental and how far to physical
causes.
1 In Frankenstein.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 251
Shelley was not, and dared not be, idle. He
worked at his Tragedy and finished it ; many of
the Fragments, too, belong to this time. They
are the speech of pain, but those who can teach
in song what they learn in suffering have much,
very much to be thankful for. Mary persisted in
study ; she even tried to write. But the spring
of invention was low.
She exerted herself to send to Mrs. Hunt
an account of their present life and surroundings.
LEGHORN, 2%//i August 1819.
MY DEAR 'MARIANNE We are very dull at Leghorn, and I
can therefore write nothing to amuse you. We live in a little
country house at the end of a green lane, surrounded by a
podere. These poderi are just the things Hunt would like.
They are like our kitchen -gardens, with the difference only
that the beautiful fertility of the country gives them. A large
bed of cabbages is very unpicturesque in England, but here
the furrows are alternated with rows of grapes festooned on
their supporters, and the hedges are of myrtle, which have
just ceased to flower; their flower has the sweetest faint
smell in the world, like some delicious spice. Green grassy
walks lead you through the vines. The people are always
busy, and it is pleasant to see three or four of them transform
in one day a bed of Indian corn to one of celery. They work
this hot weather in their shirts, or smock-frocks (but their
breasts are bare), their brown legs nearly the colour, only with
a rich tinge of red in it, of the earth they turn up. They sing,
not very melodiously, but very loud, Rossini's music, " Mi
rivedrai, ti rivedro," and they are accompanied by the cicala,
a kind of little beetle, that makes a noise with its tail as loud
as Johnny can sing; they live on trees; and three or four
together are enough to deafen you. It is to the cicala that
252 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Anacreon has addressed an ode which they call " To a Grass-
hopper " in the English translations.
Well, here we live. I never am in good spirits often in
very bad ; and Hunt's portrait has already seen me shed so
many tears that, if it had his heart as well as his eyes, he would
weep too in pity. But no more of this, or a tear will come
now, and there is no use for that.
By the bye, a hint Hunt gave about portraits. The Italian
painters are very bad ; they might make a nose like Shelley's,
and perhaps a mouth, but I doubt it ; but there would be no
expression about it. They have no notion of anything except
copying again and again their Old Masters ; and somehow mere
copying, however divine the original, does a great deal more
harm than good.
Shelley has written a good deal, and I have done very little
since I have been in Italy. I have had so much to see, and
so many vexations, independently of those which God has
kindly sent to wean me from the world if I were too fond of it.
Shelley has not had good health by any means, and, when
getting better, fate has ever contrived something to pull him
back. He never was better than the last month of his stay in
Rome, except the last week then he watched sixty miserable
death-like hours without closing his eyes ; and you may think
what good that did him.
We see the Examiners regularly now, four together, just
two months after the publication of the last. These are very
delightful to us. I have a word to say to Hunt of what he
says concerning Italian dancing. The Italians dance very
badly. They dress for their dances in the ugliest manner;
the men in little doublets, with a hat and feather ; they are
very stiff ; nothing but their legs move ; and they twirl and
jump with as little grace as may be. It is not for their dancing,
but their pantomime, that the Italians are famous. You re-
member what we told you of the ballet of Othello. They
tell a story by action, so that words appear perfectly super-
fluous things for them. In that they are graceful, agile,
impressive, and very affecting; so that I delight in nothing
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 253
so much as a deep tragic ballet But the dancing, unless, as
they sometimes do, they dance as common people (for instance,
the dance of joy of the Venetian citizens on the return of
Othello), is very bad indeed.
I am very much obliged to you for all your kind offers and
wishes. Hunt would do Shelley a great deal of good, but
that we may not think of; his spirits are tolerably good. But
you do not tell me how you get on ; how Bessy is, and where
she is. Remember me to her. Clare is learning thorough
bass and singing. We pay four crowns a month for her
master, lessons three times a week ; cheap work this, is it
not? At Rome we paid three shillings a lesson and the
master stayed two hours. The one we have now is the best
in Leghorn.
I write in the morning, read Latin till 2, when we dine ;
then I read some English book, and two cantos of Dante with
Shelley. In the evening our friends the Gisbornes come, so
we are not perfectly alone. I like Mrs. Gisborne very much
indeed, but her husband is most dreadfully dull ; and as he is
always with her, we have not so much pleasure in her company
as we otherwise should. . . .
The neighbourhood of Mrs. Gisborne, "charm-
ing from her frank and affectionate nature," and
full of intellectual sympathy with the Shelleys,
was a boon indeed at this melancholy time.
Through her Shelley was led to the study of
Spanish, and the appearance on the scene of
Charles Clairmont, who had just passed a year
in Spain, was an additional stimulus in this direc-
tion. Together they read several of Calderon's
plays, from which Shelley derived the greatest
delight, and which enabled him for a time to
forget everyday life and its troubles. Another
254 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
diversion to his thoughts was the scheme of a
steamboat which should ply between Leghorn
and Marseilles, to be constructed by Henry
Reveley, mainly at Shelley's expense. He was
elated at promoting a project which he con-
ceived to be of great public usefulness and im-
portance, and happy at being able to do a friend
a good turn. He followed every stage of the
steamer's construction with keen interest, and
was much disappointed when the idea was given
up, as, after some months, it was ; not, however,
until much time, labour, and money had been
expended on it.
Mary, though she endeavoured to fill the
blanks in her existence by assiduous reading,
could not escape care. Clare was in perpetual
thirst for news of her Allegra, and Godwin
spared them none of his usual complaints. He,
too, was much concerned at the depressed tone
of Mary's letters, which seemed to him quite
disproportionate to the occasion, and thought it
his duty to convince her, by reasoning, that she
was not so unhappy as she thought herself to be.
SKINNER STREET, gth September 1819.
MY DEAR MARY Your letter of i Qth August is very grievous
to me, inasmuch as you represent me as increasing the degree
of your uneasiness and depression.
You must, however, allow me the privilege of a father and
a philosopher in expostulating with you on this depression. I
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 255
.cannot but consider it as lowering your character in a memor-
able degree, and putting you quite among the commonalty
and mob of your sex, when I had thought I saw in you
symptoms entitling you to be ranked among those noble
spirits that do honour to our nature. What a falling off is
here ! How bitterly is so inglorious a change to be deplored !
What is it you want that you have not ? You have the
husband of your choice, to whom you seem to be unalterably
attached, a man of high intellectual attainments, whatever I
and some other persons may think of his morality, and the
defects under this last head, if they be not (as you seem to
think) imaginary, at least do not operate as towards you. You
have all the goods of fortune, all the means of being useful to
others, and shining in your proper sphere. But you have lost
a child : and all the rest of the world, all that is beautiful, and
all that has a claim upon your kindness, is nothing, because a
child of two years old is dead.
The human species may be divided into two great classes :
those who lean on others for support, and those who are quali-
fied to support. Of these last, some have one, some five, and
some ten talents. Some can support a husband, a child, a
small but respectable circle of friends and dependents, and
some can support a world, contributing by their energies to
advance their whole species one or more degrees in the scale
of perfectibility. The former class sit with their arms crossed,
a prey to apathy and languor, of no use to any earthly
creature, and ready to fall from their stools if some kind soul,
who might compassionate, but who cannot respect them, did
not come from moment to moment and endeavour to set them
up again. You were formed by nature to belong to the best
of these classes, but you seem to be shrinking away, and volun-
tarily enrolling yourself among the worst
Above all things, I entreat you, do not put the miserable
delusion on yourself, to think there is something fine, and
beautiful, and delicate, in giving yourself up, and agreeing to
be nothing. Remember too, though at first your nearest con-
nections may pity you in this state, yet that when they see you
256 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
fixed in selfishness and ill humour, and regardless of the
happiness of every one else, they will finally cease to love you,
and scarcely learn to endure you.
The other parts of your letter afford me much satisfaction.
Depend upon it, there is no maxim more true or more im-
portant than this ; Frankness of communication takes off bitter-
ness. True philosophy invites all communication, and with-
holds none.
Such a letter tended rather to check frankness
of communication than to bind up a broken heart.
Poor Mary's feelings appear in her letter to
Miss Curran, with whom she was in correspond-
ence about a monumental stone for the tomb in
Rome.
The most pressing entreaties on my part, as well as Clare's,
cannot draw a single line from Venice. It is now six months
since we have heard, even in an indirect manner, from there.
God knows what has happened, or what has not ! I suppose
Shelley must go to see what has become of the little thing ;
yet how or when I know not, for he has never recovered from
his fatigue at Rome, and continually frightens me by the ap-
proaches of a dysentery. Besides, we must remove. My
lying-in and winter are coming on, so we are wound up in an
inextricable dilemma. This is very hard upon us ; and I have
no consolation in any quarter, for my misfortune has not
altered the tone of my Father's letters, so that I gain care every
day. And can you wonder that my spirits suffer terribly ? that
time is a weight to me ? And I see no end to this. Well, to
talk of something more interesting, Shelley has finished his
tragedy, and it is sent to London to be presented to the
managers. It is still a deep secret, and only one person,
Peacock (who presents it), knows anything about it in England.
With Shelley's public and private enemies, it would certainly
fall if known to be his ; his sister-in-law alone would hire
MAR Y WOLLS TO NEC R A FT SHELLE Y 257
enough people to damn it. It is written with great care, and
we are in hopes that its story is sufficiently polished not
to shock the audience. We shall see. Continue to direct
to us at Leghorn, for if we should be gone, they will be faith-
fully forwarded to us. And when you return to Rome just
have the kindness to inquire if there should be any stray letter
for us at the post-office. I hope the country air will do you
real good. You must take care of yourself. Remember that
one day you will return to England, and that you may be
happier there. Affectionately yours, M. W. S.
At the end of September they removed to
Florence, where they had engaged pleasant lodg-
ings for six months. The time of Mary's con-
finement was now approaching, an event, in
Shelley's words, " more likely than any other
to retrieve her from some part of her present
melancholy depression."
They travelled by short, easy stages ; stopping
for a day at Pisa to pay a visit to a lady with
whom from this time their intercourse was fre-
quent and familiar. This was Lady Mountcashel,
who had, when a young girl, been Mary Woll-
stonecraft's pupil, and between whom and her
teacher so warm an attachment had existed as
to arouse the jealousy and dislike of her mother,
Lady Kingsborough. She had long since been
separated from Lord Mountcashel, and lived in
Italy with a Mr. Tighe and their two daughters,
Laura and Nerina. As Lady Mountcashel she
had entertained Godwin at her house during his
visit to Ireland after his first wife's death. She
VOL. I 17
258 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
is described by him as a remarkable person, " a
republican and a democrat in all their sternness,
yet with no ordinary portion either of understand-
ing or good nature." In dress and appearance
she was somewhat singular, and had that dis-
regard for public opinion on such matters which
is habitually implied in the much abused term
"strong-minded." In this respect she had now
considerably toned down. Her views on the re-
lations of the sexes were those of William Godwin,
and she had put them into practice. But she and
the gentleman with whom she lived in permanent,
though irregular, union had succeeded in con-
straining, by their otherwise exemplary life, the
general respect and esteem. They were known
as " Mr. and Mrs. Mason," and had so far lived
down criticism that their actual position had come
to be ignored or forgotten by those around them.
Mr. Tighe, or "Tatty," as he was familiarly
called by his few intimates, was of a retiring
disposition, a lover of books and of solitude.
Mrs. Mason was as remarkable for her strong
practical common sense as for her talents and
cultivation and the liberality of her views. She
had a considerable knowledge of the world, and
was looked up to as a model of good breeding,
and an oracle on matters of deportment and
propriety.
She had kept up correspondence with Godwin,
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 259
and her acquaintance with the Shelleys was half
made before she saw them. She conceived an
immediate affection for Mary, as well for her
own as for her mother's sake, and was to prove
a constant and valuable friend, not to her only,
but to Shelley, and most especially to Clare.
After a week in Florence, Mary's journal
was resumed.
Saturday, October 9. Arrive at Florence. Read Massinger.
Shelley begins Clarendon ; reads Massinger, and Plato's Re-
public. Clare has her first singing lesson on Saturday. Go
to the opera and see a beautiful ballet
Monday, October n. Read Horace; work. Go to the
Gallery. Shelley finishes the first volume of Clarendon.
Read the Little Thief.
Wednesday, October 20. Finish the First Book of Horace's
Odes. Work, walk, read, etc. On Saturday letters are sent
to England. On Tuesday one to Venice. Shelley visits the
Galleries. Reads Spenser and Clarendon aloud.
Thursday, October 28. Work; read; copy Peter Bell.
Monday night a great fright with Charles Clairmont. Shelley
reads Clarendon aloud and Plato's Republic. Walk. On
Thursday the protest from the Bankers. Shelley writes to
them, and to Peacock, Longdill, and H. Smith.
Tuesday, November 9. Read Madame de Sevigne. Bad
news from London. Shelley reads Clarendon aloud, and
Plato. He writes to Papa.
On the 1 2th of November a son was born to
the Shelleys, and brought the first true balm of
consolation to his poor mother's heart.
"You may imagine," wrote Shelley to Leigh Hunt, "that
this is a great relief and a great comfort to me amongst all
260 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
my misfortunes. . . . Poor Mary begins (for the first time)
to look a little consoled; for we have spent, as you may
imagine, a miserable five months."
The child was healthy and pretty, and very
like William. Neither Mary's strength nor her
spirits were altogether re-established for some
time, but the birth of "Percy Florence" was, none
the less, the beginning of a new life for her. She
turned, with the renewed energy of hope, to her
literary work and studies. One of her first tasks
was to transcribe the just written fourth act of
Prometheus Unbound. She had work of her
own on hand too ; a- historical novel, Castruccio,
Prince of Lucca (afterwards published as Val-
perga), a laborious but very congenial task, which
occupied her for many months.
And indeed all the solace of new and tender
ties, all the animating interest of intellectual
pursuits, was sorely needed to counteract the
wearing effect of harassing cares and threatening
calamities. Godwin was now being pressed for
the accumulated unpaid house-rent of many years ;
so many that, when the call came, it was unex-
pected by him, and he challenged its justice. He
had engaged in a law-suit on the matter, which he
eventually lost. The only point which appeared
to admit of no reasonable doubt was that Shelley
would shortly be called upon to find a large sum
of money for him, and this at a time when he was
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 261
himself in unexpected pecuniary straits, owing to
the non-arrival of his own remittances from Eng-
land a circumstance rendered doubly vexatious
by the fact that a large portion of the money was
pledged to Henry Reveley for the furtherance of
his steamboat. A draft for ^200, destined for
this purpose, was returned, protested by Shelley's
bankers. And though the money was ultimately
recovered, its temporary loss caused no small
alarm. Meanwhile every mail brought letters
from Godwin of the most harrowing nature ; the
philosophy which he inculcated in a case of
bereavement was null and void where impend-
ing bankruptcy was concerned. He well knew
how to work on his daughter's feelings, and
he did not spare her. Poor Shelley was at
his wits' end.
" Mary is well," he wrote (in December) to the Gisbornes ;
" but for this affair in London I think her spirits would be
good. What shall I, what can I, what ought I to do ? You
cannot picture to yourself my perplexity."
It appeared not unlikely that he might even
have to go to England, a journey for which his
present state of health quite unfitted him, and
which he could not but be conscious would be no
permanent remedy, but only a temporary allevi-
ation, of Godwin's thoroughly unsound circum-
stances. Mary, in her grief for her father, began
to think that the best thing for him might be to
262 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
leave England altogether and settle abroad; an
idea from which Mrs. Mason, with her strong
sagacity, earnestly dissuaded her.
Her views on the point were expressed in a
letter to Shelley Mary had written asking her
if she could give Charles Clairmont any intro-
ductions at Vienna, where he had now gone to
seek his fortune as a teacher of languages ; and
also begging for such assistance as she might be
able to lend in the matter of obtaining access to
historical documents or other MS. bearing on the
subjects of Mary's projected novel.
MRS. MASON TO SHELLEY.
MY DEAR SIR I deferred answering your letter till this
post in hopes of being able to send some recommendations
for your friend at Vienna, in which I have been disappointed ;
and I have now also a letter from my dear Mary ; so I will
answer both together. It gives me great pleasure to hear
such a good account of the little boy and his mother. ... I
am sorry to perceive that your visit to Pisa will be so much
retarded ; but I admire Mary's courage and industry. I sin-
cerely regret that it is not in my power to be of service to
her in this undertaking. . . . All I can say is, that when you
have got all you can there (where I suppose the manuscript
documents are chiefly to be found) and that you come to this
place, I have scarcely any doubt of being able to obtain for
you many books on the subject which interests you. Probably
everything in print which relates to it is as easy to be had
here as at Florence. ... I am very sorry indeed to think'
that Mr. Godwin's affairs are in such a bad way, and think he
would be much happier if he had nothing to do with trade ;
but I am afraid he would not be comfortable out of England.
