english men of letters edited by john morley. percy bysshe shelley by john addington symonds. contents. chapter . birth and childhood. chapter . eton and oxford. chapter . life in london, and first marriage. chapter . second residence in london, and separation from harriet. chapter . life at marlow, and journey to italy. chapter . residence at pisa. chapter . last days. chapter . epilogue. list of authorities. . the poetical and prose works of percy bysshe shelley, edited by mrs. shelley. moxon, , . volume. . the poetical works, edited by harry buxton forman. reeves and turner, - . volumes. . the works of percy bysshe shelley, edited by w.m. rossetti. moxon, . volumes. . hogg's life of shelley. moxon, . volumes. . trelawny's records of shelley, byron, and the author. pickering, . volumes. . shelley memorials, edited by lady shelley. smith and elder. volume. . medwin's life of shelley. newby, . volumes. . shelley's early life, by d.f. mccarthy. chatto and windus. volume. . leigh hunt's autobiography. smith and elder. . w.m. rossetti's life of shelley, included in the edition above cited, number . . shelley, a critical biography, by g.b. smith. david douglas, . . relics of shelley, edited by richard garnett. moxon, . . peacock's articles on shelley in "fraser's magazine," and . . shelley in pall mall, by r. garnett, in "macmillan's magazine," june, . . shelley's last days, by r. garnett, in the "fortnightly review," june, . . two lectures on shelley, by w.m. rossetti, in the "university magazine," february and march, . shelley. chapter . birth and childhood. it is worse than useless to deplore the irremediable; yet no man, probably, has failed to mourn the fate of mighty poets, whose dawning gave the promise of a glorious day, but who passed from earth while yet the light that shone in them was crescent. that the world should know marlowe and giorgione, raphael and mozart, only by the products of their early manhood, is indeed a cause for lamentation, when we remember what the long lives of a bach and titian, a michelangelo and goethe, held in reserve for their maturity and age. it is of no use to persuade ourselves, as some have done, that we possess the best work of men untimely slain. had sophocles been cut off in his prime, before the composition of "oedipus"; had handel never merged the fame of his forgotten operas in the immortal music of his oratorios; had milton been known only by the poems of his youth, we might with equal plausibility have laid that flattering unction to our heart. and yet how shallow would have been our optimism, how fallacious our attempt at consolation. there is no denying the fact that when a young marcellus is shown by fate for one brief moment, and withdrawn before his springtime has bought forth the fruits of summer, we must bow in silence to the law of waste that rules inscrutably in nature. such reflections are forced upon us by the lives of three great english poets of this century. byron died when he was thirty-six, keats when he was twenty-five, and shelley when he was on the point of completing his thirtieth year. of the three, keats enjoyed the briefest space for the development of his extraordinary powers. his achievement, perfect as it is in some poetic qualities, remains so immature and incomplete that no conjecture can be hazarded about his future. byron lived longer, and produced more than his brother poets. yet he was extinguished when his genius was still ascendant, when his "swift and fair creations" were issuing like worlds from an archangel's hands. in his case we have perhaps only to deplore the loss of masterpieces that might have equalled, but could scarcely have surpassed, what we possess. shelley's early death is more to be regretted. unlike keats and byron, he died by a mere accident. his faculties were far more complex, and his aims were more ambitious than theirs. he therefore needed length of years for their co-ordination; and if a fuller life had been allotted him, we have the certainty that from the discords of his youth he would have wrought a clear and lucid harmony. these sentences form a somewhat gloomy prelude to a biography. yet the student of shelley's life, the sincere admirer of his genius, is almost forced to strike a solemn key-note at the outset. we are not concerned with one whose "little world of man" for good or ill was perfected, but with one whose growth was interrupted just before the synthesis of which his powers were capable had been accomplished. august , , is one of the most memorable dates in the history of english literature. on this day percy bysshe shelley was born at field place, near horsham, in the county of sussex. his father, named timothy, was the eldest son of bysshe shelley, esquire, of goring castle, in the same county. the shelley family could boast of great antiquity and considerable wealth. without reckoning earlier and semi-legendary honours, it may here be recorded that it is distinguished in the elder branch by one baronetcy dating from , and by a second in the younger dating from . in the latter year the poet's grandfather received this honour through the influence of his friend the duke of norfolk. mr. timothy shelley was born in the year , and in he married elizabeth, daughter of charles pilford, esquire, a lady of great beauty, and endowed with fair intellectual ability, though not of a literary temperament. the first child of this marriage was the poet, named bysshe in compliment to his grandfather, the then living head of the family, and percy because of some remote connexion with the ducal house of northumberland. four daughters, elizabeth, mary, hellen, and margaret, and one son, john, who died in the year , were the subsequent issue of mr. timothy shelley's marriage. in the year , upon the death of his father, he succeeded to the baronetcy, which passed, after his own death, to his grandson, the present sir percy florence shelley, as the poet's only surviving son. before quitting, once and for all, the arid region of genealogy, it may be worth mentioning that sir bysshe shelley by his second marriage with miss elizabeth jane sydney perry, heiress of penshurst, became the father of five children, the eldest son of whom assumed the name of shelley-sidney, received a baronetcy, and left a son, philip charles sidney, who was created lord de l'isle and dudley. such details are not without a certain value, inasmuch as they prove that the poet, who won for his ancient and honourable house a fame far more illustrious than titles can confer, was sprung from a man of no small personal force and worldly greatness. sir bysshe shelley owed his position in society, the wealth he accumulated, and the honours he transmitted to two families, wholly and entirely to his own exertions. though he bore a name already distinguished in the annals of the english landed gentry, he had to make his own fortune under conditions of some difficulty. he was born in north america, and began life, it is said, as a quack doctor. there is also a legend of his having made a first marriage with a person of obscure birth in america. yet such was the charm of his address, the beauty of his person, the dignity of his bearing, and the vigour of his will, that he succeeded in winning the hands and fortunes of two english heiresses; and, having begun the world with nothing, he left it at the age of seventy-four, bequeathing , pounds in the english funds, together with estates worth , pounds a year to his descendents. percy bysshe shelley was therefore born in the purple of the english squirearchy; but never assuredly did the old tale of the swan hatched with the hen's brood of ducklings receive a more emphatic illustration than in this case. gifted with the untameable individuality of genius, and bent on piercing to the very truth beneath all shams and fictions woven by society and ancient usage, he was driven by the circumstances of his birth and his surroundings into an exaggerated warfare with the world's opinion. his too frequent tirades against:-- the queen of slaves, the hood-winked angel of the blind and dead, custom,-- owed much of their asperity to the early influences brought to bear upon him by relatives who prized their position in society, their wealth, and the observance of conventional decencies, above all other things. mr. timothy shelley was in no sense of the word a bad man; but he was everything which the poet's father ought not to have been. as member for the borough of shoreham, he voted blindly with his party; and that party looked to nothing beyond the interests of the gentry and the pleasure of the duke of norfolk. his philosophy was limited to a superficial imitation of lord chesterfield, whose style he pretended to affect in his familiar correspondence, though his letters show that he lacked the rudiments alike of logic and of grammar. his religious opinions might be summed up in clough's epigram:-- at church on sunday to attend will serve to keep the world your friend. his morality in like manner was purely conventional, as may be gathered from his telling his eldest son that he would never pardon a mesalliance, but would provide for as many illegitimate children as he chose to have. for the rest, he appears to have been a fairly good landlord, and a not unkind father, sociable and hospitable, somewhat vain and occasionally odd in manner, but qualified for passing muster with the country gentlemen around him. in the capacity to understand a nature which deviated from the ordinary type so remarkably as shelley's, he was utterly deficient; and perhaps we ought to regard it as his misfortune that fate made him the father of a man who was among the greatest portents of originality and unconventionality that this century has seen. toward an ordinary english youth, ready to sow his wild oats at college, and willing to settle at the proper age and take his place upon the bench of magistrates, sir timothy shelley would have shown himself an indulgent father; and it must be conceded by the poet's biographer that if percy bysshe had but displayed tact and consideration on his side, many of the misfortunes which signalized his relations to his father would have been avoided. shelley passed his childhood at field place, and when he was about six years old began to be taught, together with his sisters, by mr. edwards, a clergyman who lived at warnham. what is recorded of these early years we owe to the invaluable communications of his sister hellen. the difference of age between her and her brother bysshe obliges us to refer her recollections to a somewhat later period--probably to the holidays he spent away from sion house and eton. still, since they introduce us to the domestic life of his then loved home, it may be proper to make quotations from them in this place. miss shelley tells us her brother "would frequently come to the nursery, and was full of a peculiar kind of pranks. one piece of mischief, for which he was rebuked, was running a stick through the ceiling of a low passage to find some new chamber, which could be made effective for some flights of his vivid imagination." he was very much attached to his sisters, and used to entertain them with stories, in which "an alchemist, old and grey, with a long beard," who was supposed to abide mysteriously in the garret of field place, played a prominent part. "another favourite theme was the 'great tortoise,' that lived in warnham pond; and any unwonted noise was accounted for by the presence of this great beast, which was made into the fanciful proportions most adapted to excite awe and wonder." to his friend hogg, in after-years, shelley often spoke about another reptile, no mere creature of myth or fable, the "old snake," who had inhabited the gardens of field place for several generations. this venerable serpent was accidentally killed by the gardener's scythe; but he lived long in the poet's memory, and it may reasonably be conjectured that shelley's peculiar sympathy for snakes was due to the dim recollection of his childhood's favourite. some of the games he invented to please his sisters were grotesque, and some both perilous and terrifying. "we dressed ourselves in strange costumes to personate spirits or fiends, and bysshe would take a fire-stove and fill it with some inflammable liquid, and carry it flaming into the kitchen and to the back door." shelley often took his sisters for long country rambles over hedge and fence, carrying them when the difficulties of the ground or their fatigue required it. at this time "his figure was slight and beautiful,--his hands were models, and his feet are treading the earth again in one of his race; his eyes too have descended in their wild fixed beauty to the same person. as a child, i have heard that his skin was like snow, and bright ringlets covered his head." here is a little picture which brings the boy vividly before our eyes: "bysshe ordered clothes according to his own fancy at eton, and the beautifully fitting silk pantaloons, as he stood as almost all men and boys do, with their coat-tails near the fire, excited my silent though excessive admiration." when he was ten years of age, shelley went to school at sion house, brentford, an academy kept by dr. greenlaw, and frequented by the sons of london tradesmen, who proved but uncongenial companions to his gentle spirit. it is fortunate for posterity that one of his biographers, his second cousin captain medwin, was his schoolfellow at sion house; for to his recollections we owe some details of great value. medwin tells us that shelley learned the classic languages almost by intuition, while he seemed to be spending his time in dreaming, now watching the clouds as they sailed across the school-room window, and now scribbling sketches of fir-trees