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 263
You who are young do not mind the thousand little wants
that men of his age are not habituated to ; and I, who have
been so many years a vagabond on the face of the earth, have
long since forgotten them ; but I have seen people of my age
much discomposed at the absence of long-accustomed trifles ;
and though philosophy supports in great matters, it seldom
vanquishes the small everydayisms of life. I say this that
Mary may not urge her father too much to leave England. It
may sound odd, but I can't help thinking that Mrs. Godwin
would enjoy a tour in foreign countries more than he would.
The physical inferiority of women sometimes teaches them to
support or overlook little inconveniences better than men.
" I am very sorry," she writes to Mary in another letter,
" to find you still suffer from low spirits. I was in hopes the
little boy would have been the best remedy for that Words of
consolation are but empty sounds, for to time alone it belongs
to wear out the tears of affliction. However, a woman who
gives milk should make every exertion to be cheerful on
account of the child she nourishes."
Whether the plan for Godwin's expatriation
was ever seriously proposed to him or not, it was,
at any rate, never carried out. But none the less
for this did the Shelleys live in the shadow of his
gloom, which co-operated with their own pecuniary
strait, previously alluded to, and with the nipping
effects of an unwontedly severe winter, to make
life still difficult and dreary for them.
" Shelley Calderonised on the late weather," wrote Mary to
Mrs. Gisborne ; " he called it an epic of rain with an episode
of frost, and a few similes concerning fine weather. We have
heard from England, although not from the Bankers ; but
Peacock's letter renders the affair darker than ever. Ah ! my
dear friend, you, in your slow and sure way of proceeding,
264 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
ought hardly to have united yourself to our eccentric star. I
am afraid that you will repent it, and it grieves us both more
than you can imagine that all should have gone so ill ; but I
think we may rest assured that this is delay, and not loss ; it
can be nothing else. I write in haste a carriage at the door
to take me out, and Percy asleep on my knee. Adieu. Charles
is at Vienna by this time." . . .
They had intended remaining six months at
Florence, but the place suited Shelley so ill that
they took advantage of the first favourable change
in the weather, at the end of January, to remove
to Pisa, where the climate was milder, and where
they now had pleasant friends- in the Masons at
" Casa Silva." They wished, too, to consult the
celebrated Italian surgeon, Vacca, on the subject
of Shelley's health. Vacca's advice took the
shape of an earnest exhortation to him to abstain
from drugs and remedies, to live a healthy life,
and to leave his complaint, as far as possible, to
nature. And, though he continued liable to
attacks of pain and illness, and on one occasion
had a severe nervous attack, the climate of Pisa
proved in the end more suitable to him than any
other, and for more than two years he remained
there or in the immediate neighbourhood. He
and Mary 'were never more industrious than at
this time ; reading extensively, and working to-
gether on a translation of Spinoza they had begun
at Florence, and which occupied them, at intervals,
for many months. Little Percy, a most healthy
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLS Y 265
and satisfactory infant, had in March an attack of
measles, but so slight as to cause no anxiety.
Once, however, during the summer they had a
fright about him, when an unusually alarming
letter from her father upset Mary so much as to
cause in her nursling, through her, symptoms of
an illness similar to that which had destroyed
little Clara. On this occasion she authorised
Shelley, at his earnest request, to intercept future
letters of the kind, an authority of which he had
to avail himself at no distant date, telling Godwin
that his domestic peace, Mary's health and happi-
ness, and his child's life, could no longer be
entirely at his mercy.
No wonder that his own nervous ailments kept
their hold of him. And to make matters better
for him and for Mary, Paolo, the rascally Italian
servant whom they had dismissed at Naples, now
concocted a plot for extorting money from Shelley
by accusing him of frightful crimes. Legal aid
had to be called in to silence him. To this end
they employed an attorney of Leghorn, named
Del Rosso, and, for convenience of communi-
cation, they occupied for a few weeks Casa Ricci,
the Gisbornes' house there, the owners being
absent in England. Shelley made Henry Reveley's
workshop his study. Hence he addressed his
poetical " Letter to Maria Gisborne," and here
too it was that " on a beautiful summer even-
266 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
ing while wandering among the lanes, whose
myrtle hedges were the bowers of the fireflies
(they) heard the carolling of the skylark, which
inspired one of the most beautiful of his
poems. 1
If external surroundings could have made
them happy they might have been so now, but
Shelley, though in better health, was very nervous.
Paolo's scandal and the legal affair embittered his
life, to an extent difficult indeed to estimate, for
it is certain that for some one else's sake, though
whose sake has never transpired, he had accepted
when at Naples responsibilities at once delicate
and compromising. Paolo had knowledge of the
matter, and used this knowledge partly to revenge
himself on Shelley for dismissing him from his
service, partly to try and extort money from him
by intimidation. The Shelleys hoped they had
"crushed him" with Del Rosso's help, but they
could not be certain, because, as Mary wrote to
Miss Curran, they "could only guess at his
accomplices." With Shelley in a state of extreme
nervous irritability, with Mary deprived of repose
by her anguish on her father's account and her
feverish anxiety to help him, with Clare unsettled
and miserable about Allegra, venting her misery
by writing to Byron letters unreasonable and
provoking, though excusable, and then regretting
1 Notts to Shelley's Poems, by Mrs. Shelley.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 267
having sent them, they were not likely to be the
most cheerful or harmonious of trios.
The weather became intolerably hot by the
end of August, and they migrated to Casa Prinni,
at the Baths of S. Giuliano di Pisa. The beauty
of this place, and the delightful climate, refreshed
and invigorated them all. They spent two or
three days in seeing Lucca and the country
around, when Shelley wrote the Witch of Atlas.
Exquisite poem as it is, it was, in Mary's mood
of the moment, a disappointment to her. Ever
since the Cenci she had been strongly im-
pressed with the conviction that if he could but
write on subjects of universal human interest,
instead of indulging in those airy creations of
fancy which demand in the reader a sympathetic,
but rare, quality of imagination, he would put
himself more in touch with his contemporaries,
who so greatly misunderstood him, and that,
once he had elicited a responsive feeling in other
men, this would be a source of profound happi-
ness and of fresh and healthy inspiration to
himself. " I still think I was right," she says,
woman-like, in the Notes to the Poems of 1820,
written long after Shelley's death. So from one
point of view she undoubtedly was, but there are
some things which cannot be constrained. Shelley
was Shelley, and at the moment when he was
moved to write a poem like the Witch of Atlas,
268 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY
it was useless to wish that it had been something
quite different.
His next poem was to be inspired by a human
subject, and perhaps then poor Mary would have
preferred a second Witch of Atlas.
1
CHAPTER XIII
SEPTEMBER i82o-AucusT 1821
THE baths were of great use to Shelley in allaying
his nervous irritability. Such an improvement in
him could not be without a corresponding bene-
ficial effect on Mary. In the study of Greek, which
she had begun with him at Leghorn, she found
a new and wellnigh inexhaustible fund of in-
tellectual pleasure. .Their life, though very quiet,
was somewhat more varied than it had been at
Leghorn, partly owing to their being within
easy reach of Pisa and of their friends at Casa
Silva.
The Gisbornes had returned from England,
and, during a short absence of Clare's, Mary tried,
but ineffectually, to persuade Mrs. Gisborne to
come and occupy her room for a time. Some
circumstance had arisen which led shortly after to
a misunderstanding between the two families,
soon over, but painful while it lasted. It was
probably connected with the abandonment of the
projected steamboat ; Henry Reveley, while in
2 7 o THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
England, having changed his mind and recon-
sidered his future plans.
In October a curiously wet season set in.
Journal, Wednesday, October 18. Rain till i o'clock. At
sunset the arch of cloud over the west clears away ; a few
black islands float in the serene ; the moon rises ; the clouds
spot the sky, but the depth of heaven is clear. The nights
are uncommonly warm. Write. Shelley reads Hyperion
aloud. Read Greek.
My thoughts arise and fade in solitude ;
The verse that would invest them melts away
Like moonlight in the heaven of spreading day.
How beautiful they were, how firm they stood,
Flecking the starry sky like woven pearl.
Friday, October 20. Shelley goes to Florence. Write.
Read Greek. Wind N.W., but more cloudy than yesterday, yet
sometimes the sun shines out ; the wind high. Read Villani.
Saturday, October 21. Rain in the night and morning;
very cloudy ; not an air stirring ; the leaves of the trees quite
still. After a showery morning it clears up somewhat, and the
sun shines. Read Villani, and ride to Pisa.
Sunday, October 22. Rainy night and rainy morning; as
bad weather as is possible in Italy. A little patience and we
shall have St. Martin's summer. At sunset the arch of clear
sky appears where it sets, becoming larger and larger, until at
7 o'clock the dark clouds are alone over Monte Nero ; Venus
shines bright in the clear azure, and the trunks of the trees are
tinged with the silvery light of the rising moon. Write, and
read Villani. Shelley returns with Medwin. Read Sismondi.
Of Tom Medwin, Shelley's cousin and great
admirer, who now for the first time appeared on
the scene, they were to see, if anything, more
than they wished.
He was a lieutenant on half-pay, late of the 8th
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 271
Dragoons ; much addicted to literature, and with
no mean opinion of his own powers in that line.
Journal, Tuesday, October 24. Rainy night and morning ;
it does not rain in the afternoon. Shelley and Medwin go
to Pisa. Walk ; write.
Wednesday, October 25. Rain all night The banks of
the Serchio break, and by dark all the baths are overflowed.
Water four feet deep in our house. " The weather fine."
This flood brought their stay at the Baths to a
sudden end. As soon as they could get lodgings
they returned to Pisa. Here, not long after,
Medwin fell ill, and was six weeks invalided in
their house. They showed him the greatest
kindness ; Shelley nursing him like a brother.
His society was, for a time, a tolerably pleasant
change ; he knew Spanish, and read with Shelley
a great deal in that language, but he had no depth
or breadth of mind, and his literary vanity and
egotism made him at last what Mary Shelley
described as a seccatura, for which the nearest
English equivalent is, a bore.
Journal, Sunday, November 12. Percy's birthday. A
divine day; sunny and cloudless; somewhat cold in the
evening. It would be pleasant enough living in Pisa if one
had a carriage and could escape from one's house to the
country without mingling with the inhabitants, but the Pisans
and the Scolari, in short, the whole population, are such that
it would sound strange to an English person if I attempted to
express what I feel concerning them crawling and crab-like
through their sapping streets. Read Corinne. Write.
Monday, November 13. Finish Corinne. Write. My eyes
keep me from all study ; this is very provoking.
27 2 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Tuesday, November 14. Write. Read Homer, Targione,
and Spanish. A rainy day. Shelley reads Calderon.
Thursday, November 23. Write. Read Greek and Spanish.
Medwin ill. Play at chess.
Friday, November 24. Read Greek, Villani, and Spanish
with M. . . . Pacchiani in the evening. A rainy and cloudy day.
Friday, December i. Read Greek, Don Quixote, Calderon,
and Villani. Pacchiani comes in the evening. Visit La
Viviani. Walk. Sgricci is introduced. Go to a funzione on
the death of a student.
Saturday, December 2. Write an Italian letter to Hunt.
Read CEdipus, Don Quixote, and Calderon. Pacchiani and a
Greek prince call Prince Mavrocordato.
In these few entries occur four new and re-
markable names. Pacchiani, who had been, if he
was not still, a university professor, but who was
none the less an adventurer and an impostor ; in
orders, moreover, which only served as a cloak
for his hypocrisy ; clever withal, and eloquent ;
well knowing where, and how, to ingratiate him-
self. He amused, but did not please the Shelleys.
He was, however, one of those people who know
everybody, and through him they made several
acquaintances ; among them the celebrated Im-
provisatore, Sgricci, and the young Greek states-
man and patriot, Prince Alexander Mavrocordato.
With the improvisations of Sgricci, his eloquence,
his entrain, both Mary and Clare were fairly
carried away with excitement. Older, experi-
enced folk looked with a more critical eye on his
performances, but to these English girls the
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 273
exhibition was an absolute novelty, and seemed
inspired. Sgricci was during this winter a
frequent visitor at " Casa Galetti."
Prince Mavrocordato proved deeply interest-
ing, both to Mary and Shelley. He "was warmed
by those aspirations for the independence of his
country which filled the hearts of many of his
countrymen," and in the revolution which, shortly
afterwards, broke out there, he was to play an
important part, as one of the foremost of modern
Greek statesmen. To him, at a somewhat later
date, was dedicated Shelley's lyrical drama of
Hellas; "as an imperfect token of admiration,
sympathy, and friendship."
This new acquaintance came to Mary just
when her interest in the Greek language and
literature was most keen. Before long the prince
had volunteered to help her in her studies, and
came often to give her Greek lessons, receiving
instruction in English in return.
" Do you not envy my luck," she wrote to Mrs. Gisborne,
" that having begun Greek, an amiable, young, agreeable, and
learned Greek prince comes every morning to give me a lesson
of an hour and a half. This is the result of an acquaintance
with Pacchiani. So you see, even the Devil has his use."
The acquaintance with Pacchiani had already
had another and a yet more memorable result,
which affected Mary none the less that it did so
indirectly. Through him they had come to know
VOL. I 1 8
274 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Emilia Viviani, the noble and beautiful Italian
girl, immured by her father in a convent at Pisa
until such time as a husband could be found for
her who would take a wife without a dowry.
Shelley's acquaintance with Emilia was an
episode, which at one time looked like an era,
in his existence. An era in his poetry it un-
doubtedly was, since it is to her that the Epipsy-
chidion is addressed.
Mary and Clare were the first to see the
lovely captive, and were struck with astonishment
and admiration. But on Shelley the impression
she made was overwhelming, and took possession
of his whole nature. Her extraordinary beauty
and grace, her powers of mind and conversation,
warmed by that glow of genius so exclusively
southern, another variety of which had captivated
them all in Sgricci, and which to northern minds
seems something phenomenal and inspired,
these were enough to subdue any man, and, when
added to the halo of interest shed around her by
her misfortunes and her misery, made her, to
Shelley, irresistible.
All his sentiments, when aroused, were
passions ; he pitied, he sympathised, he admired
and venerated passionately ; he scorned, hated,
and condemned passionately too. But he never
was swayed by any love that did not excite his
imagination : his attachments were ever in pro-
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 275
portion to the power of idealisation evoked in
him by their objects. And never, surely, was
there a subject for idealisation like Emilia ;
the Spirit of Intellectual Beauty in the form
of a goddess ; the captive maiden waiting
for her Deliverer ; the perfect embodiment of
immortal Truth and Loveliness, held in chains
by the powers of cruelty, tyranny, and hypocrisy.
She was no goddess, poor Emilia, as indeed he
soon found out ; only a lovely young creature of
vivid intelligence and a temperament in which
Italian ardour was mingled with Italian subtlety ;
every germ of sentiment magnified and intensi-
fied in outward effect by fervour of manner and
natural eloquence ; the very reverse of human
nature in the north, where depth of feeling is apt
to be in proportion to its inveterate dislike of
discovery, where warmth can rarely shake off
self-consciousness, and where many of the best
men and women are so much afraid of seeming a
whit better than they really are, that they take
pains to appear worse. Rightly balanced, the
whole sum of Emilia's gifts and graces would
have weighed little against Mary's nobleness of
heart and unselfish devotion ; her talents might
not even have borne serious comparison with
Clare's vivacious intellect. But to Shelley,
haunted by a vision of perfection, and ever apt
to recognise in a mortal image "the likeness of
276 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
that which is, perhaps, eternal," * she seemed a
revelation, and, like all revelations, supreme,
unique, superseding for the time every other
possibility. It was a brief madness, a trance
of inspiration, and its duration was counted only
by days. They met for the first time early in
December. By the roth she was corresponding
with him as her dilelto fratello. Before the
month was over Epipsychidion had been written.
Before the middle of January he could write
of her
My conception of Emilia's talents augments every day.
Her moral nature is fine, but not above circumstances ; yet I
think her tender and true, which is always something. How
many are only one of these things at a time ! . . .
There is no reason that you should fear any admixture of
that which you call love. . . .
This was written to Clare. She had very
quickly become intimate and confidential with
Emilia, and estimated her to a nicety at her real
worth, admiring her without idealising her or
caring to do so. She knew Shelley pretty in-
timately too, and, being personally unconcerned
in the matter, could afford at once to be sym-
pathetic and to speak her mind fearlessly ; the
consequence being that Shelley was unconstrained
in communication with her.
That Mary should be his most sympathetic
confidant at this juncture was not in the nature
1 Letter to Mr. Gisborne, of June 18, 1822.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 277
of things. She, too, had begun by idealising
Emilia, but her affection and enthusiastic ad-
miration were soon outdone and might well have
been quenched by Shelley's rapt devotion. She
did not misunderstand him, she knew him too
well for that, but the better she understood him
the less it was possible for her to feel with him ;
nor could it have been otherwise unless she had
been really as cold as she sometimes appeared.
Loyal herself, she never doubted Shelley's loyalty,
but she suffered, though she did not choose to
show it: her love, like a woman's, perhaps
even more than most women's was exclusive ;
Shelley's, like a man's, like many of the best
of men's, inclusive.