and cedars in memory of field place. at this time he was subject to sleep-walking, and, if we may credit this biographer, he often lost himself in reveries not far removed from trance. his favourite amusement was novel-reading; and to the many "blue books" from the minerva press devoured by him in his boyhood, we may ascribe the style and tone of his first compositions. for physical sports he showed no inclination. "he passed among his school-fellows as a strange and unsocial being; for when a holiday relieved us from our tasks, and the other boys were engaged in such sports as the narrow limits of our prison-court allowed, shelley, who entered into none of them, would pace backwards and forwards--i think i see him now--along the southern wall, indulging in various vague and undefined ideas, the chaotic elements, if i may say so, of what afterwards produced so beautiful a world." two of shelley's most important biographical compositions undoubtedly refer to this period of his boyhood. the first is the passage in the prelude to "laon and cythna" which describes his suffering among the unsympathetic inmates of a school:-- thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear friend, when first the clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass. i do remember well the hour which burst my spirit's sleep: a fresh may-dawn it was, when i walked forth upon the glittering grass, and wept, i knew not why; until there rose from the near school-room, voices, that, alas! were but one echo from a world of woes-- the harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes. and then i clasped my hands and looked around-- --but none was near to mock my streaming eyes, which poured their warm drops on the sunny ground-- so without shame i spake:--"i will be wise, and just, and free, and mild, if in me lies such power, for i grow weary to behold the selfish and the strong still tyrannize without reproach or check." i then controlled my tears, my heart grew calm, and i was meek and bold. and from that hour did i with earnest thought heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore, yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught i cared to learn, but from that secret store wrought linked armour for my soul, before it might walk forth to war among mankind. thus power and hope were strengthened more and more within me, till there came upon my mind a sense of loneliness, a thirst with which i pined. the second is a fragment on friendship preserved by hogg. after defining that kind of passionate attachment which often precedes love in fervent natures, he proceeds: "i remember forming an attachment of this kind at school. i cannot recall to my memory the precise epoch at which this took pace; but i imagine it must have been at the age of eleven or twelve. the object of these sentiments was a boy about my own age, of a character eminently generous, brave, and gentle; and the elements of human feeling seemed to have been, from his birth, genially compounded within him. there was a delicacy and a simplicity in his manners, inexpressibly attractive. it has never been my fortune to meet with him since my school-boy days; but either i confound my present recollections with the delusions of past feelings, or he is now a source of honour and utility to every one around him. the tones of his voice were so soft and winning, that every word pierced into my heart; and their pathos was so deep, that in listening to him the tears have involuntarily gushed from my eyes. such was the being for whom i first experienced the sacred sentiments of friendship." how profound was the impression made on his imagination and his feelings by this early friendship, may again be gathered from a passage in his note upon the antique group of bacchus and ampelus at florence. "look, the figures are walking with a sauntering and idle pace, and talking to each other as they walk, as you may have seen a younger and an elder boy at school, walking in some grassy spot of the play-ground with that tender friendship for each other which the age inspires." these extracts prove beyond all question that the first contact with the outer world called into activity two of shelley's strongest moral qualities--his hatred of tyranny and brutal force in any form, and his profound sentiment of friendship. the admiring love of women, which marked him no less strongly, and which made him second only to shakespere in the sympathetic delineation of a noble feminine ideal, had been already developed by his deep affection for his mother and sisters. it is said that he could not receive a letter from them without manifest joy. "shelley," says medwin, "was at this time tall for his age, slightly and delicately built, and rather narrow-chested, with a complexion fair and ruddy, a face rather long than oval. his features, not regularly handsome, were set off by a profusion of silky brown hair, that curled naturally. the expression of his countenance was one of exceeding sweetness and innocence. his blue eyes were very large and prominent. they were at times, when he was abstracted, as he often was in contemplation, dull, and as it were, insensible to external objects; at others they flashed with the fire of intelligence. his voice was soft and low, but broken in its tones,--when anything much interested him, harsh and immodulated; and this peculiarity he never lost. he was naturally calm, but when he heard of or read of some flagrant act of injustice, oppression, or cruelty, then indeed the sharpest marks of horror and indignation were visible in his countenance." such as the child was, we shall find the man to have remained unaltered through the short space of life allowed him. loving, innocent, sensitive, secluded from the vulgar concerns of his companions, strongly moralized after a peculiar and inborn type of excellence, drawing his inspirations from nature and from his own soul in solitude, shelley passed across the stage of this world, attended by a splendid vision which sustained him at a perilous height above the kindly race of men. the penalty of this isolation he suffered in many painful episodes. the reward he reaped in a measure of more authentic prophecy, and in a nobler realization of his best self, than could be claimed by any of his immediate contemporaries. chapter . eton and oxford. in shelley went from sion house to eton. at this time dr. keate was headmaster and shelley's tutor was a mr. bethel, "one of the dullest men in the establishment." at eton shelley was not popular either with his teachers or his elder school-fellows, although the boys of his own age are said to have adored him. "he was all passion," writes mrs. shelley; "passionate in his resistance to an injury, passionate in his love:" and this vehemence of temperament he displayed by organizing a rebellion against fagging, which no doubt won for him the applause of his juniors and equals. it was not to be expected that a lad intolerant of rule and disregardful of restriction, who neglected punctuality in the performance of his exercises, while he spent his leisure in translating half of pliny's history, should win the approbation of pedagogues. at the same time the inspired opponent of the fagging system, the scorner of games and muscular amusements, could not hope to find much favour with such martinets of juvenile convention as a public school is wont to breed. at eton, as elsewhere, shelley's uncompromising spirit brought him into inconvenient contact with a world of vulgar usage, while his lively fancy invested the commonplaces of reality with dark hues borrowed from his own imagination. mrs. shelley says of him, "tamed by affection, but unconquered by blows, what chance was there that shelley should be happy at a public school?" this sentence probably contains the pith of what he afterwards remembered of his own school life, and there is no doubt that a nature like his, at once loving and high-spirited, had much to suffer. it was a mistake, however, to suppose that at eton there were any serious blows to bear, or to assume that laws of love which might have led a spirit so gentle as shelley's, were adapted to the common stuff of which the english boy is formed. the latter mistake shelley made continually throughout his youth; and only the advance of years tempered his passionate enthusiasm into a sober zeal for the improvement of mankind by rational methods. we may also trace at this early epoch of his life that untamed intellectual ambition--that neglect of the immediate and detailed for the transcendental and universal--which was a marked characteristic of his genius, leading him to fly at the highest while he overleaped the facts of ordinary human life. "from his earliest years," says mrs. shelley, "all his amusements and occupations were of a daring, and in one sense of the term, lawless nature. he delighted to exert his powers, not as a boy, but as a man; and so with manly powers and childish wit, he dared and achieved attempts that none of his comrades could even have conceived. his understanding and the early development of imagination never permitted him to mingle in childish plays; and his natural aversion to tyranny prevented him from paying due attention to his school duties. but he was always actively employed; and although his endeavours were prosecuted with puerile precipitancy, yet his aim and thoughts were constantly directed to those great objects which have employed the thoughts of the greatest among men; and though his studies were not followed up according to school discipline, they were not the less diligently applied to." this high-soaring ambition was the source both of his weakness and his strength in art, as well as in his commerce with the world of men. the boy who despised discipline and sought to extort her secrets from nature by magic, was destined to become the philanthropist who dreamed of revolutionizing society by eloquence, and the poet who invented in "prometheus unbound" forms of grandeur too colossal to be animated with dramatic life. a strong interest in experimental science had been already excited in him at sion house by the exhibition of an orrery; and this interest grew into a passion at eton. experiments in chemistry and electricity, of the simpler and more striking kind, gave him intense pleasure--the more so perhaps because they were forbidden. on one occasion he set the trunk of an old tree on fire with a burning-glass: on another, while he was amusing himself with a blue flame, his tutor came into the room and received a severe shock from a highly-charged leyden jar. during the holidays shelley carried on the same pursuits at field place. "his own hands and clothes," says miss shelley, "were constantly stained and corroded with acids, and it only seemed too probable that some day the house would be burned down, or some serious mischief happen to himself or others from the explosion of combustibles." this taste for science shelley long retained. if we may trust mr. hogg's memory, the first conversation which that friend had with him at oxford consisted almost wholly of an impassioned monologue from shelley on the revolution to be wrought by science in all realms of thought. his imagination was fascinated by the boundless vistas opened to the student of chemistry. when he first discovered that the four elements were not final, it gave him the acutest pleasure: and this is highly characteristic of the genius which was always seeking to transcend and reach the life of life withdrawn from ordinary gaze. on the other hand he seems to have delighted in the toys of science, playing with a solar microscope, and mixing strangest compounds in his crucibles, without taking the trouble to study any of its branches systematically. in his later years he abandoned these pursuits. but a charming reminiscence of them occurs in that most delightful of his familiar poems, the "letter to maria gisborne." while translating pliny and dabbling in chemistry, shelley was not wholly neglectful of etonian studies. he acquired a fluent, if not a correct, knowledge of both greek and latin, and astonished his contemporaries by the facility with which he produced verses in the latter language. his powers of memory were extraordinary, and the rapidity with which he read a book, taking in seven or eight lines at a glance, and seizing the sense upon the hint of leading words, was no less astonishing. impatient speed and indifference to minutiae were indeed among the cardinal qualities of his intellect. to them we may trace not only the swiftness of his imaginative flight, but also his frequent satisfaction with the somewhat less than perfect in artistic execution. that shelley was not wholly friendless or unhappy at eton may be gathered from numerous small circumstances. hogg says that his oxford rooms were full of handsome leaving books, and that he was frequently visited by old etonian acquaintances. we are also told that he spend the pounds gained by his first novel, "zastrozzi," on a farewell supper to eight school-boy friends. a few lines, too, might be quoted from his own poem, the "boat on the serchio," to prove that he did not entertain a merely disagreeable memory of his school life. (forman's edition, volume page .) yet the general experience of eton must have been painful; and it is sad to read of this gentle and pure spirit being goaded by his coarser comrades into fury, or coaxed to curse his father and the king for their amusement. it may be worth mentioning that he was called "the atheist" at eton; and though hogg explains this by saying that "the atheist" was an official character among the boys, selected from time to time for his defiance of authority, yet it is not improbable that shelley's avowed opinions may even then have won for him a title which he proudly claimed in after-life. to allude to his boyish incantations and nocturnal commerce with fiends and phantoms would scarcely be needful, were it not that they seem to have deeply tinged his imagination. while describing the growth of his own genius in the "hymn to intellectual beauty," he makes the following reference to circumstances which might otherwise be trivial:-- while yet a boy, i sought for ghosts, and sped thro' many a listening chamber, cave, and ruin, and starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing hopes of high talk with the departed dead. i call'd on poisonous names with which our youth is fed, i was not heard, i saw them not-- when, musing deeply on the lot of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing all vital things that wake to bring news of birds and blossoming,-- sudden, thy shadow fell on me; i shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy! among the eton tutors was one whose name will always be revered by shelley's worshippers; for he alone discerned the rare gifts of the strange and solitary boy, and shelley loved him. dr. lind was an old man, a physician, and a student of chemistry. shelley spent long hours at his house, conversing with him, and receiving such instruction in philosophy and science as the grey-haired scholar could impart. the affection which united them must have been of no common strength or quality; for when shelley lay ill of a fever at field place, and had conceived the probably ill-founded notion that his father intended to place him in a mad-house, he managed to convey a message to his friend at eton, on the receipt of which dr. lind travelled to horsham, and by his sympathy and skill restored the sick boy's confidence. it may incidentally be pointed out that this story, credited as true by lady shelley in her memorials, shows how early an estrangement had begun between the poet and his father. we look, moreover, vainly for that mother's influence which might have been so beneficial to the boy in whom "love and life were twins, born at one birth." from dr. lind shelley not only received encouragement to pursue his chemical studies; but he also acquired the habit of corresponding with persons unknown to him, whose opinions he might be anxious to discover or dispute. this habit, as we shall see in the sequel, determined shelley's fate on two important occasions of his life. in return for the help extended to him at eton, shelley conferred undying fame on dr. lind; the characters of zonaras in "prince athanase," and of the hermit in "laon and cythna," are portraits painted by the poet of his boyhood's friend. the months which elapsed between eton and oxford were an important period in shelley's life. at this time a boyish liking for his cousin, harriet grove, ripened into real attachment; and though there was perhaps no formal engagement between them, the parents on both sides looked with approval on their love. what it concerns us to know about this early passion, is given in a letter from a brother of miss grove. "bysshe was at that time (just after leaving eton) more attached to my sister harriet than i can express, and i recollect well the moonlight walks we four had at strode and also at st. irving's; that, i think, was the name of the place, then the duke of norfolk's, at horsham." for some time after the date mentioned in this letter, shelley and miss grove kept up an active correspondence; but the views he expressed on speculative subjects soon began to alarm her. she consulted her mother and her father, and the engagement was broken off. the final separation does not seem to have taken place until the date of shelley's expulsion from oxford; and not the least cruel of the pangs he had to suffer at that period, was the loss of one to whom he had given his whole heart unreservedly. the memory of miss grove long continued to haunt his imagination, nor is there much doubt that his first unhappy marriage was contracted while the wound remained unhealed. the name of harriet westbrook and something in her face reminded him of harriet grove; it is even still uncertain to which harriet the dedication of queen mab is addressed. (see medwin, volume page .) in his childhood shelley scribbled verses with fluency by no means unusual in the case of forward boys; and we have seen that at sion house he greedily devoured the sentimental novels of the day. his favourite poets at the time of which i am now writing, were monk lewis and southey; his favourite books in prose were romances by mrs. radcliffe and godwin. he now began to yearn for fame and publicity. miss shelley speaks of a play written by her brother and her sister elizabeth, which was sent to matthews the comedian, and courteously returned as unfit for acting. she also mentions a little volume of her own verses, which the boy had printed with the tell-tale name of "h-ll-n sh-ll-y" on the title-page. medwin gives a long account of a poem on the story of the wandering jew, composed by him in concert with shelley during the winter of - . they sent the manuscript to thomas campbell, who returned it with the observation that it contained but two good lines:-- it seemed as if an angel's sigh had breathed the plaintive symphony. undeterred by this adverse criticism, shelley subsequently offered "the wandering jew" to two publishers, messrs. ballantyne and co. of edinburgh, and mr. stockdale of pall mall; but it remained in ms. at edinburgh till , when a portion was printed in "fraser's magazine." just before leaving eton he finished a novel of "zastrozzi", which some critics trace to its source in "zofloya the moor," perused by him at sion house. the most astonishing fact about this incoherent medley of mad sentiment is that it served to furnish forth the -pound eton supper already spoken of, that it was duly ushered into the world of letters by messrs. wilkie and robinson on the th of june, , and that it was seriously reviewed. the dates of shelley's publications now come fast and frequent. in the late summer of he introduced himself to mr. j.j. stockdale, the then fashionable publisher of poems and romances, at his house of business in pall mall. with characteristic impetuosity the young author implored assistance in a difficulty. he had commissioned a printer in horsham to strike off the astounding number of copies of a volume of poems; and he had no money to pay the printer's bill. would stockdale help him out of this dilemma, by taking up the quires and duly ushering the book into the world? throughout his life shelley exercised a wonderful fascination over the people with whom he came in contact, and almost always won his way with them as much by personal charm as by determined and impassioned will. accordingly on this occasion stockdale proved accommodating. the horsham printer was somehow satisfied; and on the th of september, , the little book came out with the title of "original poetry, by victor and cazire." this volume has disappeared; and much fruitless conjecture has been expended upon the question of shelley's collaborator in his juvenile attempt. cazire stands for some one; probably it is meant to represent a woman's name, and that woman may have been either elizabeth shelley or harriet grove. the "original poetry" had only been launched a week, when stockdale discovered on a closer inspection of the book that it contained some verses well known to the world as the production of m.g. lewis. he immediately communicated with shelley, and the whole edition was suppressed--not, however, before about one hundred copies had passed into circulation. to which of the collaborators this daring act of petty larceny was due, we know not; but we may be sure that shelley satisfied stockdale on the point of piracy, since the publisher saw no reason to break with him. on the th of november in the same year he issued shelley's second novel from his press, and entered into negotiations with him for the publication of more poetry. the new romance was named "st. irvyne, or the rosicrucian." this tale, no less unreadable than "zastrozzi," and even more chaotic in its plan, contained a good deal of poetry, which has been incorporated in the most recent editions of shelley's works. a certain interest attaches to it as the first known link between shelley and william godwin, for it was composed under the influence of the latter's novel, "st. leon." the title, moreover, carries us back to those moonlight walks with harriet grove alluded to above. shelley's earliest attempts in literature have but little value for the student of poetry, except in so far as they illustrate the psychology of genius and its wayward growth. their intrinsic merit is almost less than nothing, and no one could predict from their perusal the course which the future poet of "the cenci" and "epipsychidion" was to take. it might indeed be argued that the defects of his great qualities, the over-ideality, the haste, the incoherence, and the want of grasp on narrative, are glaringly apparent in these early works. but while this is true, the qualities themselves are absent. a cautious critic will only find food in "zastrozzi" and "st. irvyne" for wondering how such flowers and fruits of genius could have lain concealed within a germ apparently so barren. there is even less of the real shelley discernible in these productions, than of the real byron in the "hours of idleness." in the michaelmas term of shelley was matriculated as a commoner of university college, oxford; and very soon after his arrival he made the acquaintance of a man who was destined to play a prominent part in his subsequent history, and to bequeath to posterity the most brilliant, if not in all respects the most trustworthy, record of his marvellous youth. thomas jefferson hogg was unlike shelley in temperament and tastes. his feet were always planted on the earth, while shelley flew aloft to heaven with singing robes around him, or the mantel of the prophet on his shoulders. (he told trelawny that he had been attracted to shelley simply by his "rare talents as a scholar;" and trelawny has recorded his opinion that hogg's portrait of their friend was faithful, in spite of a total want of sympathy with his poetic genius. this testimony is extremely valuable.) hogg had much of the cynic in his nature; he was a shrewd man of the world, and a caustic humorist. positive and practical, he chose the beaten path of life, rose to eminence as a lawyer, and cherished the church and state opinions of a staunch tory. yet, though he differed so essentially from the divine poet, he understood the greatness of shelley at a glance, and preserved for us a record of his friend's early days, which is incomparable for the vividness of its portraiture. the pages which narrate shelley's course of life at oxford have all the charm of a romance. no novel indeed is half so delightful as that picture, at once affectionate and satirical, tender and humorous, extravagant and delicately shaded, of the student life enjoyed together for a few short months by the inseparable friends. to make extracts from a masterpiece of such consummate workmanship is almost painful. future biographers of shelley, writing on a scale adequate to the greatness of their subject, will be content to lay their pens down for a season at this point, and let hogg tell the tale in his own wayward but inimitable fashion. i must confine myself to a few quotations and a barren abstract, referring my readers to the ever-memorable pages -- of hogg's first volume, for the life that cannot be transferred to these. "at the commencement of michaelmas term," says this biographer, "that is, at the end of october, in the year , i happened one day to sit next to a freshman at dinner; it was his first appearance in hall. his figure was slight, and his aspect remarkably youthful, even at our table, where all were very young. he seemed thoughtful and absent. he ate little, and had no acquaintance with any one." the two young men began a conversation, which turned upon the respective merits of german and italian poetry, a subject they neither of them knew anything about. after dinner it was continued in hogg's rooms, where shelley soon led the talk to his favourite topic of science. "as i felt, in truth, but a slight interest in the subject of his conversation, i had leisure to examine, and i may add, to admire, the appearance of my very extraordinary guest. it was a sum of many contradictions. his figure was slight and fragile, and yet his bones and joints were large and strong. he was tall, but he stooped so much, that he seemed of a low stature. his clothes were expensive, and made according to the most approved mode of the day; but they were tumbled, rumpled, unbrushed. his gestures were abrupt, and sometimes violent, occasionally even awkward, yet more frequently gentle and graceful. his complexion was delicate and almost feminine, of the purest red and white; yet he was tanned and freckled by exposure to the sun, having passed the autumn, as he said, in shooting. his features, his whole face, and particularly his head, were, in fact, unusually small; yet the last appeared of a remarkable bulk, for his hair was long and bushy, and in fits of absence, and in the agonies (if i may use the word) of anxious thought, he often rubbed it fiercely with his hands, or passed his fingers quickly through his locks unconsciously, so that it was singularly wild and rough. in times when it was the mode to imitate stage-coachmen as closely as possible in costume, and when the hair was invariably cropped, like that of our soldiers, this eccentricity was very striking. his features were not symmetrical (the mouth, perhaps, excepted), yet was the effect of the