She did not allow her feelings to interfere with
her actions. She continued to show all possible
sympathy and kindness to Emilia, who in return
would style her her dearest, loveliest friend and
sister. No wonder, however, if at times Mary
could not quite overcome a slight constraint of
manner, or if this was increased when her dearest
sister, with sweet unconsciousness, would openly
probe the wound her pride would fain have
hidden from herself; when Emilia, for instance,
wrote to Shelley-
Mary does not write to me. Is it possible that she loves
me less than the others do ? I should indeed be inconsolable
at that.
278 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Or to be informed in a letter to herself that this
constraint of manner had been talked over by
Emilia with Shelley, who had assured her that
Mary's apparent coldness was only "the ash
which covered an affectionate heart."
He was right, indeed, and his words were the
faithful echo of his own true heart. He might
have added, of himself, that his transient en-
thusiasms resembled the soaring blaze of sparks
struck by a hammer from a glowing mass of
molten metal.
But, in everyday prose, the situation was a
trying one for Mary, and surely no wife of two
and twenty could have met it more bravely and
simply than she did.
" It is grievous," she wrote to Leigh Hunt, " to see this
beautiful girl wearing out the best years of her life in an odious
convent, where both mind and body are sick from want of the
appropriate exercise for each. I think she has great talent, if
not genius ; or if not an internal fountain, how could she have
acquired the mastery she has of her own language, which she
writes so beautifully, or those ideas which lift her so far above
the rest of the Italians ? She has not studied much, and now,
hopeless from a five years' confinement, everything disgusts
her, and she looks with hatred and distaste even on the allevia-
tions of her situation. Her only hope is in a marriage which
her parents tell her is concluded, although she has never seen
the person intended for her. Nor do I think the change of
situation will be much for the better, for he is a younger
brother, and will live in the house with his mother, who they
say is molto seccante. Yet she may then have the free use of
her limbs ; she may then be able to walk out among the fields,
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 279
vineyards, and woods of her country, and see the mountains
and the sky, and not as now, a dozen steps to the right, and
then back to the left another dozen, which is the longest walk
her convent garden affords, and that, you may be sure, she is
very seldom tempted to take."
By the middle of February Shelley was send-
ing his poem for publication, speaking of it as the
production of "a part of himself already dead."
He continued, however, to take an almost painful
interest in Emilia's fate ; she, poor girl, though
not the sublime creature he had thought her,
was infinitely to be pitied. Before their ac-
quaintance ended, she was turning it to practical
account, after the fashion of most of Shelley's
friends, by begging for and obtaining consider-
able sums of money.
If Mary then indulged in a little retrospective
sarcasm to her friend, Mrs. Gisborne, it is hardly
wonderful. Indeed, later allusions are not want-
ing to show that this time was felt by her to be
one of annoyance and bitterness.
Two circumstances were in her favour. She
was well, and, therefore, physically able to look
at things in their true light ; and, during a great
part of the time, Clare was away. In the pre-
vious October, during their stay at the Baths, she
had at last resolved on trying to make out some
sort of life for herself, and had taken a situation as
governess in a Florentine family. She had come
back to the Shelleys for the month of December
280 THE LIFE AND. LETTERS OF
(when it was that she became acquainted with
Emilia Vivani), but had returned to Florence at
Christmas.
She had been persuaded to this step by the
judicious Mrs. Mason, who had soon perceived
the strained relations existing between Mary and
Clare, and had seen, too, that the disunion was
only the natural and inevitable result of circum-
stances. It was not only that the two girls were
of opposite and jarring temperament ; there was
also the fact that half the suspicious mistrust with
Shelley was regarded by those who did not per-
sonally know him, and the shadow of which
rested on Mary too, was caused by Clare's con-
tinued presence among them. As things were
now, it might have passed without remark, but
for the scandalous reports which dated back to
the Marlow days, and which had recently been
revived by the slanders of Paolo, although the
extent of these slanders had not yet transpired.
Shelley had been alive enough to the danger at
one time, but had now got accustomed and in-
different to it. He had a great affection and a
great compassion for Clare ; her vivacity en-
livened him ; he said himself that he liked her
although she teased him, and he certainly missed
her teasing when she was away. But Mary, to
whom Clare's perpetual society was neither a
solace nor a change, and who, as the mother of
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY. 281
children, could no longer look at things from a
purely egotistic point of view, must have felt it
positively unjust and wrong to allow their father's
reputation to be sacrificed to say nothing of her
own to what was in no wise a necessity.
Shelley loved solitude a mitigated solitude that
is ; he certainly did not pine for general society.
Yet many of his letters bear unmistakable evi-
dence to the pain and resentment he felt at being
universally shunned by his own countrymen, as
if he were an enemy of the human race. But
Mary, a woman, and only twenty-two, must have
been self-sufficient indeed if, with all her mental
resources, she had not required the renovation
of change and contrast and varied intercourse,
to keep her mind and spirit fresh and bright,
and to fit her for being a companion and a
resource to Shelley. That she and he were
condemned to protracted isolation was partly due
to Clare, and when Mary was weak and dejected,
her consciousness of this became painful, and
her feeling towards the sprightly, restless Miss
Clairmont was touched with positive antipathy.
Shelley, considering Clare the weaker party,
supported her, in the main, and certainly showed
no desire to have her away. He might have
seen that to impose her presence on Mary in
such circumstances was, in fact, as great a piece
of tyranny as he had suffered from when Eliza
282 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Westbrook was imposed on him. But of this
he was, and he remained, perfectly unconscious.
Clare ought to have retired from the field, but
her dependent condition, and her wretched
anxiety about Allegra, were her excuse for
clinging to the only friends she had.
All this was evident to Mrs. Mason, and it was
soon shown that she had judged rightly, as the
relations between Mary and Clare became cordial
and natural once they were relieved from the
intolerable friction of daily companionship.
During this time of excitement and unrest one
new acquaintance had, however, begun, which cir-
cumstances were to develop into a close and in-
timate companionship.
In January there had arrived at Pisa a young
couple of the name of Williams ; mainly attracted
by the desire to see and to know Shelley, of whose
gifts and virtues and sufferings they had heard
much from Tom Medwin, their neighbour in
Switzerland the year before. Lieutenant Edward
Elliker Williams had been, first, in the Navy, then in
the Army; had met his wife in India, and, returning
with her to England, had sold his commission and
retired on half-pay. He was young, of a frank
straightforward disposition and most amiable
temper, modest and unpretentious, with some literary
taste, and no strong prejudices. Jane Williams
was young and pretty, gentle and graceful, neither
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 283
very cultivated nor particularly clever, but with a
comfortable absence of angles in her disposition,
and an abundance of that feminine tact which pre-
vents intellectual shortcomings from being painfully
felt, and which is, in its way, a manifestation of
genius. Not an uncommon type of woman, but
quite new in the Shelleys' experience. At first
they thought her rather wanting in animation, and
Shelley was conscious of her lack of literary refine-
ment, but these were more and more compensated
for, as time went on, by her natural grace and
her taste for music. " Ned " was something of an
artist, and Mary Shelley sat more than once to
him for her portait. There was, in short, no lack
of subjects in common, and the two young couples
found a mutual pleasure in each other's society
which increased in measure as they became better
acquainted.
In March poor Clare received with bitter grief
the intelligence that her child had been placed by
Byron in a convent, at Bagnacavallo, not far from
Ravenna, where he now lived. Under the sway
of the Countess Guiccioli, whose father and brother
were domesticated in his house, he was leading
what, in comparison with his Venetian existence,
was a life of respectability and virtue. His action
with regard to Allegra was considered by the
Shelleys as, probably, inevitable in the circum-
stances, but to Clare it was a terrible blow. She
284 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
felt more hopelessly separated from her child than
ever, and she had seen enough of Italian convent
education and its results to convince her that it
meant moral and intellectual degradation and
death. Her despairing representations to this
effect were, of course, unanswered by Byron, who
contented himself with a Mephistophelian sneer
in showing her letter to the Hoppners.
With the true "malignity of those who turn
sweet food into poison, transforming all they touch
to the malignity of their own natures," l he had no
hesitation in giving credit to the reports about
Clare's life in the Shelleys' family, nor in openly
implying his own belief in their probable truth.
But for this, and for one great alarm caused
by the sudden and unaccountable stoppage of
Shelley's income (through a mistake which happily
was discovered and speedily rectified by his good
friend, Horace Smith), the spring was, for Mary,
peaceful and bright. She was assiduous in her
Greek studies, and keenly interested in the con-
temporary European politics of that stirring time ;
as full of sympathy as Shelley himself could be
with the numerous insurrectionary outbreaks in
favour of liberty. And when the revolution in
Greece broke out, and one bright April morning
Prince Mavrocordato rushed in to announce to her
1 Letter of Shelley's to Mr. Gisborne. (The passage, in the original,
has no personal reference to Byron.)
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 285
the proclamation of Prince Hypsilantes, her elation
and joy almost equalled his own.
In companionship with the Williams', aided
and abetted by Henry Reveley, Shelley's old
passion for boating revived. In the little ten-
foot long boat procured for him for a few pauls,
and then fitted up by Mr. Reveley, they performed
many a voyage, on the Arno, on the canal between
Pisa and Leghorn, and even on the sea. Their
first trip was marked by an accident Williams
contriving to overturn the boat. Nothing daunted,
Shelley declared next day that his ducking had
added fire to, instead of quenching, the nautical
ardour which produced it, and that he considered
it a good omen to any enterprise that it began in
evil, as making it more likely that it would end in
good.
All these events are touched on in the few
specimen extracts from Mary's journal and letters
which follow
Wednesday, January 31. Read Greek. Call on Emilia
Viviani. Shelley reads the Vita Nuova aloud to me in the
evening.
Friday, February 2. Read Greek. Write. Emilia Vivi-
ani walks out with Shelley. The Opera, with the Williams'
(// Matrimonio Segretd).
Tuesday, February 6. Read Greek. Sit to Williams.
Call on Emilia Viviani. Prince Mavrocordato in the evening.
A long metaphysical argument.
Wednesday, February 7. Read Greek. Sit to Williams. In
the evening the Williams', Prince Mavrocordato, and Mr. Taafe.
286
Monday, February 12. Read Greek (no lesson). Finish
the Vita Nuova. In the afternoon call on Emilia Viviani.
Walk. Mr. Taafe calls.
Thursday, February 27. Read Greek. The Williams to
dine with us. Walk with them. II Diavolo Pacchiani calls.
Shelley reads " The Ancient Mariner " aloud.
Saturday, March 4. Read Greek (no lesson). Walk with
the Williams'. Read Horace with Shelley in the evening. A
delightful day.
Sunday, March 5. Read Greek. Write letters. The
Williams' to dine with us. Walk with them. Williams relates
his history. They spend the evening with us, with Prince
Mavrocordato and Mr. Taafe.
Thursday, March 8. Read Greek (no lesson). Call on
Emilia Viviani. E. Williams calls. Shelley reads The Case
is Altered of Ben Jonson aloud in the evening. A miz-
zling day and rainy night. . . . March winds and rains are
begun, the last puff of winter's breath, the eldest tears of a
coming spring; she ever comes in weeping and goes out smiling.
Monday, March 12. Read Greek (no lesson). Finish the
Defence of Poetry. Copy for Shelley ; he reads to me the
Tale of a Tub, A delightful day after a misty morning.
Wednesday, March 14. Read Greek (no lesson). Copy
for Shelley. Walk with Williams. Prince Mavrocordato in
the evening. I have an interesting conversation with him
concerning Greece. The second bulletin of the Austrians
published. A sirocco, but a pleasant evening,
Friday, March 16. Read Greek. Copy for Shelley. Walk
with Williams. Mrs. Williams confined. News of the Re-
volution of Piedmont, and the taking of the citadel of Candia
by the Greeks. A beautiful day, but not hot.
Sunday, March 18. Read Greek. Copy for Shelley. A
sirocco and mizzle. Bad news from Naples. Walk with
Williams. Prince Mavrocordato in the evening.
Monday, March 26. Read Greek. Alex. Mavrocordato.
Finish the Antigone. A mizzling day. Spend the evening at
the Williams'.
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 287
Wednesday, March 28. Read Greek. Alex. Mavrocor-
dato. Call on Emilia Viviani. Walk with Williams. Mr.
Taafe in the evening. A fine day, though changeful as to
clouds and wind. The State of Massa declares the Constitu-
tion. The Piedmontese troops are at Sarzana.
Sunday, April i. Read Greek. Alex. Mavrocordato calls
with news about Greece. He is as gay as a caged eagle just
free. Call on Emilia Viviani. Walk with Williams ; he spends
the evening with us.
Monday, April 2. Read Greek. Alex. Mavrocordato calls
with the proclamation of Ipsilanti. Write to him. Ride with
Shelley into the Cascini. A divine day, with a north-west
wind. The theatre in the evening. Tachinardi.
Wednesday, April n. Read Greek, and Osservatore Fior
entino. A letter that overturns us. 1 Walk with Shelley. In
the evening Williams and Alex. Mavrocordato.
Friday, April 13. Read Greek. Alex. Mavrocordato calls.
Osservatore Fiorentino. Walk with the Williams'. Shelley at
Casa Silva in the evening. An explanation of our difficulty.
Monday, April 16. Write. Targioni. Read Greek.
Mrs. Williams to dinner. In the evening Mr. Taafe. A wet
morning : in the afternoon a fierce maestrale. Shelley, Wil-
liams, and Henry Reveley try to come up the canal to Pisa ;
miss their way, are capsized, and sleep at a contadino's.
Tuesday, April 24. Read Greek. Alex. Mavrocordato.
Hume. Villani. Walk with the Williams'. Alex. M. calls in
the evening, with good news from Greece. The Morea free.
They now migrated once more to the beautiful
neighbourhood of the Baths of San Giuliano di
Pisa ; the Williams' established themselves at
Pugnano, only four miles off: the canal fed by
the Serchio ran between the two places, and the
little boat was in constant requisition.
1 Announcing the stoppage of Shelley's income.
288 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Our boat is asleep on Serchio's stream,
Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream,
The helm sways idly, hither and thither ;
Dominic, the boatman, has brought the mast,
And the oars, and the sails ; but 'tis sleeping fast,
Like a beast, unconscious of its tether. 1
The canal which, fed by the Serchio, was, though an artificial,
a full and picturesque stream, making its way under verdant
banks, sheltered by trees that dipped their boughs into the
murmuring waters. By day, multitudes of ephemera darted
to and fro on the surface ; at night, the fireflies came out
among the shrubs on the banks ; the cicale, at noonday, kept
up their hum ; the aziola cooed in the quiet evening. It was
a pleasant summer, bright in all but Shelley's health and in-
constant spirits ; yet he enjoyed himself greatly, and became
more and more attached to 'the part of the country where
chance appeared to cast us. Sometimes he projected taking
a farm, situated on the height of one of the near hills, sur-
rounded by chestnut and pine woods and overlooking a wide
extent of country ; or of settling still further in the maritime
Apennines, at Massa. Several of his slighter and unfinished
poems were inspired by these scenes, and by the companions
around us. It is the nature of that poetry, however, which
overflows from the soul, oftener to express sorrow and regret
than joy ; for it is when oppressed by the weight of life and
away from those he loves, that the poet has recourse to the
solace of expression in verse. 2
Journal, Thursday, May 3. Read Villani. Go out in
boat ; call on Emilia Viviani. Walk with Shelley. In the
evening Alex. Mavrocordato, Henry Reveley, Dancelli, and
Mr. Taafe.
Friday, May 4. Read Greek. (Alex. M.) Read Villani.
Shelley goes to Leghorn by sea with Henry Reveley.
1 " The Boat on the Serchio."
2 Notes to Shelley s Poems, by Mary Shelley.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 289
Tuesday, May 8. Packing. Read Greek (Alex. Mavro-
cordato). Shelley goes to Leghorn. In the evening walk with
Alex. M. to Pugnano. See the Williams ; return to the Baths.
Shelley and Henry Reveley come. The weather quite April ;
rain and sunshine, and by no means warm.
Saturday, June 23. Abominably cold weather rain, wind,
and cloud quite an Italian November or a Scotch May.
Shelley and Williams go to Leghorn. Write. Read and
finish Malthus. Begin the answer. 1 Jane (Williams) spends
the day here, and Edward returns in the evening. Read
Greek.
Sunday, June 24. Write. Read the Answer to Malthus.
Finish it. Shelley at Leghorn.
Monday, June 25. Little babe not well. Shelley returns.
The Williams call. Read old plays. Vacca calls.
Tuesday, June 26. Babe well. Write. Read Greek.
Shelley not well. Mr. Taafe and Granger dine with us.
Walk with Shelley. Vacca calls. Alex. Mavrocordato sails.
Thursday, June 28. Write. Read Greek. Read Mac-
kenzie's works. Go to Pugnano in the boat. The warmest
day this month. Fireflies in the evening.