whole extremely powerful. they breathed an animation, a fire, an enthusiasm, a vivid and preternatural intelligence, that i never met with in any other countenance. nor was the moral expression less beautiful than the intellectual; for there was a softness, a delicacy, a gentleness, and especially (though this will surprise many) that air of profound religious veneration, that characterizes the best works, and chiefly the frescoes (and into these they infused their whole souls), of the great masters of florence and of rome. i recognized the very peculiar expression in these wonderful productions long afterwards, and with a satisfaction mingled with much sorrow, for it was after the decease of him in whose countenance i had first observed it." in another place hogg gives some details which complete the impression of shelley's personal appearance, and which are fully corroborated by trelawny's recollections of a later date. "there were many striking contrasts in the character and behaviour of shelley, and one of the most remarkable was a mixture, or alternation, of awkwardness with agility--of the clumsy with the graceful. he would stumble in stepping across the floor of a drawing room; he would trip himself up on a smooth-shaven grass-plot, and he would tumble in the most inconceivable manner in ascending the commodious, facile, and well-carpeted staircase of an elegant mansion, so as to bruise his nose or his lip on the upper steps, or to tread upon his hands, and even occasionally to disturb the composure of a well-bred footman; on the contrary, he would often glide without collision through a crowded assembly, thread with unerring dexterity a most intricate path, or securely and rapidly tread the most arduous and uncertain ways." this word-portrait corresponds in its main details to the descriptions furnished by other biographers, who had the privilege of shelley's friendship. his eyes were blue, unfathomably dark and lustrous. his hair was brown; but very early in life it became grey, while his unwrinkled face retained to the last a look of wonderful youth. it is admitted on all sides that no adequate picture was ever painted of him. mulready is reported to have said that he was too beautiful to paint. and yet, although so singularly lovely, he owed less of his charm to regularity of feature or to grace of movement, than to an indescribable personal fascination. one further detail hogg pointedly insists upon. shelley's voice "was excruciating; it was intolerably shrill, harsh and discordant." this is strongly stated; but, though the terms are certainly exaggerated, i believe that we must trust this first impression made on shelley's friend. there is a considerable mass of convergent testimony to the fact that shelley's voice was high pitched, and that when he became excited, he raised it to a scream. the epithets "shrill," "piercing," "penetrating," frequently recur in the descriptions given of it. at the same time its quality seems to have been less dissonant than thrilling; there is abundance of evidence to prove that he could modulate it exquisitely in the reading of poetry, and its tone proved no obstacle to the persuasive charms of his eloquence in conversation. like all finely tempered natures, he vibrated in harmony with the subjects of his thought. excitement made his utterance shrill and sharp. deep feeling of the sense of beauty lowered its tone to richness; but the timbre was always acute, in sympathy with his intense temperament. all was of one piece in shelley's nature. this peculiar voice, varying from moment to moment, and affecting different sensibilities in divers ways, corresponds to the high-strung passion of his life, his fine-drawn and ethereal fancies, and the clear vibrations of his palpitating verse. such a voice, far-reaching, penetrating, and unearthly, befitted one who lived in rarest ether on the topmost heights of human thought. the acquaintance begun that october evening soon ripened into close friendship. shelley and hogg from this time forward spent a large part of their days and nights together in common studies, walks and conversations. it was their habit to pass the morning, each in his own rooms, absorbed in private reading. at one o'clock they met and lunched, and then started for long rambles in the country. shelley frequently carried pistols with him upon these occasions, and would stop to fix his father's franks upon convenient trees and shoot at them. the practice of pistol shooting, adopted so early in life, was afterwards one of his favourite amusements in the company of byron. hogg says that in his use of fire-arms he was extraordinarily careless. "how often have i lamented that nature, which so rarely bestows upon the world a creature endowed with such marvellous talents, ungraciously rendered the gift less precious by implanting a fatal taste for perilous recreations, and a thoughtlessness in the pursuit of them, that often caused his existence from one day to another to seem in itself miraculous." on their return from these excursions the two friends, neither of whom cared for dining in the college hall, drank tea and supped together, shelley's rooms being generally chosen as the scene of their symposia. these rooms are described as a perfect palace of confusion--chaos on chaos heaped of chemical apparatus, books, electrical machines, unfinished manuscripts, and furniture worn into holes by acids. it was perilous to use the poet's drinking-vessels, less perchance a seven-shilling piece half dissolved in aqua regia should lurk at the bottom of the bowl. handsome razors were used to cut the lids of wooden boxes, and valuable books served to support lamps or crucibles; for in his vehement precipitation shelley always laid violent hands on what he found convenient to the purpose of the moment. here the friends talked and read until late in the night. their chief studies at this time were in locke and hume and the french essayists. shelley's bias toward metaphysical speculation was beginning to assert itself. he read the school logic with avidity, and practised himself without intermission in dialectical discussion. hogg observes, what is confirmed by other testimony, that in reasoning shelley never lost sight of the essential bearings of the topic in dispute, never condescended to personal or captious arguments, and was socratically bent on following the dialogue wherever it might lead, without regard for consequences. plato was another of their favourite authors; but hogg expressly tells us that they only approached the divine philosopher through the medium of translations. it was not until a later period that shelley studied his dialogues in the original: but the substance of them, seen through mdme. dacier's version, acted powerfully on the poet's sympathetic intellect. in fact, although at the time he had adopted the conclusions of materialism, he was at heart all through his life an idealist. therefore the mixture of the poet and the sage in plato fascinated him. the doctrine of anamnesis, which offers so strange a vista to speculative reverie, by its suggestion of an earlier existence in which our knowledge was acquired, took a strong hold upon his imagination; he would stop in the streets to gaze wistfully at babies, wondering whether their newly imprisoned souls were not replete with the wisdom stored up in a previous life. in the acquisition of knowledge he was then as ever unrelaxing. "no student ever read more assiduously. he was to be found, book in hand, at all hours; reading in season and out of season; at table, in bed, and especially during a walk; not only in the quiet country, and in retired paths; not only at oxford, in the public walks, and high street, but in the most crowded thoroughfares of london. nor was he less absorbed by the volume that was open before him, in cheapside, in cranbourne alley, or in bond street, than in a lonely lane, or a secluded library. sometimes a vulgar fellow would attempt to insult or annoy the eccentric student in passing. shelley always avoided the malignant interruption by stepping aside with his vast and quiet agility." and again:--"i never beheld eyes that devoured the pages more voraciously than his; i am convinced that two-thirds of the period of the day and night were often employed in reading. it is no exaggeration to affirm, that out of twenty-four hours, he frequently read sixteen. at oxford, his diligence in this respect was exemplary, but it greatly increased afterwards, and i sometimes thought that he carried it to a pernicious excess: i am sure, at least, that i was unable to keep pace with him." with shelley study was a passion, and the acquisition of knowledge was the entrance into a thrice-hallowed sanctuary. "the irreverent many cannot comprehend the awe--the careless apathetic worldling cannot imagine the enthusiasm--nor can the tongue that attempts only to speak of things visible to the bodily eye, express the mighty emotion that inwardly agitated him, when he approached, for the first time, a volume which he believed to be replete with the recondite and mystic philosophy of antiquity: his cheeks glowed, his eyes became bright, his whole frame trembled, and his entire attention was immediately swallowed up in the depths of contemplation. the rapid and vigorous conversion of his soul to intellect can only be compared with the instantaneous ignition and combustion, which dazzle the sight, when a bundle of dry reeds, or other light inflammable substance, is thrown upon a fire already rich with accumulated heat." as at eton, so at oxford, shelley refused to keep the beaten track of prescribed studies, or to run in ordinary grooves of thought. the mere fact that aristotle was a duty, seems to have disgusted him with the author of the organon, from whom, had his works been prohibited to undergraduates, he would probably have been eager to learn much. for mathematics and jurisprudence he evinced a marked distaste. the common business of the english parliament had no attraction for him, and he read few newspapers. while his mind was keenly interested in great political questions, he could not endure the trivial treatment of them in the daily press, and cared far more for principles than for the incidents of party warfare. here again he showed that impatience of detail, and that audacity of self-reliant genius, which were the source of both his weakness and his strength. he used to speak with aversion of a parliamentary career, and told hogg that though this had been suggested to him, as befitting his position, by the duke of norfolk, he could never bring himself to mix with the rabble of the house. it is none the less true, however, that he entertained some vague notion of eventually succeeding to his father's seat. combined with his eager intellectual activity, there was something intermittent and fitful in the working of his mental faculties. hogg, in particular, mentions one of his habits in a famous passage, which, since it brings the two friends vividly before us, may here be quoted. "i was enable to continue my studies afterwards in the evening, in consequence of a very remarkable peculiarity. my young and energetic friend was then overcome by extreme drowsiness, which speedily and completely vanquished him; he would sleep from two to four hours, often so soundly that his slumbers resembled a deep lethargy; he lay occasionally upon the sofa, but more commonly stretched upon the rug before a large fire, like a cat; and his little round head was exposed to such a fierce heat, that i used to wonder how he was able to bear it. sometimes i have interposed some shelter, but rarely with any permanent effect; for the sleeper usually contrived to turn himself, and to roll again into the spot where the fire glowed the brightest. his torpor was generally profound, but he would sometimes discourse incoherently for a long while in his sleep. at six he would suddenly compose himself, even in the midst of a most animated narrative, or of earnest discussion; and he would lie buried in entire forgetfulness, in a sweet and mighty oblivion, until ten, when he would suddenly start up, and, rubbing his eyes with great violence, and passing his fingers swiftly through his long hair, would enter at once into a vehement argument, or begin to recite verses, either of his own composition or from the works of others, with a rapidity and an energy that were often quite painful." shelley's moral qualities are described with no less enthusiasm than his intellectual and physical beauty by the friend from whom i have already drawn so largely. love was the root and basis of his nature: this love, first developed as domestic affection, next as friendship, then as a youth's passion, now began to shine with steady lustre as an all-embracing devotion to his fellow-men. there is something inevitably chilling in the words "benevolence" and "philanthropy." a disillusioned world is inclined to look with languid approbation on the former, and to disbelieve in the latter. therefore i will not use them to describe that intense and glowing passion of unselfishness, which throughout his life led shelley to find his strongest interests in the joys and sorrows of his fellow-creatures, which inflamed his imagination with visions of humanity made perfect, and which filled his days with sweet deeds of unnumbered charities. i will rather collect from the page of his friend's biography a few passages recording the first impression of his character, the memory of which may be carried by the reader through the following brief record of his singular career:-- "his speculations were as wild as the experience of twenty-one years has shown them to be; but the zealous earnestness for the augmentation of knowledge, and the