They were near enough to Pisa to go over
there from time to time to see Emilia and other
friends, and for Prince Mavrocordato to come
frequently and give them the latest political news:
the Greek lessons had been voluntarily abjured
by Mary when it seemed probable that the Prince
might be summoned at any moment to play an
active part in the affairs of his country, as actually
happened in June. Shelley was still tormented
by the pain in his side, but his health and spirits
were insensibly improving, as he himself after-
1 Godwin's Annuer to Afalthus.
VOL. I 19
290 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
wards admitted. He was occupied in writing
Hellas ; his elegy on Keats's death, Adonaiszlso
belongs to this time. Ned Williams, infected by
the surrounding atmosphere of literature, had tried
his 'prentice hand on a drama. In the words of
his own journal-
Went in the summer to Pugnano passed the first three
months in writing a play entitled The Promise, or a year, a
month, and a day. S. tells me if they accept it he has great
hopes of its success before an audience, and his hopes always
enliven mine.
Mary was straining every nerve to finish Val-
perga, in the hope of being able to send it to
England by the Gisbornes, who were preparing
to leave Italy, a hope, however, which was not
fulfilled.
MARY TO MRS. GISBORNE.
BATHS OF S. GIULIANO,
3<D/// June 1821.
MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE Well, how do you get on ?
Mr. Gisborne says nothing of that in the note which he wrote
yesterday, and it is that in which I am most interested.
I pity you exceedingly in all the disagreeable details to
which you are obliged to sacrifice your time and attention. I
can conceive no employment more tedious ; but now I hope
it is nearly over, and that as the fruit of its conclusion you
will soon come to see us. Shelley is far from well ; he suffers
from his side and nervous irritation. The day on which he
returned from Leghorn he found little Percy ill of a fever pro-
duced by teething. He got well the next day, but it was so
strong while it lasted that it frightened us greatly. You know
how much reason we have to fear the deceitful appearance of
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 291
perfect health. You see that this, your last summer in Italy,
is manufactured on purpose to accustom you to the English
seasons.
It is warmer now, but we still enjoy the delight of cloudy
skies. The " Creator " has not yet made himself heard. I
get on with my occupation, and hope to finish the rough tran-
script this month. I shall then give about a month to cor-
rections, and then I shall transcribe it. It has indeed been a
child of mighty slow growth since I first thought of it in our
library at Marlow. I then wanted the body in which I might
embody my spirit. The materials for this I found at Naples,
but I wanted other books. Nor did I begin it till a year
afterwards at Pisa ; it was again suspended during our stay at
your house, and continued again at the Baths. All the winter
I did not touch it, but now it is in a state of great forwardness,
since I am at page 7 1 of the third volume. It has indeed
been a work of some labour, -since I have read and consulted
a great many books. I shall be very glad to read the first
volume to you, that you may give me your opinion as to the
conduct and interest of the story. June is now at its last
gasp. You talked of going in August, I hope therefore that
we may soon expect you. Have you heard anything concern-
ing the inhabitants of Skinner Street ? It is now many months
since I received a letter, and I begin to grow alarmed. Adieu.
Ever sincerely yours, MARY W. S.
On the 26th of July the Gisbornes came to pay
their friends a short farewell visit ; on the 29th
they started for England ; Shelley going with
them as far as Florence, where he and Mary
thought again of settling for the winter, and where
he wished to make inquiries about houses. During
his few days' absence the Williams' were almost
constantly with Mary. Edward Williams was
busy painting a portrait of her in miniature, in-
292 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
tended by her as a surprise for Shelley on his
birthday, the 4th of August. But when that day
arrived Shelley was unavoidably absent. On his
return to the Baths he had found a letter from
Lord Byron, with a pressing invitation to visit
him at Ravenna, whence Byron was on the point
of departing to join Countess Guiccioli and her
family, who had been exiled from the Roman
States for Carbonarism, and who, for the present,
had taken refuge at Florence.
Shelley's thoughts turned at once, as they could
not but do, to poor little Allegra, in her convent
of Bagnacavallo. What was to become of her ?
Where would or could she be sent ? or was she to
be conveniently forgotten and left behind ? He
was off next day, the 3d ; paid a flying visit to
Clare, who was staying for her health at Leghorn,
and arrived at Ravenna on the 6th.
The miniature was finished and ready for him
on his birthday. Mary, alone on that anniver-
sary, was fain to look back over the past eventful
seven years, their joys, their sorrows, their many
changes. Not long before, she had said, in a
letter to Clare, " One is not gay, at least I am
not, but peaceful, and at peace with all the world."
The same tone characterises the entry in her
journal for 4th August.
Shelley's birthday. Seven years are now gone ; what
changes ! what a life ! We now appear tranquil, yet who
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 293
knows what wind but I will not prognosticate evil; we
have had enough of it. When Shelley came to Italy I said, all
is well, if it were permanent ; it was more passing than an
Italian twilight. I now say the same. May it be a Polar day,
yet that, too, has an end.
CHAPTER XIV
AUGUST-NOVEMBER 1821
FROM Bologna Shelley wrote to Mary an amusing
account of his journey, so far. But this letter
was speedily followed by another, written within
a few hours of his arrival at Ravenna ; a letter,
this second one, to make Mary's blood run cold,
although it is expressed with all the calmness and
temperance that Shelley could command.
RAVENNA, ith August 1821.
MY DEAREST MARY I arrived last night at 10 o'clock,
and sate up talking with Lord Byron until 5 this morning.
I then went to sleep, and now awake at n, and having
despatched my breakfast as quick as possible, mean to devote
the interval until 12, when the post departs, to you.
Lord Byron is very well, and was delighted to see me. He
has, in fact, completely recovered his health, and lives a life
totally the reverse of that which he led at Venice. He has a
permanent sort of liaison with Contessa Guiccioli, who is now
at Florence, and seems from her letters to be a very amiable
woman. She is waiting there until something shall be decided
as to their emigration to Switzerland or stay in Italy, which
is yet undetermined on either side. She was compelled to
escape from the Papal territory in great haste, as measures
had already been taken to place her in a convent, where she
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 295
would have been unrelentingly confined for life. The op-
pression of the marriage contract, as existing in the laws and
opinions of Italy, though less frequently exercised, is far severer
than that of England. I tremble to think of what poor Emilia
is destined to.
Lord Byron had almost destroyed himself in Venice ; his
state of debility was such that he was unable to digest any
food ; he was consumed by hectic fever, and would speedily
have perished, but for this attachment, which has reclaimed
him from the excesses into which he threw himself, from care-
lessness rather than taste. Poor fellow ! he is now quite well,
and immersed in politics and literature. He has given me a
number of the most interesting details on the former subject,
but we will not speak of them in a letter. Fletcher is here, and
as if, like a shadow, he waxed and waned with the substance
of his master, Fletcher also has recovered his good looks, and
from amidst the unseasonable gray hairs a fresh harvest of
flaxen locks has put forth.
We talked a great deal of poetry and such matters last
night, and, as usual, differed, and I think more than ever.
He affects to patronise a system of criticism fit for the pro-
duction of mediocrity, and, although all his fine poems and
passages have been produced in defiance of this system, yet I
recognise the pernicious effects of it in the Doge of Venice^ and it
will cramp and limit his future efforts, however great they may be,
unless he gets rid of it. I have read only parts of it, or rather,
he himself read them to me, and gave me the plan of the whole.
Allegra, he says, is grown very beautiful, but he com-
plains that her temper is violent and imperious. He has no
intention of leaving her in Italy ; indeed, the thing is too im-
proper in itself not to carry condemnation along with it.
Contessa Guiccioli, he says, is very fond of her ; indeed, I
cannot see why she should not take care of it, if she is to live
as his ostensible mistress. All this I shall know more of soon.
Lord Byron has also told me of a circumstance that shocks
me exceedingly, because it exhibits a degree of desperate and
wicked malice, for which I am at a loss to account. When I
296 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
hear such things my patience and my philosophy are put to a
severe proof, whilst I refrain from seeking out some obscure
hiding-place, where the countenance of man may never meet
me more. It seems that Elise, actuated either by some in-
conceivable malice for our dismissing her, or bribed by my
enemies, has persuaded the Hoppners of a story so monstrous
and incredible that they must have been prone to believe any
evil to have believed such assertions upon such evidence.
Mr. Hoppner wrote to Lord Byron to state this story as the
reason why he declined any further communications with us,
and why he advised him to do the same. Elise says that
Claire was my mistress ; that is very well, and .so far there is
nothing new ; all the world has heard so much, and people
may believe or not believe as they think good. She then
proceeds further to say that Claire was with child by me ; that
I gave her the most violent medicine to procure abortion ;
that this not succeeding she was brought to bed, and that I
immediately tore the child from her and sent it to the Found-
ling Hospital, I quote Mr. Hoppner's words, and this is
stated to have taken place in the winter after we left Este. In
addition, she says that both Claire and I treated you in the
most shameful manner ; that I neglected and beat you, and
that Claire never let a day pass without offering you insults of
the most violent kind, in which she was abetted by me.
As to what Reviews and the world say, I do not care a
jot, but when persons who have known me are capable of con-
ceiving of me not that I have fallen into a great error, as
would have been the living with Claire as my mistress but
that I have committed such unutterable crimes as destroying
or abandoning a child, and that my own ! Imagine my des-
pair of good ! Imagine how it is possible that one of so weak
and sensitive a nature as mine can run further the gauntlet
through this hellish society of men ! You should write to the
Hoppners a letter refuting the charge, in case you believe and
know, and can prove that it is false, stating the grounds and
proof of your belief. I need not dictate what you should say,
nor, I hope, inspire you with warmth to rebut a charge which you
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 297
only can effectually rebut If you will send the letter to me
here, I will forward it to the Hoppners. Lord Byron is not
up. I do not know the Hoppners' address, and I am anxious
not to lose a post. P. B. S.
Mary's feelings on the perusal of this letter
may be faintly imagined by those who read it now,
and who know what manner of woman she actually
was. They are expressed, as far as they could
be expressed, in the letter which, in accordance
with Shelley's desire, and while still smarting
under the first shock of grief and profound indig-
nation, she wrote off to Mrs. Hoppner, and en-
closed in a note to Shelley himself.
MARY TO SHELLEY.
MY DEAR SHELLEY Shocked beyond all measure as I was,
I instantly wrote the enclosed. If the task be not too dread-
ful, pray copy it for me ; I cannot.
Read that part of your letter that contains the accusation.
I tried, but I could not write it. I think I could as soon have
died. I send also Elise's last letter : enclose it or not, as you
think best.
I wrote to you with far different feelings last night, beloved
friend, our barque is indeed " tempest tost," but love me as
you have ever done, and God preserve my child to me, and
our enemies shall not be too much for us. Consider well if
Florence be a fit residence for us. I love, I own, to face
danger, but I would not be imprudent.
Pray get my letter to Mrs. Hoppner copied for a thousand
reasons. Adieu, dearest ! Take care of yourself all yet is
well. The shock for me is over, and I now despise the slander ;
but it must not pass uncontradicted. I sincerely thank Lord
Byron for his kind unbelief. Affectionately yours,
M. W. S.
298 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Do not think me imprudent in mentioning E.'s 1 illness
at Naples. It is well to meet facts. They are as cunning as
wicked. I have read over my letter ; it is written in haste, but it
were as well that the first burst of feeling should be expressed.
PISA, ioth August 1821.
MY DEAR MRS. HOPPNER After a silence of nearly two
years I address you again, and most bitterly do I regret the
occasion on which I now write. Pardon me that I do not
write in French ; you understand English well, and I am too
much impressed to shackle myself in a foreign language ; even
in my own my thoughts far outrun my pen, so that I can
hardly form the letters. I write to defend him to whom I
have the happiness to be united, whom I love and esteem
beyond all living creatures, from the foulest calumnies ; and
to you I write this, who were so kind, and to Mr. Hoppner, to
both of whom I indulged the pleasing idea that I have every
reason to feel gratitude. This is indeed a painful task. Shelley
is at present on a visit to Lord Byron at Ravenna, and I
received a letter from him to-day, containing accounts that
make my hand tremble so much that I can hardly hold the
pen. It tells me that Elise wrote to you, relating the most
hideous stories against him, and that you have believed them.
Before I speak of these falsehoods, permit me to say a few
words concerning this miserable girl. You well know that she
formed an attachment with Paolo when we proceeded to Rome,
and at Naples their marriage was talked of. We all tried to
dissuade her ; we knew Paolo to be a rascal, and we thought
so well of her. An accident led me to the knowledge that
without marrying they had formed a connection. She was ill ;
we sent for a doctor, who said there was danger of a miscarriage,
I would not throw the girl on the world without in some degree
binding her to this man. We had them married at Sir R. A.
Court's. She left us, turned Catholic at Rome, married him,
and then went to Florence. After the disastrous death of my
1 This initial has been printed C. Mrs. Shelley's letter leaves no doubt
that Elise's is the illness referred to.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 299
child we came to Tuscany. We have seen little of them, but
we have had knowledge that Paolo has formed a scheme of
extorting money from Shelley by false accusations. He has
written him threatening letters, saying that he would be the
ruin of him, etc. We placed them in the hands of a celebrated
lawyer here, who has done what he can to silence him. Elise
has never interfered in this, and indeed the other day I received
a letter from her, entreating, with great professions of love, that
I would send her money. I took no notice of this, but although
I know her to be in evil hands, I would not believe that she
was wicked enough to join in his plans without proof. And
now I come to her accusations, and I must indeed summon
all my courage whilst I transcribe them, for tears will force
their way, and how can it be otherwise ?
You know Shelley, you saw his face, and could you believe
them ? Believe them only on the testimony of a girl whom
you despised ? I had hoped that such a thing was impossible,
and that although strangers might believe the calumnies that
this man propagated, none who had ever seen my husband
could for a moment credit them.
He says Claire was Shelley's mistress, that upon my word
I solemnly assure you that I cannot write the words. I send
you a part of Shelley's letter that you may see what I am now
about to refute, but I had rather die than copy anything so
vilely, so wickedly false, so beyond all imagination fiendish.
But that you should believe it ! That my beloved Shelley
should stand thus slandered in your minds he, the gentlest
and most humane of creatures is more painful to me, oh !
far more painful than words can express. Need I say that the
union between my husband and myself has ever been undis-
turbed? Love caused our first imprudence love, which,
improved by esteem, a perfect trust one in the other, a con-
fidence and affection which, visited as we have been by severe
calamities (have we not lost two children?), has increased
daily and knows no bounds. I will add that Claire has
been separated from us for about a year. She lives with a
respectable German family at Florence. The reasons for this
300 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
were obvious : her connection with us made her manifest as
the Miss Clairmont, the mother of Allegra ; besides we live
much alone, she enters much into society there, and, solely
occupied with the idea of the welfare of her child, she wished
to appear such that she may not be thought in after times to
be unworthy of fulfilling the maternal duties. You ought to
have paused before you tried to convince the father of her
child of such unheard-of atrocities on her part. If his gene-
rosity and knowledge of the world had not made him reject
the slander with the ridicule it deserved, what irretrievable
mischief you would have occasioned her. Those who know
me well believe my simple word it is not long ago that my
father said in a letter to me that he had never known me utter
a falsehood, but you, easy as you have been to credit evil,
who may be more deaf to truth to you I swear by all that I
hold sacred upon heaven and earth, by a vow which I should
die to write if I affirmed a falsehood, I swear by the life of
my child, by my blessed, beloved child, that I know the accusa-
tions to be false. But I have said enough to convince you, and
are you not convinced ? Are not my words the words of truth ?
Repair, I conjure you, the evil you have done by retracting your
confidence in one so vile as Elise, and by writing to me that you
now reject as false every circumstance of her infamous tale.
You were kind to us, and I will never forget it ; now I
require justice. You must believe me, and do me, I solemnly
entreat you, the justice to confess you do so.
MARY W. SHELLEY.
I send this letter to Shelley at Ravenna, that he may see it,
for although I ought, the subject is too odious to me to copy
it. I wish also that Lord Byron should see it ; he gave no
credit to the tale, but it is as well that he should see how
entirely fabulous it is.
Shelley, meanwhile, never far from her in
thought, and knowing only too well how acutely she
would suffer from all this, was writing to her again.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 301
SHELLEY TO MARY.
MY DEAREST MARY I wrote to you yesterday, and I
begin another letter to-day without knowing exactly when I
can send it, as I am told the post only goes once a week.
I daresay the subject of the latter half of my letter gave you
pain, but it was necessary to look the affair in the face, and
the only satisfactory answer to the calumny must be given by
you, and could be given by you alone. This is evidently the
source of the violent denunciations of the Litei-ary Gazette, in
themselves contemptible enough, and only to be regarded as
effects which show us their cause, which, until we put off our
mortal nature, we never despise that is, the belief of persons
who have known and seen you that you are guilty of crimes.
A certain degree 'and a certain kind of infamy is to be borne,
and, in fact, is the best compliment which an exalted nature
can receive from a filthy world, of which it is its hell to be a
part, but this sort of thing exceeds the measure, and even if it
were only for the sake of our dear Percy, I would take some
pains to suppress it. In fact it shall be suppressed, even if
I am driven to the disagreeable necessity of prosecuting him
before the Tuscan tribunals. .
Write to me at Florence, where I shall remain a day at
least, and send me letters, or news of letters. How is my little
darling ? and how are you, and how do you get on with your
book? Be severe in your corrections, and expect severity
from me, your sincere admirer. I flatter myself you have
composed something unequalled in its kind, and that, not
content with the honours of your birth and your hereditary
aristocracy, you will add still higher renown to your name.
Expect me at the end of my appointed time. I do not think
I shall be detained. Is Claire with you ? or is she coming ?
Have you heard anything of my poor Emilia, from whom I
got a letter the day of my departure, saying that her marriage
was deferred for a very short time, on account of the illness
302 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
of her Sposo ? How are the Williams', and Williams especi-
ally ? Give my very kindest love to them.
Lord Byron has here splendid apartments in the house of
his mistress's husband, who is one of the richest men in Italy.
She is divorced, with an allowance of 1200 crowns a year
a miserable pittance from a man who has 120,000 a year.
Here are two monkeys, five cats, eight dogs, and ten horses,
all of whom (except the horses) walk about the house like the
masters of it. Tita, the Venetian, is here, and operates as my
valet ; a fine fellow, with a prodigious black beard, and who
has stabbed two or three people, and is one of the most good-
natured-looking fellows I ever saw.
We have good rumours of the Greeks here, and a Russian
war. I hardly wish the Russians to take any part in it. My
maxim is with ^Eschylus : TO Swcre/3es //.era fj.ev irX^iova TIKTU,
8 ciKora yevvy.
There is a Greek exercise for you. How should slaves pro-
duce anything but tyranny, even as the seed produces the
plant? Adieu, dear Mary. Yours affectionately, S.
At Ravenna there was only a weekly post.
Shelley had to wait a long time for Mary's answer,
and before it could reach him he was writing to
her yet a third time. His mind was now full of
Allegra. She was not to be left alone in Italy.
Shelley, enlightened by Emilia Viviani, had been
able to give Byron, on the subject of convents,
such information as to " shake his faith in the
purity of these receptacles." But no conclusions
of any sort had been arrived at as to her future ;
and Shelley entreated Mary to rack her brains, to
inquire of all her friends, to leave no stone un-
turned, if by any possibility she could find some
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 303
fitting asylum, some safe home for the lovely child.
He had been to see the little girl at her convent,
and all readers of his letters know the description
of the fairy creature, who, with her "contemplative
seriousness, mixed with excessive vivacity, seemed
a thing of a higher and a finer order " than the
children around her ; happy and well cared for, as
far as he could judge ; pale, but lovelier and livelier
than ever, and full of childish glee and fun.
At this point of his letter Mary's budget arrived,
and Shelley continued as follows
RAVENNA, Thursday.
I have received your letter with that to Mrs. Hoppner. I
do not wonder, my dearest friend, that you should have been
moved. I was at first, but speedily regained the indifference
which the opinion of anything or anybody, except our own
consciousness, amply merits, and day by day shall more receive
from me. I have not recopied your letter, such a measure
would destroy its authenticity, but have given it to Lord
Byron, who has engaged to send it with his own comments to
the Hoppners. People do not hesitate, it seems, to make
themselves panders and accomplices to slander, for the
Hoppners had exacted from Lord Byron that these accusations
should be concealed from me: Lord Byron is not a man to
keep a secret, good or bad, but in openly confessing that he
has not done so he must observe a certain delicacy, and there-
fore wished to send the letter himself, and, indeed, this adds
weight to your representations. Have you seen the article in
the Literary Gazette on me ? They evidently allude to some
story of this kind. However cautious the Hoppners have been
in preventing the calumniated person from asserting his justifica-
tion, you know too much of the world not to be certain that this
was the utmost limit of their caution. So much for nothing.
304 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Lord Byron is immediately coming to Pisa. He will set
off the moment I can get him a house. Who would have
imagined this? . . . What think you of remaining at Pisa?
The Williams' would probably be induced to stay there if we
did ; Hunt would certainly stay, at least this winter, near us,
should he emigrate at all ; Lord Byron and his Italian friends
would remain quietly there ; and Lord Byron has certainly a
very great regard for us. The regard of such a man is worth
some of the tribute we must pay to the base passions of
humanity in any intercourse with those within their circle ; he
is better worth it than those on whom we bestow it from mere
custom.
The Masons are there, and, as far as solid affairs are
concerned, are rny friends. I allow this is an argument for
Florence. Mrs. Mason's perversity is very annoying to me,
especially as Mr. Tighe is seriously my friend. This circum-
stance makes me averse from that intimate continuation of
intercourse which, once having begun, I can no longer avoid.
At Pisa I need not distil my water, if I can distil it any-
where. Last winter I suffered less from my painful disorder
than the winter I spent in Florence. The arguments for
Florence you know, and they are very weighty ; judge (/ know
you like the job) which scale is overbalanced. My greatest
content would be utterly to desert all human society. I would
retire with you and our child to a solitary island in the sea,
would build a boat, and shut upon my retreat the flood-gates
of the world. I would. read no reviews and talk with no
authors. If I dared trust my imagination, it would tell me
that there are one or two chosen companions besides yourself
whom I should desire. But to this I would not listen. Where
two or three are gathered together the devil is among them,
and good far more than evil impulses, love far more than
hatred, has been to me, except as you have been its object,
the source of all sorts of mischief. So on this plan I would
be alone, and would devote either to oblivion or to future
generations the overflowings of a mind which, timely with-
drawn from the contagion, should be kept fit for no baser
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 305
object. But this it does not appear that we shall do. The
other side of the alternative (for a medium ought not to be
adopted) is to form for ourselves a society of our own class,
as much as possible, in intellect or in feelings, and to connect
ourselves with the interests of that society. Our roots never
struck so deeply as at Pisa, and the transplanted tree flourishes
not. People who lead the lives which we led until last winter
are like a family of Wahabee Arabs pitching their tent in the
midst of London. We must do one thing or the other, for
yourself, for our child, for our existence. The calumnies, the
sources of which are probably deeper than we perceive, have
ultimately for object the depriving us of the means of security
and subsistence. You will easily perceive the gradations by
which calumny proceeds to pretext, pretext to persecution,
and persecution to the ban of fire and water. It is for
this, and not because this or that fool, or the whole court
of fools, curse and rail, that calumny is worth refuting or
chastising. P. B. S.
" So much for nothing," indeed. When Byron
made himself responsible for Mary's letter, it was,
probably, without any definite intention of with-
holding it from those to whom it was addressed.
He may well have wished to add to this glowing
denial of his own insinuations some palliating
personal explanation. When, in the previous
March, Clare had protested against an Italian
convent education for Allegra, he had sent her
letter to the Hoppners with a sneer at the " excel-
lent grace " with which these representations came
from a woman of the writer's character and pre-
sent way of life. And yet he knew Shelley,
knew him as the Hoppners could not do ; he
VOL. I 20
3 o6 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
knew what Shelley had done for him, for Clare,
and Allegra ; and to how much slander and mis-
representation he had voluntarily submitted that
they might go scot-free. Byron was, and he
knew it, the last person who should have accepted
or allowed others to accept this fresh scandal with-
out proof and without inquiry. He was ashamed
of the part he had played, and reluctant to confess
to the Hoppners that he had been wrong, and
that his words, as often happened, had been far in
advance of his knowledge or his solid convictions ;
but his intentions were to do the best he could.
And, satisfying himself with good intentions, he put
off the unwelcome day until the occasion was past,
and till, finally, the friend whose honour had been
entrusted to his keeping was beyond his power
to help or to harm. Shelley was dead ; and how
then explain to the Hoppners why the letter had
not been sent before ? It was "not worth while,"
probably, to revive the subject in order to vindi-
cate a mere memory, nor yet to remove an unjust
and cruel stigma from the character of those who
survived. However it may have been, one thing
is undoubted. Mary Shelley never received any
answer to her letter of protest, which, after Byron's
death, was found safe among his papers.
One more note Shelley sent to Mary from
Ravenna on the subject of the promised portrait.
It would not seem that the miniature was actually
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 307
despatched now, but as his return was so long
delayed, the birthday plot had to be divulged.
RAVENNA, Tuesday, i$th August 1821.
MY DEAREST LOVE I accept your kind present of your
picture, and wish you would get it prettily framed for me. I
will wear, for your sake, upon my heart this image which is
ever present to my mind.
I have only two minutes to write ; the post is just setting
off. I shall leave the place on Thursday or Friday morning.
You would forgive me for my longer stay if you knew the
fighting I have had to make it so short. I need not say
where my own feelings impel me.
It still remains fixed that Lord Byron should come to
Tuscany, and, if possible, Pisa ; but more of that to-morrow.
Your faithful and affectionate S.
The foregoing painful episode was enough to
fill Mary's mind during the fortnight she was alone.
It was well for her that she was within easy-
reach of cheerful friends, yet, even as it was, she
could not altogether escape from bitter thoughts.
Clare was at Leghorn, and had to be told of every-
thing. Mary could not but think of the relief it
would be to them all if she were to marry ; a
remote possibility to which she probably alludes
in the following letter, written at this time to Miss
Curran
MARY SHELLEY TO Miss CURRAN.
SAN GIULIANO, \ith August.
MY DEAR Miss CURRAN It gives me great pain to hear
of your ill-health. Will this hot summer conduce to a better
state or not ? I hope anxiously, when I hear from you again,
3 o8 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
to learn that you are better, having recovered from your weak-
ness, and that you have no return of your disorder. I should
have answered your letter before, but we have been in the
confusion of moving. We are now settled in an agreeable
house at the Baths of San Giuliano, about four miles from
Pisa, under the shadow of mountains, and with delightful
scenery within a walk. We go on in our old manner, with no
change. I have had many changes for the worse ; one might
be for the better, but that is nearly impossible. Our child
is well and thriving, which is a great comfort, and the Italian
sky gives Shelley health, which is to him a rare and substantial
enjoyment I did [not] receive the letter you mention to have
written in March, and you also have missed one of our letters
in which Shelley acknowledged the receipt of the drawings you
mention, and requested that the largest pyramid might be
erected if they could case it with white marble for ^25.
However, the whole had better stand as I mentioned in my
last ; for, without the most rigorous inspection, great cheating
would take place, and no female could detect them. When
we visit Rome, we can do that which we wish. Many thanks
for your kindness, which has been very great. I would send
you on the books I mentioned, but we live out of the world,
and I know of no conveyance. Mr. Purniance says that he
sent the life of your father by sea to Rome, directed to you ;
so, doubtless, it is in the custom-house there.
How enraged all our mighty rulers are at the quiet revolu-
tions which have taken place ; it is said that some one said to
the Grand Duke here : " Ma richiedono una constituzione
qui ? " " Ebene, la darb subito " was the reply ; but he is not
his own master, and Austria would take care that that should
not be the case ; they say Austrian troops are coming here,
and the Tuscan ones will be sent to Germany. We take in
Galignani, and would send them to you if you liked. I do
not know what the expense would be, but I should think
slight. If you recommence painting, do not forget Beatrice.
I wish very much for a copy of that ; you would oblige us
greatly by making one. Pray let me hear of your health.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 309
God knows when we shall be in Rome ; circumstances must
direct, and they dance about like will-o'-the-wisps, enticing
and then deserting us. We must take care not to be left
in a bog. Adieu, take care of yourself. Believe in Shelley's
sincere wishes for your health, and in kind remembrances,
and in my being ever sincerely yours,
M. W. SHELLEY.
Clare desires (not remembrances, if they are not pleasant),
however she sends a proper message, and says she would be
obliged to you, if you let her have her picture, if you could
find a mode of conveying it. ...
Do you know we lose many letters, having spies (not
Government ones) about us in plenty ; they made a desperate
push to do us a desperate mischief lately, but succeeded no
further than to blacken us among the English; so if you
receive a fresh batch (or green bag) of scandal against us, I
assure you it is all a lie. Poor souls ! we live innocently, as
you well know ; if we did not, ten to one God would take pity
on us, and we should not be so unfortunate.
Shelley's absence, though eventful, was, after all,
a short one. In about a fortnight he was back again
at the Bagni, and for a few weeks life was quiet.
On the 1 8th of September Mary records-
Picnic on the Pugnano Mountains ; music in the evening.
Sleep there.
On another occasion, wishing to find some toler-
ably cool seaside place where they might spend the
next summer, they went, the Shelleys and Clare,
on a two or three days' expedition of discovery
to Spezzia, and were enchanted with the beauty of
the bay. Clare had, shortly after, to return to her
situation at Florence, but the Shelleys decided to
winter at Pisa. They took a top flat in the " Tre
310 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Palazzi di Chiesa," on the Lung' Arno, and spent
part of October in furnishing it. They took pos-
session about the 25th ; the Williams' coming, not
many days later, to occupy a lower flat in the same
house. At Lord Byron's request, the Shelleys
had taken for him Casa Lanfranchi, the finest
palace in the Lung' Arno, just opposite the house
where they themselves were established. This
close juxtaposition of abodes was likely to prove
somewhat inconvenient, in case of Clare's occa-
sional presence at Tre Palazzi. Her first visit, how-
ever, to which the following characteristic letter
refers, was to the Masons at Casa Silva, and it came
to an end just before Byron's arrival in Pisa. Clare
had been staying with the Williams' at Pugnano.
CLARE TO MARY.
MY DEAR MARY I arrived last night won't you come
and see me to-day ? The Williams' wish you to forward them
Mr. Webb's answer, if possible, to reach them by 2 o'clock
afternoon to-day. If Mr. Webb says yes (you will open his
note), send Dominico with it to them, and he passing by the
Baths must order Pancani to be at Pugnano by 5 o'clock in
the afternoon. If there conies no letter from Mr. Webb, they
will equally come to you, and I wish you could also in that
case contrive to get Pancani ordered for them, for we forgot to
arrange how that could be done ; if not, they will be there
expecting, and perhaps get involved for the next month. I
wish you to be so good as to send me immediately my large
box and the clothes from the Busati, indeed all that you have
of mine, for I must arrange my boxes to get them bollate
immediately. Don't delay, and my band- box too. If you
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLE Y 311
could of your great bounty give me a sponge, I should be
infinitely obliged to you. Then, when it is dark, and the
Williams' arrived, will you ask Mr. Williams to be so good as
to come and knock at Casa Silva, and I will return to spend
the evening with you ? Shelley won't do to fetch me, because
he looks singular in the streets. But I wish he would come
now to give me some money, as I want to write to Livorno
and arrange everything. Later will be inconvenient for me.
Kiss the chick for me, and believe me, yours affectionately,
CLARE.
Journal. All October is left out, it seems. We are at
the Baths, occupied with furnishing our house, copying my
novel, etc. etc.
Mary's intention was to devote any profits
which might proceed from this work to the relief
of her father's necessities, and the hope of being
able to help him had stimulated her industry and
energy while it eased her heart. She aimed at
selling the copyright for ^400, and Shelley opened
negotiations to this effect with Oilier the publisher.
His letter on the subject bears such striking
testimony to the estimate he had formed of Mary's
powers, and gives, besides, so complete a sketch
of the novel itself, that it cannot be omitted here.
SHELLEY TO MR. OLLIER.
PISA, 2$th September 1822.
DEAR SIR It will give me great pleasure if I can arrange
the affair of Mrs. Shelley's novel with you to her and your
satisfaction. She has a specific purpose in the sum which she
instructed me to require, and, although this purpose could not
be answered without ready money, yet I should find means to
answer her wishes in that point if you could make it con-
312 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
venient to pay one-third at Christmas, and give bills for the
other two-thirds at twelve and eighteen months. It would give
me peculiar satisfaction that you, rather than any other person,
should be the publisher of this work ; it is the product of no
slight labour, and I flatter myself, of no common talent, I
doubt not it will give no less credit than it will receive from your
names. I trust you know me too well to believe that my
judgment deliberately given in testimony of the value of any
production is influenced by motives of interest or partiality.
The romance is called Castruccio, Prince of Lucca, and is
founded, not upon the novel of Machiavelli under that name,
which substitutes a childish fiction for the far more romantic
truth of history, but upon the actual story of his life. He was
a person who, from an exile and an adventurer, after having
served in the wars of England and Flanders in the reign of
our Edward the Second, returned to his native city, and liberat-
ing it from its tyrants, became himself its tyrant, and died in the
full splendour of his dominion, which he had extended over
the half of Tuscany. He was a little Napoleon, and with a
dukedom instead of an empire for his theatre, brought upon
the same all the passions and errors of his antitype. The chief
interest of the romance rests upon Euthanasia, his betrothed
bride, whose love for him is only equalled by her enthusiasm
for the liberty of the Republic of Florence, which is in some
sort her country, and for that of Italy, to which Castruccio is
a devoted enemy, being an ally of the party of the Emperor.