glowing philanthropy and boundless benevolence that marked them, and beamed forth in the whole deportment of that extraordinary boy, are not less astonishing than they would have been if the whole of his glorious anticipations had been prophetic; for these high qualities, at least, i have never found a parallel." "in no individual perhaps was the moral sense ever more completely developed than in shelley; in no being was the perception of right and of wrong more acute. "as his love of intellectual pursuits was vehement, and the vigour of his genius almost celestial, so were the purity and sanctity of his life most conspicuous." "i never knew any one so prone to admire as he was, in whom the principle of veneration was so strong." "i have had the happiness to associate with some of the best specimens of gentlemen; but with all due deference for those admirable persons (may my candour and my preference be pardoned), i can affirm that shelley was almost the only example i have yet found that was never wanting, even in the most minute particular, of the infinite and various observances of pure, entire, and perfect gentility." "shelley was actually offended, and indeed more indignant than would appear to be consistent with the singular mildness of his nature, at a coarse and awkward jest, especially if it were immodest, or uncleanly; in the latter case his anger was unbounded, and his uneasiness pre-eminent; he was, however, sometimes vehemently delighted by exquisite and delicate sallies, particularly with a fanciful, and perhaps somewhat fantastical facetiousness--possibly the more because he was himself utterly incapable of pleasantry." "i could never discern in him any more than two fixed principles. the first was a strong irrepressible love of liberty; of liberty in the abstract, and somewhat after the pattern of the ancient republics, without reference to the english constitution, respecting which he knew little and cared nothing, heeding it not at all. the second was an equally ardent love of toleration of all opinions, but more especially of religious opinions; of toleration, complete, entire, universal, unlimited; and, as a deduction and corollary from which latter principle, he felt an intense abhorrence of persecution of every kind, public or private." the testimony in the foregoing extracts as to shelley's purity and elevation of moral character is all the stronger, because it is given by a man not over-inclined to praise, and of a temperament as unlike the poet's as possible. if we were to look only upon this side of his portrait, we should indeed be almost forced to use the language of his most enthusiastic worshippers, and call him an archangel. but it must be admitted that, though so pure and gentle and exalted, shelley's virtues were marred by his eccentricity, by something at times approaching madness, which paralyzed his efficiency by placing him in a glaringly false relation to some of the best men in the world around him. he possessed certain good qualities in excess; for, though it sounds paradoxical, it is none the less true that a man may be too tolerant, too fond of liberty: and it was precisely the extravagance of these virtues in shelley which drove him into acts and utterances so antagonistic to society as to be intolerable. of shelley's poetical studies we hear but little at this epoch. his genius by a stretch of fancy might be compared to one of those double stars which dart blue and red rays of light: for it was governed by two luminaries, poetry and metaphysics; and at this time the latter seems to have been in the ascendant. it is, however, interesting to learn that he read and re-read landor's "gebir"--stronger meat than either southey's epics or the ghost-lyrics of monk lewis. hogg found him one day busily engaged in correcting proofs of some original poems. shelley asked his friend what he thought of them, and hogg answered that it might be possible by a little alteration to turn them into capital burlesques. the idea took the young poet's fancy; and the friends between them soon effected a metamorphosis in shelley's serious verses, by which they became unmistakably ridiculous. having achieved their purpose, they now bethought them of the proper means of publication. upon whom should the poems, a medley of tyrannicide and revolutionary raving, be fathered? peg nicholson, a mad washerwoman, had recently attempted george the third's life with a carving-knife. no more fitting author could be found. they would give their pamphlet to the world as her work, edited by an admiring nephew. the printer appreciated the joke no less than the authors of it. he provided splendid paper and magnificent type; and before long the book of nonsense was in the hands of oxford readers. it sold for the high price of half-a-crown a copy; and, what is hardly credible, the gownsmen received it as a genuine production. "it was indeed a kind of fashion to be seen reading it in public, as a mark of nice discernment, of a delicate and fastidious taste in poetry, and the best criterion of a choice spirit." such was the genesis of "posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson", edited by john fitz victor. the name of the supposititious nephew reminds us of "original poems" by victor and cazire, and raises the question whether the poems in that lost volume may not have partly furnished forth this oxford travesty. shelley's next publication, or quasi-publication, was neither so innocent in substance nor so pleasant in its consequences. after leaving eton, he continued the habit, learned from dr. lind, of corresponding with distinguished persons whom he did not personally know. thus we find him about this time addressing miss felicia browne (afterwards mrs. hemans) and leigh hunt. he plied his correspondents with all kinds of questions; and as the dialectical interest was uppermost at oxford, he now endeavoured to engage them in discussions on philosophical and religious topics. we have seen that his favourite authors were locke, hume, and the french materialists. with the impulsiveness peculiar to his nature, he adopted the negative conclusions of a shallow nominalistic philosophy. it was a fundamental point with him to regard all questions, however sifted and settled by the wise of former ages, as still open; and in his inordinate thirst for liberty, he rejoiced to be the deicide of a pernicious theological delusion. in other words, he passed at oxford by one leap from a state of indifferentism with regard to christianity, into an attitude of vehement antagonism. with a view to securing answers to his missives, he printed a short abstract of hume's and other arguments against the existence of a deity, presented in a series of propositions, and signed with a mathematically important "q.e.d." this document he forwarded to his proposed antagonists, expressing his inability to answer its arguments, and politely requesting them to help him. when it so happened that any incautious correspondents acceded to this appeal, shelley fell with merciless severity upon their feeble and commonplace reasoning. the little pamphlet of two pages was entitled "the necessity of atheism"; and its proposed publication, beyond the limits of private circulation already described, is proved by an advertisement (february , ) in the "oxford university and city herald". it was not, however, actually offered for sale. a copy of this syllabus reached a fellow of another college, who made the master of the university acquainted with the fact. on the morning of march , , shelley was sent for to the senior common room, and asked whether he acknowledged himself to be the author of the obnoxious pamphlet. on his refusal to answer this question, he was served with a formal sentence of expulsion duly drawn up and sealed. the college authorities have been blamed for unfair dealing in this matter. it is urged that they ought to have proceeded by the legal method of calling witnesses; and that the sentence was not only out of all proportion to the offence, but that it ought not to have been executed till persuasion had been tried. with regard to the former indictment, i do not think that a young man still in statu pupillari, who refused to purge himself of what he must have known to be a serious charge, had any reason to expect from his tutors the formalities of an english court of law. there is no doubt that the fellows were satisfied of his being the real author; else they could not have ventured on so summary a measure as expulsion. their question was probably intended to give the culprit an occasion for apology, of which they foresaw he would not avail himself. with regard to the second, it is true that shelley was amenable to kindness, and that gentle and wise treatment from men whom he respected might possibly have brought him to retract his syllabus. but it must be remembered that he despised the oxford dons with all his heart; and they were probably aware of this. he was a dexterous, impassioned reasoner, whom they little cared to encounter in argument on such a topic. during his short period of residence, moreover, he had not shown himself so tractable as to secure the good wishes of superiors, who prefer conformity to incommensurable genius. it is likely that they were not averse to getting rid of him as a man dangerous to the peace of their society; and now they had a good occasion. nor was it to be expected that the champion and apostle of atheism--and shelley was certainly both, in spite of hogg's attempts to tone down the purpose of his document--should be unmolested in his propaganda by the aspirants to fat livings and ecclesiastical dignities. real blame, however, attaches to these men: first, for their dulness to discern shelley's amiable qualities; and, secondly, for the prejudgment of the case implied in the immediate delivery of their sentence. both hogg and shelley accused them, besides, of a gross brutality, which was, to say the least, unseemly on so serious an occasion. at the beginning of this century the learning and the manners of oxford dons were at a low ebb; and the fellows of university college acted harshly but not altogether unjustly, ignorantly but after their own kind, in this matter of shelley's expulsion. $non ragionem di lor, ma guarda e passa. hogg, who stood by his friend manfully at this crisis, and dared the authorities to deal with him as they had dealt with shelley, adding that they had just as much real proof to act upon in his case, and intimating his intention of returning the same answer as to the authorship of the pamphlet, was likewise expelled. the two friends left oxford together by coach on the morning of the th of march. shelley felt his expulsion acutely. at oxford he had enjoyed the opportunities of private reading which the university afforded in those days of sleepy studies and innocuous examinations. he delighted in the security of his "oak," and above all things he found pleasure in the society of his one chosen friend. he was now obliged to exchange these good things for the tumult and discomfort of london. his father, after clumsily attempting compromises, had forbidden his return to field place. the whole fabric of his former life was broken up. the last hope of renewing his engagement with his cousin had to be abandoned. his pecuniary position was precarious, and in a short time he was destined to lose the one friend who had so generously shared his fate. yet the notion of recovering his position as a student in one of our great universities, of softening his father's indignation, or of ameliorating his present circumstances by the least concession, never seems to have occurred to him. he had suffered in the cause of truth and liberty, and he willingly accepted his martyrdom for conscience' sake. chapter . life in london and first marriage. it is of some importance at this point to trace the growth and analyse the substance of shelley's atheistical opinions. the cardinal characteristic of his nature was an implacable antagonism to shams and conventions, which passed too easily into impatient rejection of established forms as worse than useless. born in the stronghold of squirearchical prejudices, nursed amid the trivial platitudes that then passed in england for philosophy, his keen spirit flew to the opposite pole of thought with a recoil that carried him at first to inconsiderate negation. his passionate love of liberty, his loathing for intolerance, his impatience of control for self and others, and his vivid logical sincerity, combined to make him the quixotic champion of extreme opinions. he was too fearless to be wise, too precipitate to suspend his judgment, too convinced of the paramount importance of iconoclasm, to mature his views in silence. with the unbounded audacity of youth, he hoped to take the fortresses of "anarch custom" by storm at the first assault. his favourite ideal was the vision of a youth, laon or lionel, whose eloquence had power to break the bonds of despotism, as the sun thaws ice upon an april morning. it was enough, he thought, to hurl the glove of defiance boldly at the tyrant's face--to sow the "necessity of atheism" broadcast on the bench of bishops, and to depict incest in his poetry, not because he wished to defend it, but because society must learn to face the most abhorrent problems with impartiality. gifted with a touch as unerring as ithuriel's spear for the unmasking of hypocrisy, he strove to lay bare the very substance of the soul beneath the crust of dogma and the froth of traditional beliefs; nor does it seem to have occurred to him that, while he stripped the rags and patches that conceal the nakedness of ordinary human nature, he might drag away the weft and woof of nobler thought. in his poet-philosopher's