This character is a masterpiece ; and the keystone of the
drama, which is built up with admirable art, is the conflict
between these passions and these principles. Euthanasia, the
last survivor of a noble house, is a feudal countess, and her
castle is the scene of the exhibition of the knightly manners of
the time. The character of Beatrice, the prophetess, can only
be done justice to in the very language of the author. I know
nothing in Walter Scott's novels which at all approaches to the
beauty and the sublimity of this creation, I may say, for it
is perfectly original ; and, although founded upon the ideas
and manners of the age which is represented, is wholly with-
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLE Y 313
out a similitude in any fiction I ever read. Beatrice is in love
with Castruccio, and dies; for the romance, although inter-
spersed with much lighter matter, is deeply tragic, and the
shades darken and gather as the catastrophe approaches. All
the manners, customs of the age, are introduced ; the supersti-
tions, the heresies, and the religious persecutions are displayed ;
the minutest circumstance of Italian manners in that age is
not omitted; and the whole seems to me to constitute a
living and moving picture of an age almost forgotten. The
author visited the scenery which she describes in person ; and
one or two of the inferior characters are drawn from her own
observation of the Italians, for the national character shows
itself still in certain instances under the same forms as it wore
in the time of Dante. The novel consists, as I told you before,
of three volumes, each at least equal to one of the Tales of
my Landlord, and they will be very soon ready to be sent.
No arrangement, however, was come to at this
time, and early in January Mary wrote to her
father, offering the work to him, and asking him,
if he accepted it, to make a bargain concerning it
with a publisher.
Godwin accepted the offer, and undertook the
responsibility, in a letter from which the following
is an extract
$\st January 1822.
I am much gratified by your letter of the i ith, which
reached me on Saturday last ; it is truly generous of you to
desire that I would make use of the produce of your novel.
But what can I say to it ? It is against the course of nature,
unless, indeed, you were actually in possession of a fortune.
I said in the preface to Mandeville there were two or three
works further that I should be glad to finish before I died. If
I make use of the money from you in the way you suggest,
that may enable me to complete my present work.
3H THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
The MS. was, accordingly, despatched to Eng-
land, but was not published till many months later.
Valperga (as it was afterwards called) was a
book of much power and more promise ; very re-
markable when the author's age is taken into con-
sideration. Apart from local colouring, the interest
of the tale turns on the development of the character
naturally powerful and disposed to good, but spoilt
by popularity and success, and unguided byprinciple
of Castruccio himself; and on the contrast be-
tween him and Euthanasia, the noble and beautiful
woman who sacrifices her possessions, her hopes, and
her affections to the cause of fidelity and patriotism.
Beatrice, the prophetess, is one of those gifted
but fated souls, who, under the persuasion that
they are supernaturally inspired, mistake the
ordinary impulses of human nature for Divine
commands, and, finding their mistake, yet en-
courage themselves in what they know to be
delusion till the end, a tragic end.
There are some remarkable descriptive pass-
ages, especially one where the wandering Beatrice
comes suddenly upon a house in a dreary landscape
which she knows, although she has never seenjt
before except in a haunting dream ; every detail of
it is horribly familiar, and she is paralysed by the
sense of imminent calamity, which, in fact, bursts
upon her directly afterwards.
Euthanasia dies at sea, and the account of the
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 315
running down and wreck of her ship is a curious,
almost prophetic, foreshadowing of the calamity
by which, all too soon, Shelley was to lose his life.
The wind changed to a more northerly direction during
the night, and the land-breeze of. the morning filled their sails,
so that, although slowly, they dropt down southward. About
noon they met a Pisan vessel, who bade them beware of a
Genoese squadron, which was cruising off Corsica ; so they
bore in nearer to the shore. At sunset that day a fierce
sirocco arose, accompanied by thunder and lightning, such as
is seldom seen during the winter season. Presently they saw
huge dark columns descending from heaven, and meeting the
sea, which boiled beneath ; they were borne on by the storm,
and scattered by the wind. The rain came down in sheets,
and the hail clattered, as it fell to its grave in the ocean ; the
ocean was lashed into such waves that, many miles inland,
during the pauses of the wind, the hoarse and constant
murmurs of the far-off sea made the well-housed landsman
mutter one more prayer for those exposed to its fury.
Such was the storm, as it was seen from shore. Nothing
more was ever known of the Sicilian vessel which bore
Euthanasia. It never reached its destined port, nor were any
of those on board ever after seen. The sentinels who watched
near Vado, a town on the sea-beach of the Maremma, found
on the following day that the waves had washed on shore some
of the wrecks of a vessel ; they picked up a few planks and a
broken mast, round which, tangled with some of its cordage,
was a white silk handkerchief, such a one as had bound the
tresses of Euthanasia the night that she had embarked ; and
in its knot were a few golden hairs.
To follow the fate of Mary's novel, it has been
necessary somewhat to anticipate the history, which
is resumed in the next chapter, with the journal
and letters of the latter part of 1821.
CHAPTER XV
NOVEMBER i82i-ApRiL 1822
Journal, Thursday, November i. Go to Florence. Copy.
Ride with the Guiccioli. Albe arrives.
Sunday, November 4. The Williams' arrive. Copy. Call
on the Guiccioli.
Thursday, November 15. Copy. Read Caleb Williams to
Jane. Ride with the Guiccioli. Shelley goes on translating
Spinoza with Edward. Medwin arrives. Taafe calls. Argyro-
pulo calls. Good news from the Greeks.
Tuesday ', November 28. Ride with the Guiccioli. Suffer
much with rheumatism in my head.
Wednesday, November 29. I mark this day because I begin
my Greek again, and that is a study that ever delights me. I
do not feel the bore of it, as in learning another language, al-
though it be so difficult, it so richly repays one ; yet I read little,
for I am not well. Shelley and the Williams go to Leghorn ;
they dine with us afterwards with Medwin. Write to Clare.
Thursday, November 30. Correct the novel. Read a little
Greek. Not well. Ride with the Guiccioli. The Count
Pietro (Gamba) in the evening.
MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE.
PISA, 30/7* November 1821.
MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE Although having much to do
be a bad excuse for not writing to you, yet you must in some
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 317
sort admit this plea on my part. Here we are in Pisa, having
furnished very nice apartments for ourselves, and what is more,
paid for the furniture out of the fruits of two years' economy,
we are at the top of the Tre Palazzi di Chiesa. I daresay you
know the house, next door to La Scoto's house on the north
side of Lung' Arno ; but the rooms we inhabit are south, and
look over the whole country towards the sea, so that ve are
entirely out of the bustle and disagreeable puzzi, etc., of the
town, and hardly know that we are so enveloped until we
descend into the street. The Williams' have been less lucky,
though they have followed our example in furnishing their own
house, but, renting it of Mr. Webb, they have been treated
scurvily. So here we live, Lord Byron just opposite to us in
Casa Lanfranchi (the late Signora Felichi's house). So Pisa,
you see, has become a little nest of singing birds. You will
be both surprised and delighted at the work just about to be
published by him ; his Cain, which is in the highest style of
imaginative poetry. It made a great impression upon me, and
appears almost a revelation, from its power and beauty.
Shelley rides with him ; I, of course, see little of him. The
lady whom he serves is a nice pretty girl without pretensions,
good hearted and amiable ; her relations were banished
Romagna for Carbonarism.
What do you know of Hunt ? About two months ago he
wrote to say that on 2ist October he should quit England, and
we have heard nothing more of him in any way ; I expect some
day he and six children will drop in from the clouds, trusting
that God will temper the wind to the shorn lamb. Pray
when you write, tell us everything you know concerning
him. Do you get any intelligence of the Greeks ? Our
worthy countrymen take part against them in every possible
way, yet such is the spirit of freedom, and such the hatred of
these poor people for their oppressors, that I have the warmest
hopes /zavns ei/A ia-OXwv dywvwi/. Mavrocordato is there, justly
revered for the sacrifice he has made of his whole fortune to
the cause, and besides for his firmness and talents. If Greece
be free, Shelley and I have vowed to go, perhaps to settle
3 i8 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
there, in one of those beautiful islands where earth, ocean, and
sky form the paradise. You will, I hope, tell us all the news
of our friends when you write. I see no one that you know.
We live in our usual retired way, with few friends and no
acquaintances. Clare is returned to her usual residence, and
our tranquillity is unbroken in upon, except by those winds,
sirocco or tramontana, which now and then will sweep over the
ocean of one's mind and disturb or cloud its surface. Since
this must be a double letter, I save myself the trouble of copy-
ing the enclosed, which was a part of a letter written to you a
month ago, but which I did not send. Will you attend to my
requests ? Every day increases my anxiety concerning the desk.
Do have the goodness to pack it off as soon as you can.
Shelley was at your hive yesterday ; it is as dirty and busy
as" ever, so people live in the same narrow circle of space
and thought, while time goes on, not as a racehorse, but a
" six inside dilly," and puts them down softly at their journey's
end ; while they have slept and ate, and ecco tutto. With this
piece of morality, dear Mrs. Gisborne, I end. Shelley begs
every remembrance of his to be joined with mine to Mr.
Gisborne and Henry. Ever yours, MARY W. S.
And now, my dear Mrs. Gisborne, I have a great favour
to ask of you. Oilier writes to say that he has placed our two
desks in the hands of a merchant of the city, and that they are
to come God knows when ! Now, as we sent for them two
years ago, and are tired of waiting, will you do us the favour
to get them out of his hands, and to send them without delay ?
If they can be sent without being opened, send them in statu
quo ; if they must be opened, do not send the smallest but get
a key (being a patent lock a key will cost half a guinea) made
for the largest and send it, and return the other to Peacock.
If you send the desk, will you send with it the following things ?
A few copies of all Shelley's works, particularly of the second
edition of the Cenci, my mother's posthumous works, and
Letters from Norway from Peacock, if you can, but do not
delay the box for them.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 319
Journal, Sunday ', December 2. Read the History of Ship-
wrecks. Read Herodotus with Shelley. Ride with La Guiccioli.
Pietro and her in the evening.
Monday, December 3. Write letters. Read Herodotus
with Shelley. Finish Caleb Williams to Jane. Taafe calls.
He says that his Turk is a very moral man, for that when he
began a scandalous story he interrupted him immediately,
saying, " Ah ! we must never speak thus of our neighbours ! "
Taafe would do well to take the hint.
Thursday, December 6. Read Homer. Walk with Williams.
Spend the evening with them. Call on T. Guiccioli with Jane,
while Taafe amuses Shelley and Edward. Read Tacitus. A
dismal day.
Friday, December 7. Letter from Hunt and Bessy. Walk
with Shelley. Buy furniture for them, etc. Walk with
Edward and Jane to the garden, and return with T. Guiccioli
in the carriage. Edward reads the Shipwreck of the Wager to
us in the evening.
Saturday, December 8. Get up late and talk with Shelley.
The Williams and Medwin to dinner. Walk with Edward and
Jane in the garden. Return with T. Guiccioli. T. G. and
Pietro in the evening. Write to Clare. Read Tacitus.
Sunday, December 9. Go to church at Dr. Nott's. Walk
with Edward and Jane in the garden. In the evening first
Pietro and Teresa, afterwards go to the Williams'.
Monday, December 10. Out shopping. Walk with the
Williams and T. Guiccioli to the garden. Medwin at tea.
Afterwards we are alone, and after reading a little Herodotus,
Shelley reads Chaucer's Floiuer and the Leaf, and then Chaucer's
Dream to me. A divine, cold, tramontana day.
Monday, January 14. Read Emile. Call on T. Guiccioli
and see Lord Byron. Trelawny arrives.
Edward John Trelawny, whose subsequent
history was to be closely bound up with that of
Shelley and of Mrs. Shelley, was of good Cornish
320 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
family, and had led a wandering life, full of
romantic adventure. He had become acquainted
with Williams and Medwin in Switzerland a year
before, since which he had been in Paris and
London. Tired of a town life and of society, and
in order to " maintain the just equilibrium between
the body and the brain," he had determined to pass
the next winter hunting and shooting in the wilds
of the Maremma, with a Captain Roberts and
Lieutenant Williams. For the exercise of his
brain, he proposed passing the summer with
Shelley and Byron, boating in the Mediterranean,
as he had heard that they proposed doing. Neither
of the poets were as yet personally known to him,
but he had lost no time in seeking their acquaint-
ance. On the very evening of his arrival in Pisa
he repaired to the Tre Palazzi, where, in the
Williams' room, he first saw Shelley, and was
struck speechless with astonishment.
Was it possible this mild-looking beardless boy could be the
veritable monster at war with all the world ? Excommunicated
by the Fathers of the Church, deprived of his civil rights by
the fiat of a grim Lord Chancellor, discarded by every member
of his family, and denounced by the rival sages of our literature
as the founder of a Satanic school ? I could not believe it ;
it must be a hoax.
But presently, when Shelley was led to talk on a
theme that interested him the works of Calderon,
his marvellous powers of mind and command of
language held Trelawny spell-bound : " After this
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 321
touch of his quality," he says, " I no longer doubted
his identity."
Mrs. Shelley appeared soon after, and the visitor
looked with lively curiosity at the daughter of
William Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft.
Such a rare pedigree of genius was enough to interest me in
her, irrespective of her own merits as an authoress. The most
striking feature in her face was her calm, gray eyes ; she was
rather under the English standard of woman's height, very fair
and light-haired ; witty, social, and animated in the society of
friends, though mournful in solitude ; like Shelley, though in a
minor degree, she had the power of expressing her thoughts in
varied and appropriate words, derived from familiarity with the
works of our vigorous old writers. Neither of them used
obsolete or foreign words. This command of our language
struck me the more as contrasted with the scanty vocabulary
used by ladies in society, in which a score of poor hackneyed
phrases suffice to express all that is felt or considered proper
to reveal. 1
Mary's impressions of the new-comer may be
gathered from her journal and her subsequent
letter to Mrs. Gisborne.
Journal, Saturday, January 19. Copy. Walk with Jane.
The Opera in the evening. Trelawny is extravagant ungiovane
stravagante, partly natural, and partly, perhaps, put on, but
it suits him well, and if his abrupt but not unpolished manners
be assumed, they are nevertheless in unison with his Moorish
face (for he looks Oriental yet not Asiatic), his dark hair, his
Herculean form ; and then there is an air of extreme good
nature which pervades his whole countenance, especially when
he smiles, which assures me that his heart is good. He tells
strange stories of himself, horrific ones, so that they harrow one
up, while with his emphatic but unmodulated voice, his simple
1 Trelawny's " Recollections."
VOL. I 21
322 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
yet strong language, he pourtrays the most frightful situations ;
then all these adventures took place between the ages of thirteen
and twenty.
I believe them now I see the man, and, tired with the
everyday sleepiness of human intercourse, I am glad to meet
with one who, among other valuable qualities, has the rare
merit of interesting my imagination. The crew and Medwin
dine with us.
Sunday, January 27. Read Homer. Walk. Dine at
the Williams'. The Opera in the evening. Ride with T.
Guiccioli.
Monday, January 28. The Williams breakfast with us.
Go down Bocca d'Arno in the boat with Shelley and Jane.
Edward and E. Trelawny meet us there ; return in the gig ;
they dine with us ; very tired.
Tuesday, January 29. Read Homer and Tacitus. Ride
with T. Guiccioli. E. Trelawny and Medwin to dinner. The
Baron Lutzerode in the evening.
But as the torrent widens towards the ocean,
We ponder deeply on each past emotion.
Read the first volume of the Pirate.
Sunday, February 3. Read Homer. Walk to the garden
with Jane. Return with Medwin to dinner. Trelawny in the
evening. A wild day and night, some clouds in the sky in
the morning, but they clear away. A north wind.
Monday, February 4. Breakfast with the Williams'.
Edward, Jane, and Trelawny go to Leghorn. Walk with Jane.
Southey's letter concerning Lord Byron. Write to Clare. In
the evening the Gambas and Taafe.
Thursday, February 7. Read Homer, Tacitus, and
Emile. Shelley and Edward depart for La Spezzia. Walk
with Jane, and to the Opera with her in the evening. With
E. Trelawny afterwards to Mrs. Beauclerc's ball. During a
long, long evening in mixed society how often do one's sensa-
tions change, and, swiftly as the west wind drives the shadows
of clouds across the sunny hill or the waving corn, so swift
do sensations pass, painting yet, oh ! not disfiguring the
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 323
serenity of the mind. It is then that life seems to weigh itself,
and hosts of memories and imaginations, thrown into one scale,
make the other kick the beam. You remember what you have
felt, what you have dreamt ; yet you dwell on the shadowy side,
and lost hopes and death, such as you have seen it, seem to
cover all things with a funeral pall.
The time that was, is, and will be, presses upon you, and,
standing the centre of a moving circle, you " slide giddily as
the world reels." You look to heaven, and would demand
of the everlasting stars that the thoughts and passions which
are your life may be as ever-living as they. You would
demand of the blue empyrean that your mind might be as
clear as it, and that the tears which gather in your eyes might
be the shower that would drain from its profoundest depths
the springs of weakness and sorrow. But where are the stars ?