imagination there bloomed a wealth of truth and love and beauty so abounding, that behind the mirage he destroyed, he saw no blank, but a new eternal city of the spirit. he never doubted whether his fellow-creatures were certain to be equally fortunate. shelley had no faculty for compromise, no perception of the blended truths and falsehoods through which the mind of man must gradually win its way from the obscurity of myths into the clearness of positive knowledge, for ever toiling and for ever foiled, and forced to content itself with the increasing consciousness of limitations. brimming over with love for men, he was deficient in sympathy with the conditions under which they actually think and feel. could he but dethrone the anarch custom, the millennium, he argued, would immediately arrive; nor did he stop to think how different was the fibre of his own soul from that of the unnumbered multitudes around him. in his adoration of what he recognized as living, he retained no reverence for the ossified experience of past ages. the principle of evolution, which forms a saving link between the obsolete and the organically vital, had no place in his logic. the spirit of the french revolution, uncompromising, shattering, eager to build in a day the structure which long centuries of growth must fashion, was still fresh upon him. we who have survived the enthusiasm of that epoch, who are exhausted with its passions, and who have suffered from its reactive impulses, can scarcely comprehend the vivid faith and young-eyed joy of aspiration which sustained shelley in his flight toward the region of impossible ideals. for he had a vital faith; and this faith made the ideals he conceived seem possible--faith in the duty and desirability of overthrowing idols; faith in the gospel of liberty, fraternity, equality; faith in the divine beauty of nature; faith in a love that rules the universe; faith in the perfectibility of man; faith in the omnipresent soul, whereof our souls are atoms; faith in affection as the ruling and co-ordinating substance of morality. the man who lived by this faith was in no vulgar sense of the word an atheist. when he proclaimed himself to be one, he pronounced his hatred of a gloomy religion, which had been the instrument of kings and priests for the enslavement of their fellow-creatures. as he told his friend trelawny, he used the word atheism "to express his abhorrence of superstition; he took it up as a knight took up a gauntlet, in defiance of injustice." but shelley believed too much to be consistently agnostic. he believed so firmly and intensely in his own religion--a kind of passionate positivism, a creed which seemed to have no god because it was all god--that he felt convinced he only needed to destroy accepted figments, for the light which blazed around him to break through and flood the world with beauty. shelley can only be called an atheist, in so far as he maintained the inadequacy of hitherto received conceptions of the deity, and indignantly rejected that moloch of cruelty who is worshipped in the debased forms of christianity. he was an agnostic only in so far as he proclaimed the impossibility of solving the insoluble, and knowing the unknowable. his clear and fearless utterances upon these points place him in the rank of intellectual heroes. but his own soul, compact of human faith and love, was far too religious and too sanguine to merit either epithet as vulgarly applied. the negative side of shelley's creed had the moral value which attaches to all earnest conviction, plain speech, defiance of convention, and enthusiasm for intellectual liberty at any cost. it was marred, however, by extravagance, crudity, and presumption. much that he would fain have destroyed because he found it customary, was solid, true, and beneficial. much that he thought it desirable to substitute, was visionary, hollow, and pernicious. he lacked the touchstone of mature philosophy, whereby to separate the pinchbeck from the gold of social usage; and in his intense enthusiasm he lost his hold on common sense, which might have saved him from the puerility of arrogant iconoclasm. the positive side of his creed remains precious, not because it was logical, or scientific, or coherent, but because it was an ideal, fervently felt, and penetrated with the whole life-force of an incomparable nature. such ideals are needed for sustaining man upon his path amid the glooms and shadows of impenetrable ignorance. the form the seal and pledge of his spiritual dignity, reminding him that he was not born to live like brutes, or like the brutes to perish without effort. fatti non foste a viver come bruti, ma per seguir virtude e conoscenza. these criticisms apply to the speculations of shelley's earlier life, when his crusade against accepted usage was extravagant, and his confidence in the efficacy of mere eloquence to change the world was overweening. the experience of years, however, taught him wisdom without damping his enthusiasm, refined the crudity of his first fervent speculations, and mellowed his philosophy. had he lived to a ripe age, there is no saying with what clear and beneficent lustre might have shone that light of aspiration which during his turbid youth burned somewhat luridly, and veiled its radiance in the smoke of mere rebelliousness and contradiction. hogg and shelley settled in lodgings at no. , poland street, soon after their arrival in london. the name attracted shelley: "it reminded him of thaddeus of warsaw and of freedom." he was further fascinated by a gaudy wall-paper of vine-trellises and grapes, which adorned the parlour; and vowed that he would stay there for ever. "for ever," was a word often upon shelley's lips in the course of his chequered life; and yet few men have been subject to so many sudden changes through the buffetings of fortune from without and the inconstancy of their own purpose, than he was. his biographer has no little trouble to trace and note with accuracy his perpetual flittings and the names of his innumerable temporary residences. a month had not elapsed before hogg left him in order to begin his own law studies at york; and shelley abode "alone in the vine-trellised chamber, where he was to remain, a bright-eyed, restless fox amidst sour grapes, not, as his poetic imagination at first suggested, for ever, but a little while longer." the records of this first residence in london are meagre, but not unimportant. we hear of negotiations and interviews with mr. timothy shelley, all of which proved unavailing. shelley would not recede from the position he had taken up. nothing would induce him to break off his intimacy with hogg, or to place himself under the tutor selected for him by his father. for paley's, or as mr. shelley called him "palley's," evidences he expressed unbounded contempt. the breach between them gradually widened. mr. shelley at last determined to try the effect of cutting off supplies; but his son only hardened his heart, and sustained himself by a proud consciousness of martyrdom. i agree with shelley's last and best biographer, mr. w.m. rossetti, in his condemnation of the poet's behaviour as a son. shelley did not treat his father with the common consideration due from youth to age; and the only instances of unpardonable bad taste to be found in his correspondence or the notes of his conversation, are insulting phrases applied to a man who was really more unfortunate than criminal in his relations to this changeling from the realms of faery. it is not too much to say that his dislike of his father amounted to derangement; and certainly some of his suspicions with regard to him were the hallucinations of a heated fancy. how so just and gentle a nature was brought into so false a moral situation, whether by some sudden break-down of confidence in childhood or by a gradually increasing mistrust, is an interesting but perhaps insoluble problem. we only know that in his early boyhood shelley loved his father so much as to have shown unusual emotion during his illness on one occasion, but that, while at eton he had already become possessed by a dark suspicion concerning him. this is proved by the episode of dr. lind's visit during his fever. then and ever afterwards he expected monstrous treatment at his hands, although the elder gentleman was nothing worse than a muddle-headed squire. it has more than once occurred to me that this fever may have been a turning point in his history, and that a delusion, engendered by delirium, may have fixed itself upon his mind, owing to some imperfection in the process of recovery. but the theory is too speculative and unsupported by proof to be more than passingly alluded to. at this time shelley found it difficult to pay his lodgings and to buy food. it is said that his sisters saved their pocket-money to support him: and we know that he paid them frequent visits at their school on clapham common. it was here that his characteristic hatred of tyranny displayed itself on two occasions. "one day," writes miss hellen shelley, "his ire was greatly excited at a black mark hung round one of our throats, as a penalty for some small misdemeanour. he expressed great disapprobation, more of the system than that one of his sisters should be so punished. another time he found me, i think, in an iron collar, which certainly was a dreadful instrument of torture in my opinion. it was not worn as a punishment, but because i poked; but bysshe declared that it would make me grow crooked, and ought to be discontinued immediately." the acquaintance which he now made with one of his sister's school friends was destined to lead to most important results. (it is probable that he saw her for the first time in january, .) harriet westbrook was a girl of sixteen years, remarkably good-looking, with a brilliant pink and white complexion, beautiful brown hair, a pleasant voice, and a cheerful temper. she was the daughter of a man who kept a coffee-house in mount street, nick-named "jew" westbrook, because of his appearance. she had an elder sister, called eliza, dark of complexion, and gaunt of figure, with the abundant hair that plays so prominent a part in hogg's relentless portrait. eliza, being nearly twice as old as harriet, stood in the relation of a mother to her. both of these young ladies, and the "jew" their father, welcomed shelley with distinguished kindness. though he was penniless for the nonce, exiled from his home, and under the ban of his family's displeasure, he was still the heir to a large landed fortune and a baronetcy. it was not to be expected that the coffee-house people should look upon him with disfavour. shelley paid harriet frequent visits, both at mrs. fenning's school and at mount street, and soon began a correspondence with her, hoping, as he expressly stated in a letter of a later date, by converting her to his theories, to add his sister and her "to the list of the good, the disinterested and the free." at first she seems to have been horrified at the opinions he expressed; but in this case at least he did not overrate the powers of eloquence. with all the earnestness of an evangelist, he preached his gospel of freethought or atheism, and had the satisfaction of forming his young pupil to his views. he does not seem to have felt any serious inclination for harriet; but in the absence of other friends, he gladly availed himself of her society. gradually she became more interesting to him, when he heard mysterious accounts of suffering at home and tyranny at school. this was enough to rouse in shelley the spirit of quixotic championship, if not to sow the seeds of love. what harriet's ill-treatment really was, no one has been able to discover; yet she used to affirm that her life at this time was so irksome that she contemplated suicide. during the summer of , shelley's movements were more than usually erratic, and his mind was in a state of extraordinary restlessness. in the month of may, a kind of accommodation was come to with his father. he received permission to revisit field place, and had an allowance made him of pounds a year. his uncle, captain pilfold of cuckfield, was instrumental in effecting this partial reconciliation. shelley spent some time at his uncle's country house, oscillating between london, cuckfield, and field place, with characteristic rapidity, and paying one flying visit to his cousin grove at cwm elan, near rhayader, in north wales. this visit is worth mention, since he now for the first time saw the scenery of waterfalls and mountains. he was, however, too much preoccupied to take much interest in nature. he was divided between his old affection for miss grove, his new but somewhat languid interest in harriet, and a dearly cherished scheme for bringing about a marriage between his sister elizabeth and his friend hogg. the letters written to hogg at this period (volume pages - ) are exceedingly important and interesting, revealing as they do the perturbation of his feelings and the almost morbid excitement of his mind. but they are unluckily so badly edited, whether designedly or by accident, that it would be dangerous to draw minute conclusions from them. as they stand, they raise injurious suspicions, which can only be set at rest by a proper assignment of dates and explanation. meanwhile his destiny was shaping itself with a rapidity that plunged him suddenly into decisive and irrevocable action. it is of the greatest moment to ascertain precisely what his feelings were during this summer with regard to harriet. hogg has printed two letters in immediate juxtaposition: the first without date, the second with the post-mark of rhayader. shelley ends the first epistle thus: "your jokes on harriet westbrook amuse me: it is a common error for people to fancy others in their own situation, but if i know anything about love, i am not in love. i have heard from the westbrooks, both of whom i highly esteem." he begins the second with these words: "you will perhaps see me before you can answer this; perhaps not; heaven knows! i shall certainly come to york, but harriet westbrook will decide whether now or in three weeks. her father has persecuted her in a most horrible way, by endeavouring to compel her to go to school. she asked my advice: resistance was the answer, at the same time that i essayed to mollify mr. w. in vain! and in consequence of my advice she has thrown herself upon my protection. i set off for london on monday. how flattering a distinction!