Where the blue empyrean? A ceiling clouds that, and a
thousand swift consuming lights supply the place of the eternal
ones of heaven. The enthusiast suppresses her tears, crushes
her opening thoughts, and. . . . But all is changed ; some
word, some look excite the lagging blood, laughter dances in
the eyes, and the spirits rise proportionably high.
The Queen is all for revels, her light heart,
Unladen from the heaviness of state,
Bestows itself upon delightfulness.
Friday, February 8. Sometimes I awaken from my
visionary monotony, and my thoughts flow until, as it is
exquisite pain to stop the flowing of the blood, so is it painful
to check expression and make the overflowing mind return to
its usual channel. I feel a kind of tenderness to those, who-
ever they may be (even though strangers), who awaken the
train and touch a chord so full of harmony and thrilling music,
when I would tear the veil from this strange world, and pierce
with eagle eyes beyond the sun ; when every idea, strange and
changeful, is another step in the ladder by which I would
climb. . . .
Read Emile. Jane dines with me, walk with her. E.
Trelawny and Jane in the evening. Trelawny tells us a
324 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
number of amusing stories of his early life. Read third canto
of L 'Inferno.
They say that Providence is shown by the extraction that
may be ever made of good from evil, that we draw our virtues
from our faults. So I am to thank God for making me weak.
I might say, " Thy will be done," but I cannot applaud the
permitter of self- degradation, though dignity and superior
wisdom arise from its bitter and burning ashes.
Saturday, February 9. Read Emile. Walk with Jane,
and ride with T. Guiccioli. Dine with Jane. Taafe and
T. Medwin call. I retire with E. Trelawny, who amuses me
as usual by the endless variety of his adventures and con-
versation.
MARY TO MRS. GISBORNE.
PISA, gth February 1822.
MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE Not having heard from you,
I am anxious about my desk It would have been a great
convenience to me if I could have received it at the be-
ginning of the winter, but now I should like it as soon as
possible. I hope that it is out of Ollier's hands. I have
before said what I would have done with it. If both desks
can be sent without being opened, let them be sent ; if not,
give the small one back to Peacock. Get a key made for the
larger, and send it, I entreat you, by the very next vessel.
This key will cost half a guinea, and Oilier will not give you
the money, but give me credit for it, I entreat you. I pray
now let me have the desk as soon as possible. Shelley is
now gone to Spezzia to get houses for our colony for the
summer.
It will be a large one, too large, I am afraid, for unity ; yet
I hope not. There will be Lord Byron, who will have a large
and beautiful boat built on purpose by some English navy
officers at Genoa. There will be the Countess Guiccioli and
her brother ; the Williams', whom you know ; Trelawny, a kind
of half- Arab Englishman, whose life has been as changeful
as that of Anastasius, and who recounts the adventures as
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 325
eloquently and as well as the imagined Greek. He is clever;
for his moral qualities I am yet in the dark ; he is a strange
web which I am endeavouring to unravel. I would fain learn
if generosity is united to impetuousness, probity of spirit to his
assumption of singularity and independence. He is 6 feet
high, raven black hair, which curls thickly and shortly, like a
Moor's, dark gray expressive eyes, overhanging brows, up-
turned lips, and a smile which expresses good nature and kind-
heartedness. His shoulders are high, like an Oriental's, his
voice is monotonous, yet emphatic, and his language, as he
relates the events of his life, energetic and simple, whether the
tale be one of blood and horror, or of irresistible comedy.
His company is delightful, for he excites me to think, and if
any evil shade the intercourse, that time will unveil the sun
will rise or night darken all There will be, besides, a Captain
Roberts, whom I do not know, a very rough subject, I fancy,
a famous angler, etc. We are to have a small boat, and
now that those first divine spring days are come (you know
them well), the sky clear, the sun hot, the hedges budding, we
sitting without a fire and the windows open, I begin to long
for the sparkling waves, the olive -coloured hills and vine-
shaded pergolas of Spezzia. .However, it would be madness
to go yet. Yet as ceppo was bad, we hope for a good pasqua,
and if April prove fine, we shall fly with the swallows. The
Opera here has been detestable. The English Sinclair is the
prime tenore, and acquits himself excellently, but the Italians,
after the first, have enviously selected such operas as give him
little or nothing to do. We have English here, and some
English balls and parties, to which I (niirabile dichi) go some-
times. We have Taafe, who bores us out of our senses when
he comes, telling a young lady that her eyes shed flowers
why therefore should he send her any ? I have sent my novel
to Papa. I long to hear some news of it, as, with an author's
vanity, I want to see it in print, and hear the praises of my
friends. I should like, as I said when you went away, a copy
of Matilda. It might come out with the desk. I hope as
the town fills to hear better news of your plans, we long to
326 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
hear from you. What does Henry do? How many times
has he been in love ? Ever yours, M. W. S.
Shelley would like to see the review of the Prometheus in
the Quarterly.
Thursday, February 14. Read Homer and Anastasius.
Walk with the Williams' in the evening. ..." Nothing of us
but what must suffer a sea-change."
This entry marks the day to which Mary re-
ferred in a letter written more than a year later,
where she says
A year ago Trelawny came one afternoon in high spirits
with news concerning the building of the boat, saying, " Oh !
we must all embark, all live aboard ; we will all ' suffer a
sea -change.'" And dearest Shelley was delighted with the
quotation, saying that he would have it for the motto for his
boat.
Little did they think, in their lightness of spirit,
that in another year the motto of the boat would
serve for the inscription on Shelley's tomb.
Journal, Monday, February 18. Read Homer. Walk
with the Williams'. Jane, Trelawny, and Medwin in the
evening. 1
Monday, February 25. What a mart this world is? Feel-
ings, sentiments, more invaluable than gold or precious stones
is the coin, and what is bought ? Contempt, discontent, and
disappointment, unless, indeed, the mind be loaded with
drearier memories. And what say the worldly to this ? Use
Spartan coin, pay away iron and lead alone, and store up your
1 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.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 327
precious metal. But alas ! from nothing, nothing comes, or,
as all things seem to degenerate, give lead and you will receive
clay, the most contemptible of all lives is where you live in
the world, and none of your passions or affections are brought
into action. I am convinced I could not live thus, and as
Sterne says that in solitude he would worship a tree, so in the
world I should attach myself to those who bore the semblance
of those qualities which I admire. But it is not this that I
want ; let me love the trees, the skies, and the ocean, and that
all-encompassing spirit of which I may soon become a part,
let me in my fellow-creature love that which is, and not fix
my affection on a fair form endued with imaginary attributes ;
where goodness, kindness, and talent are, let me love and
admire them at their just rate, neither adorning nor diminish-
ing, and above all, let me fearlessly descend into the remotest
caverns of my own mind ; carry the torch of self-knowledge
into its dimmest recesses ; but too happy if I dislodge any evil
spirit, or enshrine a new deity in some hitherto uninhabited
nook.
Read Wrongs of Women and Homer. Clare departs.
Walk with Jane and ride with T. Guiccioli. T. G. dines
with us.
Thursday, February 28. Take leave of the Argyropolis.
Walk with Shelley. Ride with T. Guiccioli. Read letters.
Spend the evening at the Williams'. Trelawny there.
Friday, March i. An embassy. Walk. My first Greek
lesson. Walk with Edward. In the evening work.
Sunday, March 3. A note to, and a visit from, Dr. Nott.
Go to church. Walk. The Williams' and Trelawny to
dinner.
Mary's experiments in the way of church-going,
so new a thing in her experience, and so little in
accordance with Shelley's habits of thought and
action, excited some surprise and comment. Hogg,
Shelley's early friend, who heard of it from Mrs.
328 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Gisborne, now in England, was especially shocked.
In a letter to Mary, Mrs. Gisborne remarked,
"Your friend Hogg is motto scandalizzato to hear
of your weekly visits to the piano di sotto " (the
services were held on the ground floor of the
Tre Palazzi).
The same letter asks for news of Emilia
Viviani. Mrs. Gisborne had heard that she was
married, and feared she had been sacrificed to a
man whom she describes as "that insipid, sicken-
ing Italian mortal, Danieli the lawyer." She pro-
ceeds to say
We invited Varley one evening to meet Hogg, who was
curious to see a man really believing in astrology in the nine-
teenth century. Varley, as usual, was not sparing of his pre-
dictions. We talked of Shelley without mentioning his name ;
Varley was curious, and being informed by Hogg of his exact
age, but describing his person as short and corpulent, and
himself as a ban vivant, Varley amused us with the following
remarks : " Your friend suffered from ill-fortune in May or
June 1815. Vexatious affairs on the 2d and i4th of June,
or perhaps latter end of May 1820. The following year,
disturbance about a lady. Again, last April, at 10 at night,
or at noon, disturbance about a bouncing stout lady, and
others. At six years of age, noticed by ladies and gentlemen
for learning. In July 1799, beginning of charges made
against him. In September 1800, at noon, or dusk, very
violent charges. Scrape at fourteen years of age. Eternal
warfare against parents and public opinion, and a great blow-
up every seven years till death," etc. etc. Is all this true ?
Not a little amused, Mary answered her friend
as follows
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 329
PISA, -]th March 1822.
MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE I am very sorry that you have
so much trouble with my commissions, and vainly, too ! ma
che vuole ? Oilier will not give you the money, and we are, to
tell you the truth, too poor at present to send you a cheque
upon our banker ; two or three circumstances having caused
That climax of all human ills,
The inflammation of our weekly bills.
But far more than that, we have not touched a quattrino of
our Christmas quarter, since debts in England and other calls
swallowed it entirely up. For the present, therefore, we must
dispense with those things I asked you for. As for the desk,
we received last post from Oilier (without a line) the bill of
lading that he talks of, and, si Dio vuole, we shall receive it
safe ; the vessel in which they were shipped is not yet arrived.
The worst of keeping on with Oilier (though it is the best, I
believe, after all) is that you will never be able to make any-
thing of his accounts, until you can compare the number of
copies in hand with his account of their sale. As for my
novel, I shipped it off long ago to my father, telling him to
make the best of it ; and by the way in which he answered
my letter, I fancy he thinks he can make something of it
This is much better than Oilier, for I should never have got
a penny from him ; and, moreover, he is a very bad book-
seller to publish with ma basta poi> with all these seaaturas.
Poor dear Hunt, you will have heard by this time of the
disastrous conclusion of his third embarkment ; he is to try a
third time in April, and if he does not succeed then, we must
say that the sea is un vero precipizio, and let him try land.
By the bye, why not consult Varley on the result ? I have tried
the Sors Homeri and the Sors Virgilii ; the first says (I will
write this Greek better, but I thought that Mr. Gisborne could
read the Romaic writing, and I now quite forget what it was)
l-irc<j>vev.
wj S'ofdr' 'laffiwi ^virXd/ccytos AIJ/XTTTI;/).
Aovpdrtov fj^yav lirirov, 66' ?taro Trdvres
330 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
Which first seems to say that he will come, though his brother
may be prosecuted for a libel. Of the second, I can make
neither head nor tail ; and the third is as oracularly obscure
as one could wish, for who these great people are who sat
in a wooden horse, chi lo sa 1 Virgil, except the first line, which
is unfavourable, is as enigmatical as Homer .
Fulgores nunc horrificos, sonitumque, metumque
Turn leves calamos, et rasse hastilia virgse
Connexosque angues, ipsamque in pectore divse.
But to speak of predictions or anteductions, some of Var-
ley's are curious enough : "Ill-fortune in May or June 1815."
No ; it was then that he arranged his income ; there was no
ill except health, al solito, at that time. The particular days
of the 2d and i4th of June 1820 were not ill, but the whole
time was disastrous. It was then we were alarmed by Paolo's
attack and disturbance. About a lady in the winter of last
year, enough, God knows ! Nothing particular about a fat
bouncing lady at 10 at night: and indeed things got more
quiet in April. In July 1799 Shelley was only seven years
of age. "A great blow-up every seven years." Shelley is
not at home ; when he returns I will ask him what happened
when he was fourteen. In his twenty-second year we made
our scappatura ; at twenty-eight and twenty-nine, a good deal
of discomfort on a certain point, but it hardly amounted to a
blow-up. Pray ask Varley also about me.
So Hogg is shocked that, for good neighbourhood's sake,
I visited the piano di sotto ; let him reassure himself, since
instead of a weekly, it was only a monthly visit ; in fact, after
going three times I stayed away until I heard he was going
away. He preached against atheism, and, they said, against
Shelley. As he invited me himself to come, this appeared to
me very impertinent ; so I wrote to him, to ask him whether
he intended any personal allusion, but he denied the charge
most entirely. This affair, as you may guess, among the
English at Pisa made a great noise; the gossip here is of
course out of all bounds, and some people have given them
something to talk about. I have seen little of it all ; but that
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 331
which I have seen makes me long most eagerly for some sea-
girt isle, where with Shelley, my babe, and books and horses,
we may give the rest to the winds ; this we shall not have for
the present. Shelley is entangled with Lord Byron, who is in
a terrible fright lest he should desert him. We shall have
boats, and go somewhere on the sea-coast, where, I daresay,
we shall spend our time agreeably enough, for I like the
Williams' exceedingly, though there my list begins and ends.
Emilia married Biondi ; we hear that she leads him and
his mother (to use a vulgarism) a devil of a life. The con-
clusion of our friendship (a la Italiana) puts me in mind of
a nursery rhyme, which runs thus
As I was going down Cranbourne lane,
Cranbourne lane was dirty,
And there I met a pretty maid,
Who dropt to me a curtsey ;
I gave her cakes, I gave her wine,
I gave her sugar-candy,
But oh ! the little naughty girl,
She asked me for some brandy.
Now turn " Cranbourne Lane " into Pisan acquaintances,
which I am sure are dirty enough, and " brandy " into that
wherewithal to buy brandy (and that no small sum perb\ and
you have the whole story of Shelley's Italian Platonics. We
now know, indeed, few of those whom we knew last year.
Pacchiani is at Prato ; Mavrocordato in Greece ; the Argyro-
polis in Florence; and so the world slides. Taafe is still
here the butt of Lord Byron's quizzing, and the poet laureate
of Pisa. On the occasion of a young lady's birthday he wrote
Eyes that shed a thousand flowers !
Why should flowers be sent to you ?
Sweetest flowers of heavenly bowers,
Love and friendship, are what are due.
After some divine Italian weather, we are now enjoying
some fine English weather; dot, it does not rain, but not a
ray can pierce the web aloft. Most truly yours,
MARY W. S.
332 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
MARY SHELLEY TO MRS. HUNT.
5/// March 1822.
MY DEAREST MARIANNE I hope that this letter will find
you quite well, recovering from your severe attack, and look-
ing towards your haven Italy with best hopes. I do indeed
believe that you will find a relief here from your many English
cares, and that the winds which waft you will sing the requiem
to all your ills. It was indeed unfortunate that you encoun-
tered such weather on the very threshold of your journey, and
as the wind howled through the long night, how often did I
think of you ! At length it seemed as if we should never,
never meet ; but I will not give way to such a presentiment.
We enjoy here divine weather. The sun hot, too hot, with a
freshness and clearness in the breeze that bears with it all the
delights of spring. The hedges are budding, and you should
see me and my friend Mrs. Williams poking about for violets
by the sides of dry ditches ; she being herself
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye.
Yesterday a countryman seeing our dilemma, since the ditch
was not quite dry, insisted on gathering them for us, and
when we resisted, saying that we had no quattrini (i.e. far-
things, being the generic name for all money), he indignantly
exclaimed, Oh ! se lo faccio per interesse ! How I wish you
were with us in our rambles ! . Our good cavaliers flock to-
gether, and as they do not like fetching a walk with the absurd
womankind, Jane (i.e. Mrs. Williams) and I are off together,
and talk morality and pluck violets by the way. I look for-
ward to many duets with this lady and Hunt. She has a
very pretty voice, and a taste and ear for music which is
almost miraculous. The harp is her favourite instrument ;
but we have none, and a very bad piano ; however, as it is,
we pass very pleasant evenings, though I can hardly bear to
hear her sing " Donne 1'amore " ; it transports me so entirely
back to your little parlour at Hampstead and I see the
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY
333
piano, the bookcase, the prints, the casts and hear Mary's
far-ha-ha-a !
We are in great uncertainty as to where we shall spend the
summer. There is a beautiful bay about fifty miles off, and
as we have resolved on the sea, Shelley bought a boat. We
wished very much to go there ; perhaps we shall still, but as
yet we can find but one house ; but as we are a colony
" which moves altogether or not at all," we have not yet made
up our minds. The apartments which we have prepared for
you in Lord Byron's house will be very warm for the summer ;
and indeed for the two hottest months I should think that
you had better go into the country. Villas about here are
tolerably cheap, and they are perfect paradises. Perhaps, as
it was with me, Italy will not strike you as so divine at first ;
but each day it becomes dearer and more delightful ; the sun,
the flowers, the air, all is more sweet and more balmy than in
the Ultima Thule that you inhabit. M. W. S.
The journal for the next few weeks has nothing
eventful to record. The preceding letter to Mrs.