--i am thinking of ten million things at once. what have i said? i declare, quite ludicrous. i advised her to resist. she wrote to say that resistance was useless, but that she would fly with me, and threw herself upon my protection. we shall have pounds a year; when we find it run short, we must live, i suppose, upon love! gratitude and admiration, all demand that i should love her for ever. we shall see you at york. i will hear your arguments for matrimonialism, by which i am now almost convinced. i can get lodgings at york, i suppose. direct to me at graham's, sackville street, piccadilly." from a letter recently published by mr. w.m. rossetti (the university magazine, february ), we further learn that harriet, having fallen violently in love with her preceptor, had avowed her passion and flung herself into his arms. it is clear from these documents, first, that shelley was not deeply in love with harriet when he eloped with her; secondly, that he was not prepared for the step; thirdly, that she induced him to take it; and fourthly, that he took it under a strong impression of her having been ill-treated. she had appealed to his most powerful passion, the hatred of tyranny. she had excited his admiration by setting conventions at defiance, and showing her readiness to be his mistress. her confidence called forth his gratitude. her choice of him for a protector flattered him: and, moreover, she had acted on his advice to carry resistance a outrance. there are many good shelleyan reasons why he should elope with harriet; but among them all i do not find that spontaneous and unsophisticated feeling, which is the substance of enduring love. in the same series of letters, so incoherently jumbled together by hogg's carelessness or caprice, shelley more than once expresses the utmost horror of matrimony. yet we now find him upon the verge of contracting marriage with a woman whom he did not passionately love, and who had offered herself unreservedly to him. it is worth pausing to observe that even shelley, fearless and uncompromising as he was in conduct, could not at this crisis practise the principles he so eloquently impressed on others. yet the point of weakness was honourable. it lay in his respect for women in general, and in his tender chivalry for the one woman who had cast herself upon his generosity. (see shelley's third letter to godwin (hogg page ) for another defence of his conduct. "we agreed," etc.) "my unfortunate friend harriet," he writes under date august , , from london, whether he had hurried to arrange the affairs of his elopement, "is yet undecided; not with respect to me, but to herself. how much, my dear friend, have i to tell you. in my leisure moments for thought, which since i wrote have been few, i have considered the important point on which you reprobated my hasty decision. the ties of love and honour are doubtless of sufficient strength to bind congenial souls--they are doubtless indissoluble, but by the brutish force of power; they are delicate and satisfactory. yet the arguments of impracticability, and what is even worse, the disproportionate sacrifice which the female is called upon to make--these arguments, which you have urged in a manner immediately irresistible, i cannot withstand. not that i suppose it to be likely that _i_ shall directly be called upon to evince my attachment to either theory. i am become a perfect convert to matrimony, not from temporizing, but from your arguments; nor, much as i wish to emulate your virtues and liken myself to you, do i regret the prejudices of anti-matrimonialism from your example or assertion. no. the one argument, which you have urged so often with so much energy; the sacrifice made by the woman, so disproportioned to any which the man can give--this alone may exculpate me, were it a fault, from uninquiring submission to your superior intellect." whether shelley from his own peculiar point of view was morally justified in twice marrying, is a question of casuistry which has often haunted me. the reasons he alleged in extenuation of his conduct with regard to harriet prove the goodness of his heart, his openness to argument, and the delicacy of his unselfishness. but they do not square with his expressed code of conduct; nor is it easy to understand how, having found it needful to submit to custom, for his partner's sake, he should have gone on denouncing an institution which he recognized in his own practice. the conclusion seems to be that, though he despised accepted usage, and would fain have fashioned the world afresh to suit his heart's desire, the instincts of a loyal gentleman and his practical good sense were stronger than his theories. a letter from shelley's cousin, mr. c.h. grove, gives the details of harriet's elopement. "when bysshe finally came to town to elope with miss westbrook, he came as usual to lincoln's inn fields, and i was his companion on his visits to her, and finally accompanied them early one morning--i forget now the month, or the date, but it might have been september--in a hackney coach to the green dragon, in gracechurch street, where we remained all day, till the hour when the mail-coaches start, when they departed in the northern mail for york." from york the young couple made their way at once to edinburgh, where they were married according to the formalities of the scotch law. shelley had now committed that greatest of social crimes in his father's eyes--a mesalliance. supplies and communications were at once cut off from the prodigal; and it appears that harriet and he were mainly dependent upon the generosity of captain pilfold for subsistence. even jew westbrook, much as he may have rejoiced at seeing his daughter wedded to the heir of several thousands a year, buttoned up his pockets, either because he thought it well to play the part of an injured parent, or because he was not certain about shelley's expectations. he afterwards made the shelleys an allowance of pounds a year, and early in shelley says that he is in receipt of twice that income. whence we may conclude that both fathers before long relented to the extent of the sum above mentioned. in spite of temporary impecuniosity, the young people lived happily enough in excellent lodgings in george street. hogg, who joined them early in september, has drawn a lively picture of their domesticity. much of the day was spent in reading aloud; for harriet, who had a fine voice and excellent lungs, was never happy unless she was allowed to read and comment on her favourite authors. shelley sometimes fell asleep during the performance of these rites; but when he woke refreshed with slumber, he was no less ready than at oxford to support philosophical paradoxes with impassioned and persuasive eloquence. he began to teach harriet latin, set her to work upon the translation of a french story by madame cottin, and for his own part executed a version of one of buffon's treatises. the sitting-room was full of books. it was one of shelley's peculiarities to buy books wherever he went, regardless of their volume or their cost. these he was wont to leave behind, when the moment arrived for a sudden departure from his temporary abode; so that, as hogg remarks, a fine library might have been formed from the waifs and strays of his collections scattered over the three kingdoms. this quiet course of life was diversified by short rambles in the neighbourhood of edinburgh, and by many episodes related with hogg's caustic humour. on the whole, the impression left upon the reader's mind is that shelley and harriet were very happy together at this period, and that harriet was a charming and sweet-tempered girl, somewhat too much given to the study of trite ethics, and slightly deficient in sensibility, but otherwise a fit and soothing companion for the poet. they were not, however, content to remain in edinburgh. hogg was obliged to leave that city, in order to resume his law studies at york, and shelley's programme of life at this period imperatively required the society of his chosen comrade. it was therefore decided that the three friends should settle at york, to remain "for ever" in each other's company. they started in a post-chaise, the good harriet reading aloud novels by the now forgotten holcroft with untiring energy, to charm the tedium of the journey. at york more than one cloud obscured their triune felicity. in the first place they were unfortunate in their choice of lodgings. in the second shelley found himself obliged to take an expensive journey to london, in the fruitless attempt to come to some terms with his father's lawyer, mr. whitton. mr. timothy shelley was anxious to bind his erratic son down to a settlement of the estates, which, on his own death, would pass into the poet's absolute control. he suggested numerous arrangements; and not long after the date of shelley's residence in york, he proposed to make him an immediate allowance of pounds, if shelley would but consent to entail the land on his heirs male. this offer was indignantly refused. shelley recognized the truth that property is a trust far more than a possession, and would do nothing to tie up so much command over labour, such incalculable potentialities of social good or evil, for an unborn being of whose opinions he knew nothing. this is only one among many instances of his readiness to sacrifice ease, comfort, nay, the bare necessities of life, for principle. on his return to york, shelley found a new inmate established in their lodgings. the incomparable eliza, who was henceforth doomed to guide his destinies to an obscure catastrophe, had arrived from london. harriet believed her sister to be a paragon of beauty, good sense, and propriety. she obeyed her elder sister like a mother; never questioned her wisdom; and foolishly allowed her to interpose between herself and her husband. hogg had been told before her first appearance in the friendly circle that eliza was "beautiful, exquisitely beautiful; an elegant figure, full of grace; her face was lovely,--dark, bright eyes; jet-black hair, glossy; a crop upon which she bestowed the care it merited,--almost all her time; and she was so sensible, so amiable, so good!" now let us listen to the account he has himself transmitted of this woman, whom certainly he did not love, and to whom poor shelley had afterwards but little reason to feel gratitude. "she was older than i had expected, and she looked much older than she was. the lovely face was seamed with the smallpox, and of a dead white, as faces so much marked and scarred commonly are; as white indeed as a mass of boiled rice, but of a dingy hue, like rice boiled in dirty water. the eyes were dark, but dull, and without meaning; the hair was black and glossy, but coarse; and there was the admired crop--a long crop, much like the tail of a horse--a switch tail. the fine figure was meagre, prim, and constrained. the beauty, the grace, and the elegance existed, no doubt, in their utmost perfection, but only in the imagination of her partial young sister. her father, as harriet told me, was familiarly called 'jew westbrook,' and eliza greatly resembled one of the dark-eyed daughters of judah." this portrait is drawn, no doubt, with an unfriendly hand; and, in hogg's biography, each of its sarcastic touches is sustained with merciless reiteration, whenever the mention of eliza's name is necessary. we hear, moreover, how she taught the blooming harriet to fancy that she was a victim of her nerves, how she checked her favourite studies, and how she ruled the household by continual reference to a mrs. grundy of her earlier experience. "what would miss warne say?" was as often on her lips, if we may credit hogg, as the brush and comb were in her hands. the intrusion of eliza disturbed the harmony of shelley's circle; but it is possible that there were deeper reasons for the abrupt departure which he made from york with his wife and her sister in november, . one of his biographers asserts with categorical precision that shelley had good cause to resent hogg's undue familiarity with harriet, and refers to a curious composition, published by hogg as a continuation of goethe's "werther", but believed by mr. mccarthy to have been a letter from the poet to his friend, in confirmation of his opinion. (mccarthy's shelley's early life, page .) however this may be, the precipitation with which the shelleys quitted york, scarcely giving hogg notice of their resolution, is insufficiently accounted for in his biography. the destination of the travellers was keswick. here they engaged lodgings for a time, and then moved into a furnished house. probably shelley was attracted to the lake country as much by the celebrated men who lived there, as by the beauty of its scenery, and the cheapness of its accommodation. he had long entertained an admiration for southey's poetry, and was now beginning to study wordsworth and coleridge. but if he hoped for much companionship with the literary lions of the lakes, he was disappointed. coleridge was absent, and missed making his