Hunt gives a simple and pleasing picture of their
daily life. Perhaps Mary had never been quite so
happy before ; she wrote to the Hunts that she
thought she grew younger. Both she and Shelley
were occasionally ailing, and Shelley's letters show
that his spirits suffered depression at times, still,
in this respect as well as in health, he was better
than he had been in any former spring. The
proximity of Byron and his circle was not, however,
favourable to inspiration or to literary composition.
Byron's temperament acted as a damper to enthu-
siasm in others, and Shelley, though his estimate
of Byron's genius was very high, was perpetually
334 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
jarred and crossed by his worldliness and his
moral shallowness and vulgarity. He invariably
acted, however, as Byron's true and disinterested
friend ; and Byron was fully aware of the value
of his friendship and of his literary help and
criticism.
Trelawny, to whom Byron had taken kindly
enough, estimated the difference in the moral
worth of the two poets with singular justice.
" I believed in many things then, and believe in some
now," he wrote, more than five and thirty years afterwards :
" I could not sympathise with Byron, who believed in nothing."
His friendship for Byron, nevertheless, was to
be loyal and lasting. But his favourite resort in
these Pisan days was the " hospitable and cheer-
ful abode of the Shelleys."
" There," he says, " I found those sympathies and senti-
ments which the Pilgrim denounced as illusions, believed in
as the only realities."
At Byron's social gatherings riding-parties or
dinner-parties he made a point of getting Shelley
if he could ; and Shelley was very compliant,
although the society of which Byron was the
nucleus was neither congenial nor interesting to
him, and he always took the first good oppor-
tunity of escaping. Daily intercourse of this kind
tended gradually to estrange rather than unite
the two poets : by accentuating differences it
brought into evidence that gulf between their
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 335
natures which, in spite of the one touch of kinship
that certainly existed, was equally impassable by
one and by the other. Besides, the subject of
Clare and Allegra, never far below the surface,
would occasionally come up, and this was a sore
point on both sides. As has already been said,
Byron appreciated Shelley, though he did not
sympathise with him. In after days he bore
public testimony to the purity and unselfishness of
Shelley's character and to the upright and disin-
terested motives which actuated him in all he did.
But his respect for Shelley was not so strong as
his antipathy to Clare, and Shelley's feeling
towards her was regarded by him with a cynical
sneer which he had no care to hide, and of which
its object could not always be unconscious. It is
not wonderful that at times there swept across
Shelley's mind, like a black cloud, the conviction
that neither a sense of honour nor justice restrained
Byron from the basest insinuations. And then
again this suspicion would pass away as too dread-
ful to be entertained.
Meanwhile Clare, in the pursuit of her newly-
adopted profession, was thinking of going to
Vienna, and she longed for a sight of her child
first. She had been unusually long, or she fancied
so, without news of Allegra, and she was growing
desperately anxious, with only too good cause,
as the event showed. She wrote to Byron, en-
336 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
treating him to arrange for a visit or an interview.
Byron took no notice of her letters. The Shelleys
dared not annoy him unnecessarily on the subject,
as he had been heard to threaten if they did so to
immure Allegra in some secret convent where no
one could get at her or even hear of her. Clare,
working herself up into a state of half-frenzied
excitement, sent them letter after letter, suggesting
and urging wild plans (which Shelley was to
realise) for carrying off the child by armed force ;
indeed, one of her schemes seems to have been
to take advantage of the projected interview, if
granted, for putting this design into execution.
Some such proposed breach of faith must have
been the occasion of Shelley's answering her
I know not what to think of the state of your mind, or
what to fear for you. Your late plan about Allegra seems to
me in its present form pregnant with irremediable infamy to
all the actors in it except yourself.
He did not think that in her present excited
mental condition she was fit to go to Vienna, and
he entreated her to postpone the idea. His advice,
often repeated in different words, was, that she
should not lose herself in distant and uncertain
plans, but " systematise and simplify " her motions,
at least for the present, and, if she felt in the
least disposed, that she should come and stay with
them
If you like, come and look for houses with me in our
boat ; it might distract your mind.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 337
He and Mary had resolved to quit Pisa as soon
as the weather made it desirable to do so ; but their
plans and their anxieties were alike suspended by
a temporary excitement of which Mary's account
is given in the following letter
MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE.
PISA, 6th April 1822.
MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE Not many days after I had
written to you concerning the fate which ever pursues us at
spring-tide, a circumstance happened which showed that we
were not forgotten this year. Although, indeed, now that it is
all over, I begin to fear that the King of Gods and men will
not consider it a sufficiently heavy visitation, although for a
time it threatened to be frightful enough. Two Sundays ago,
Lord Byron, Shelley, Trelawny, Captain Hay, Count Gamba,
and Taafe were returning from their usual evening ride, when,
near the Porta della Piazza, they were passed by a soldier who
galloped through the midst of them knocking up against Taafe.
This nice little gentleman exclaimed, " Shall we endure this
man's insolence ? " Lord Byron replied, " No ! we will bring
him to an account," and Shelley (whose blood always boils at
any insolence offered by a soldier) added, " As you please ! "
so they put spurs to their horses (i.e. all but Taafe, who re-
mained quietly behind), followed and stopped the man, and,
fancying that he was an officer, demanded his name and
address, and gave their cards. The man who, I believe, was
half drunk, replied only by all the oaths and abuse in which
the Italian language is so rich. He ended by saying, " If I
liked I could draw my sabre and cut you all to pieces, but as it
is, I only arrest you," and he called out to the guards at the gate
arrcstategli. Lord Byron laughed at this, and saying arrestateci
pure, gave spurs to his horse and rode towards the gate, fol-
lowed by the rest Lord Byron and Gamba passed, but before
the others could, the soldier got under the gateway, called on
VOL. I 22
338 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
the guard to stop them, and drawing his sabre, began to cut
at them. It happened that I and the Countess Guiccioli were
in a carriage close behind and saw it all, and you may guess
how frightened we were when we saw our cavaliers cut at, they
being totally unarmed. Their only safety was, that the field
of battle being so confined, they got close under the man, and
were able to arrest his arm. Captain Hay was, however,
wounded in his face, and Shelley thrown from his horse. I
cannot tell you how it all ended, but after cutting and slashing
a little, the man sheathed his sword and rode on, while the
others got from their horses to assist poor Hay, who was faint
from loss of blood. Lord Byron, when he had passed the
gate, rode to his own house, got a sword-stick from one of his
servants, and was returning to the gate, Lung' Arno, when he
met this man, who held out his hand saying, Siete contento 1
Lord Byron replied, " No ! I must know your name, that I
may require satisfaction of you." The soldier said, // mio
name e Mast, sono sargente maggiore, etc. etc. While they were
talking, a servant of Lord Byron's came and took hold of the
bridle of the sergeant's horse. Lord Byron ordered him to let
it go, and immediately the man put his horse to a gallop, but,
passing Casa Lanfranchi, one of Lord Byron's servants thought
that he had killed his master and was running away ; determin-
ing that he should not go scot-free, he ran at him with a pitch-
fork and wounded him. The man rode on a few paces,
cried out, Sono ammazzato, and fell, was carried to the hospital,
the Misericordia bell ringing. We were all assembled at Casa
Lanfranchi, nursing our wounded man, and poor Teresa, from
the excess of her fright, was worse than any, when what was
our consternation when we heard that the man's wound was
considered mortal ! Luckily none but ourselves knew who had
given the wound ; it was said by the wise Pisani, to have been
one of Lord Byron's servants, set on by his padrone, and they
pitched upon a poor fellow merely because aveva lo sguardo
fiero, quanta un assassino. For some days Masi continued in
great danger, but he is now recovering. As long as it was
thought he would die, the Government did nothing ; but now
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 339
that he is nearly well, they have imprisoned two men, one of
Lord Byron's servants (the one with the sguardo fie ro\ and the
other a servant of Teresa's, who was behind our carriage, both
perfectly innocent, but they have been kept in segreto these
ten days, and God knows when they will be let out. What
think you of this ? Will it serve for our spring adventure ?
It is blown over now, it is true, but our fate has, in general,
been in common with Dame Nature, and March winds and
April showers have brought forth May flowers.
You have no notion what a ridiculous figure Taafe cut in
all this he kept far behind during the danger, but the next
day he wished to take all the honour to himself, vowed that
all Pisa talked of him alone, and coming to Lord Byron said,
" My Lord, if you do not dare ride out to-day, I will alone."
But the next day he again changed, he was afraid of being
turned out of Tuscany, or of being obliged to fight with one of
the officers of the sergeant's regiment, of neither of which
things there was the slightest danger, so he wrote a declaration
to the Governor to say that he had nothing to do with it ; so
embroiling himself with Lord Byron, he got between Scylla
and Charybdis, from which he has not yet extricated himself ;
for ourselves, we do not fear any ulterior consequences.
loth April.
We received Hellas to-day, and the bill of lading.
Shelley is well pleased with the former, though there are some
mistakes. The only danger would arise from the vengeance of
Masi, but the moment he is able to move, he is to be removed
to another town ; he is a pessimo soggetto, being the crony of
Soldaini, Rosselmini, and Augustini, Pisan names of evil fame,
which, perhaps, you may remember. There is only one con-
solation in all this, that if it be our fate to suffer, it is more
agreeable, and more safe to suffer in company with five or six
than alone. Well ! after telling you this long story, I must
relate our other news. And first, the Greek Ali Pashaw is
dead, and his head sent to Constantinople ; the reception of it
was celebrated there by the massacre of four thousand Greeks.
340 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
The latter, however, get on. The Turkish fleet of 2 5 sail of
the line -of- war vessels, and 40 transports, endeavoured to
surprise the Greek fleet in its winter quarters ; finding them
prepared, they bore away for Lante, and pursued by the
Greeks, took refuge in the bay of Naupacto. Here they first
blockaded them, and obtained a complete victory. All the
soldiers on board the transports, in endeavouring to land,
were cut to pieces, and the fleet taken or destroyed. I heard
something about Hellenists which greatly pleased me. When
any one asks of the peasants of the Morea what news there
is, and if they have had any victory, they reply : " I do not
know, but for us it is 77 TV, 77 e^i ras," being their Doric pro-
nunciation of 77 Tav, 77 7Tt TT/S, the speech of the Spartan mother,
on presenting his shield to her son ; " With this or on this."
I wish, my dear Mrs. Gisborne, that you would send the
first part of this letter, addressed to Mr. W. Godwin at Nash's,
Esq., Dover Street. I wish him to have an account of the
fray, and you will thus save me the trouble of writing it over
again, for what with writing and talking about it, I am quite
tired. In a late letter of mine to my father, I requested him
to send you Matilda. I hope that he has complied with my
desire, and, in that case, that you will get it copied and send
it to me by the first opportunity, perhaps by Hunt, if he comes
at all. I do not mention commissions to you, for although
wishing much for the things about which I wrote [we have], for
the present, no money to spare. We wish very much to hear
from you again, and to hear if there are any hopes of your
getting on in your plans, what Henry is doing, and how you
continue to like England. The months of February and
March were with us as hot as an English June. In the first
days of April we have had some very cold weather; so that we
are obliged to light fires again. Shelley has been much better
in health this winter than any other since I have known him,
Pisa certainly agrees with him exceedingly well, which is its
only merit, in my eyes. I wish fate had bound us to Naples
instead. Percy is quite well ; he begins to talk, Italian only
now, and to call things bello and buono, but the droll thing is,
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 341
that he is right about the genders. A silk vestito is bello> but
a new frusta is bella. He is a fine boy, full of life, and very
pretty. Williams is very well, and they are getting on very
well. Mrs. Williams is a miracle of economy, and, as Mrs.
Godwin used to call it, makes both ends meet with great com-
fort to herself and others. Medwin is gone to Rome ; we
have heaps of the gossip of a petty town this winter, being
just in the coterie where it was all carried on ; but now Grazie
a Messer Domenedio, the English are almost all gone, and we,
being left alone, all subjects of discord and clacking cease.
You may conceive what a bisbiglio our adventure made. The
Pisans were all enraged because the maledetti inglesi were not
punished ; yet when the gentlemen returned from their ride the
following day (busy fate) an immense crowd was assembled
before Casa Lanfranchi, and they all took off their hats to them.
Adieu. State bene e felice. Best remembrances to Mr. Gis-
borne, and compliments to Henry, who will remember Hay as
one of the Maremma hunters ; he is a friend of Lord Byron's.
Yours ever truly, MARY W. S.
This affair, and the consequent inquiry and
examination of witnesses in connection with it
took up several days, on one of which Mary and
Countess Guiccioli were under examination for
five hours.
In the meantime Byron decided to go to Leg-
horn for his summer boating ; whereupon Shelley
wrote and definitively proposed to Clare that she
should accompany his party to Spezzia, promising
her quiet and privacy, and immunity from annoy-
ance, while she bided her time with regard to
Allegra. Clare accepted the offer, and joined
them at Pisa on the I5th of April in the expecta-
tion of starting very shortly. It turned out, how-
342 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY
ever, that no suitable houses were, after all, to be
had on the coast. This was an unexpected disap-
pointment, and on the 23d she and the Williams'
went off to Spezzia for another search. They
were hardly on their way when letters were re-
ceived by Shelley and Mary with the grievous
news that Allegra had died of typhus fever in
the convent of Bagnacavallo.
CHAPTER XVI
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
344
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
indisposition must be ignored ; she must under-
take 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 2;th, 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, 2 < th 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
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 345
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 con-
venient ; but, such as it was, it had to accommo-
date 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 i. 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 comfort-
ably settled by 4. Passed the evening in talking over our
folly and our troubles.
The worst trouble, however, was still impend-
ing. 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 excess-
ive, but was, after the first, succeeded by a calm-
ness unusual in her and surprising to her friends ;
34 6 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
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 en-
durance 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. 1
Facing the sea, and almost over it, a verandah
or open terrace ran the whole length of the build-
ing ; 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 prostra-
tion of strength and from hysterical affections.
Rest, quiet, and freedom from worry were essen-
tial to her condition, but none of these could
she have, nor even sleep at night. The absence
1 Trelawny's " Recollections."
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 347
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 atCasa 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 rufHed the surface of domestic life
so that its mirror no longer reflected his own un-
348 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
wontedly 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 dis-
comfort 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 dis-
charge 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 sub-
lime.
MAR Y WOLLS TONECRAFT SHELLE Y 349
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
350 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
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 i 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 \ feet long, and 4^ broad. . . .
Wednesday, June 12. Launched the little boat, which
answered our wishes and expectations. She is 86 Ibs. 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 ^"750 clear off and ready
for sea, with provisions and conveniences of every kind.
In the midst of this happy life one anxiety there
MAR Y WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLE Y 351
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, inter-
cepted 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, iqt/i 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 ex-
pected 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, ^d May 1822.
DEAR MARY I wrote to you a fortnight ago, and pro-
fessed 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
35 2 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
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 unwill-
ing to accept ^400 (I have talked with him on the subject),
we may emerge again. Our business, if freed from this in-
tolerable 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. Wednes-
day, ist 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 ^2000 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 coin-
cidence, I could almost grow superstitious. But, alas ! I fear
I f ear \ a m 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.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 353
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 ex-
pected, 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 l ... I should have a thousand things to
1 Word illegible.
VOL. I 23
354 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
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, 29/7? 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. God-
win, 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 distress-
ing, 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 in-
tention 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 pros-
perous 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 exas-
perating 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 de-
lighted to amend anything that her Father thought imperfect
in it, though I confess that if his objection relates to the char-
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 355
acter of Beatrice, / 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 ^400,
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 trans-
actions; 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 Flor-
ence. 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.
356 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
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,
2 d 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
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 357
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 1'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, " lo 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
358 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
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 con-
ceal 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 ex-
pected ; 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.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 359
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 per-
fect 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 him-
self 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 be-
came 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 be-
sides, 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 in-
volved 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 con-
tents. 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
360 THE LIFE AND LETTERS 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 in-
formation that I could get, through any one, would be a great
benefit to me. Adieu. Pray write now, and at length. Re-
member 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. Alarm-
ing 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
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 361
week of this misfortune her recovery was retarded
by a dreadful nervous shock she received through
Shelley's walking in his sleep. 1
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 tem-
porary elation of another person whose spirits, as
a rule, are uneven, and in need of constant sup-
1 Recounted at length in a subsequent letter, to be quoted later on.
362 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
port 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 under-
stand 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 compre-
hension of him that she is not distressed by the
consciousness of its imperfection or its absence,
but succeeds by dint of delicate social intui-
tion, 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
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 363
side so much better than the poor creature under-
stands 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 ascend-
ency 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 ;8o, 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 obliter-
ated, 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.
364 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
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 ist 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.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 365
But Jane wrote brightly, and gave an improved
account of Mary.
SHELLEY TO MARY.
PISA, tfhjuly 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 pre-
cision 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 every-
thing 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
366 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
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 copy-
right 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, ^th 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.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 367
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 yth of July she wrote a few lines in her
368 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF
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, i6th June, Trelawny goes on to Leghorn with her.
Roberts remains here until ist 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 possi-
bilities 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.
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY 369
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
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