acquaintance--a circumstance he afterwards regretted, saying that he could have been more useful to the young poet and metaphysician than southey. de quincey, though he writes ambiguously upon this point, does not seem to have met shelley. wordsworth paid him no attention; and though he saw a good deal of southey, this intimacy changed shelley's early liking for the man and poet into absolute contempt. it was not likely that the cold methodical student, the mechanical versifier, and the political turncoat, who had outlived all his earlier illusions, should retain the good-will of such an ariel as shelley, in whose brain "queen mab" was already simmering. life at keswick began to be monotonous. it was, however, enlivened by a visit to the duke of norfolk's seat, greystoke. shelley spent his last guinea on the trip; but though the ladies of his family enjoyed the honour of some days passed in ducal hospitalities, the visit was not fruitful of results. the duke at this time kindly did his best, but without success, to bring about a reconciliation between his old friend, the member for horsham, and his rebellious son. another important incident of the keswick residence was shelley's letter to william godwin, whose work on political justice he had studied with unbounded admiration. he never spoke of this book without respect in after-life, affirming that the perusal of it had turned his attention from romances to questions of public utility. the earliest letter dated to godwin from keswick, january , , is in many respects remarkable, and not the least so as a specimen of self-delineation. he entreats godwin to become his guide, philosopher, and friend, urging that "if desire for universal happiness has any claim upon your preference," if persecution and injustice suffered in the cause of philanthropy and truth may commend a young man to william godwin's regard, he is not unworthy of this honour. we who have learned to know the flawless purity of shelley's aspirations, can refrain from smiling at the big generalities of this epistle. words which to men made callous by long contact with the world, ring false and wake suspicion, were for shelley but the natural expression of his most abiding mood. yet godwin may be pardoned if he wished to know more in detail of the youth, who sought to cast himself upon his care in all the panoply of phrases about philanthropy and universal happiness. shelley's second letter contains an extraordinary mixture of truth willingly communicated, and of curious romance, illustrating his tendency to colour facts with the hallucinations of an ardent fancy. of his sincerity there is, i think, no doubt. he really meant what he wrote; and yet we have no reason to believe the statement that he was twice expelled from eton for disseminating the doctrines of "political justice", or that his father wished to drive him by poverty to accept a commission in some distant regiment, in order that he might prosecute the "necessity of atheism" in his absence, procure a sentence of outlawry, and so convey the family estates to his younger brother. the embroidery of bare fact with a tissue of imagination was a peculiarity of shelley's mind; and this letter may be used as a key for the explanation of many strange occurrences in his biography. what he tells godwin about his want of love for his father, and his inability to learn from the tutors imposed upon him at eton and oxford, represents the simple truth. only from teachers chosen by himself, and recognized as his superiors by his own deliberate judgment, can he receive instruction. to godwin he resigns himself with the implicit confidence of admiration. godwin was greatly struck with this letter. indeed, he must have been "or god or beast," like the insensible man in aristotle's "ethics", if he could have resisted the devotion of so splendid and high-spirited a nature, poured forth in language at once so vehement and so convincingly sincere. he accepted the responsible post of shelley's mentor; and thus began a connexion which proved not only a source of moral support and intellectual guidance to the poet, but was also destined to end in a closer personal tie between the two illustrious men. in his second letter shelley told godwin that he was then engaged in writing "an inquiry into the causes of the failure of the french revolution to benefit mankind," adding, "my plan is that of resolving to lose no opportunity to disseminate truth and happiness." godwin sensibly replied that shelley was too young to set himself up as a teacher and apostle: but his pupil did not take the hint. a third letter (january , ) contains this startling announcement: "in a few days we set off to dublin. i do not know exactly where, but a letter addressed to keswick will find me. our journey has been settled some time. we go principally to forward as much as we can the catholic emancipation." in a fourth letter (january , ) he informs godwin that he has already prepared an address to the catholics of ireland, and combats the dissuasions of his counsellor with ingenious arguments to prove that his contemplated expedition can do no harm, and may be fruitful of great good. it appears that for some time past shelley had devoted his attention to irish politics. the persecution of mr. peter finnerty, an irish journalist and editor of "the press" newspaper, who had been sentenced to eighteen months' imprisonment in lincoln jail (between february , , and august , ) for plain speech about lord castlereagh, roused his hottest indignation. he published a poem, as yet unrecovered, for his benefit; the proceeds of the sale amounting, it is said, to nearly one hundred pounds. (mccarthy, page .) the young enthusiast, who was attempting a philosophic study of the french revolution, whose heart was glowing with universal philanthropy, and who burned to disseminate truth and happiness, judged that ireland would be a fitting field for making a first experiment in practical politics. armed with the manuscript of his "address to the irish people" (it was published in dublin. see reprint in mccarthy, page .), he set sail with harriet and eliza on the rd of february from whitehaven. they touched the isle of man; and after a very stormy passage, which drove them to the north coast of ireland, and forced them to complete their journey by land, the party reached dublin travel-worn, but with unabated spirit, on the th. harriet shared her husband's philanthropical enthusiasm. "my wife," wrote shelley to godwin, "is the partner of my thoughts and feelings." indeed, there is abundant proof in both his letters and hers, about this period, that they felt and worked together. miss westbrook, meantime, ruled the household; "eliza keeps our common stock of money for safety in some nook or corner of her dress, but we are not dependent on her, although she gives it out as we want it." this master-touch of unconscious delineation tells us all we need to know about the domestic party now established in , lower sackville street. before a week had passed, the "address to the irish people" had been printed. shelley and harriet immediately engaged their whole energies in the task of distribution. it was advertised for sale; but that alone seemed insufficient. on the th of february shelley wrote to a friend in england: "i have already sent of my irish pamphlets into the world, and they have excited a sensation of wonder in dublin. eleven hundred yet remain for distribution. copies have been sent to sixty public houses.... expectation is on the tiptoe. i send a man out every day to distribute copies, with instructions where and how to give them. his account corresponds with the multitudes of people who possess them. i stand at the balcony of our window and watch till i see a man who looks likely. i throw a book to him." a postscript to this letter lets us see the propaganda from harriet's point of view. "i am sure you would laugh were you to see us give the pamphlets. we throw them out of the window, and give them to men that we pass in the streets. for myself, i am ready to die of laughter when it is done, and percy looks so grave. yesterday he put one into a woman's hood of a cloak." the purpose of this address was to rouse the irish people to a sense of their real misery, to point out that catholic emancipation and a repeal of the union act were the only radical remedies for their wrongs, and to teach them the spirit in which they should attempt a revolution. on the last point shelley felt intensely. the whole address aims at the inculcation of a noble moral temper, tolerant, peaceful, resolute, rational, and self-denying. considered as a treatise on the principles which should govern patriots during a great national crisis, the document is admirable: and if the inhabitants of dublin had been a population of shelleys, its effect might have been permanent and overwhelming. the mistake lay in supposing that a people whom the poet himself described as "of scarcely greater elevation in the scale of intellectual being than the oyster," were qualified to take the remedy of their grievances into their own hands, or were amenable to such sound reasoning as he poured forth. he told godwin that he had "wilfully vulgarized the language of this pamphlet, in order to reduce the remarks it contains to the taste and comprehension of the irish peasantry." a few extracts will enable the reader to judge how far he had succeeded in this aim. i select such as seem to me most valuable for the light they throw upon his own opinions. "all religions are good which make men good; and the way that a person ought to prove that his method of worshipping god is best, is for himself to be better than all other men." "a protestant is my brother, and a catholic is my brother." "do not inquire if a man be a heretic, if he be a quaker, a jew, or a heathen; but if he be a virtuous man, if he loves liberty and truth, if he wish the happiness and peace of human kind. if a man be ever so much a believer and love not these things, he is a heartless hypocrite, a rascal and a knave." "it is not a merit to tolerate, but it is a crime to be intolerant." "anything short of unlimited toleration and complete charity with all men, on which you will recollect that jesus christ principally insisted, is wrong." "be calm, mild, deliberate, patient.... think and talk and discuss.... be free and be happy, but first be wise and good." proceeding to recommend the formation of associations, he condemns secret and violent societies; "be fair, open and you will be terrible to your enemies." "habits of sobriety, regularity, and thought must be entered into and firmly resolved upon." then follow precepts, which shelley no doubt regarded as practical, for the purification of private morals, and the regulation of public discussion by the masses whom he elsewhere recognized as "thousands huddled together, one mass of animated filth." the foregoing extracts show that shelley was in no sense an inflammatory demagogue; however visionary may have been the hopes he indulged, he based those hopes upon the still more utopian foundation of a sudden ethical reform, and preached a revolution without bloodshed. we find in them, moreover, the germs of "the revolt of islam", where the hero plays the part successfully in fiction, which the poet had attempted without appreciable result in practice at dublin. the same principles guided shelley at a still later period. when he wrote his "masque of anarchy", he bade the people of england to assemble by thousands, strong in the truth and justice of their cause, invincible in peaceful opposition to force. while he was sowing his address broadcast in the streets of dublin, shelley was engaged in printing a second pamphlet on the subject of catholic emancipation. it was entitled "proposals for an association", and advocated in serious and temperate phrase the formation of a vast society, binding all the catholic patriots of ireland together, for the recovery of their rights. in estimating shelley's political sagacity, it must be remembered that catholic emancipation has since his day been brought about by the very measure he proposed and under the conditions he foresaw. speaking of the english government in his address, he used these simple phrases:--"it wants altering and mending. it will be mended, and a reform of english government will produce good to the irish." these sentences were prophetic; and perhaps they are destined to be even more so. with a view to presenting at one glance shelley's position as a practical politician, i shall anticipate the course of a few years, and compare his irish pamphlets with an essay published in , under the title of "a proposal for putting reform to the vote throughout the kingdom". he saw that the house of commons did not represent the country; and acting upon his principle that government is the servant of the governed, he sought means for ascertaining the real will of the nation with regard to its parliament, and for bringing the collective opinion of the population to bear upon its rulers. the plan proposed was that a huge network of committees should be formed, and that by their means every individual man should be canvassed. we find here the same method of advancing reform by peaceable associations as in ireland. how moderated were his own opinions with regard to the franchise, is proved by the following sentence:--"with respect to universal suffrage, i confess i consider its adoption, in the present unprepared state of public knowledge and feeling, a measure fraught with peril. i think that none but those who register their names as paying a certain small sum in direct taxes ought at present to send members to parliament." as in the case of ireland, so in that of england, subsequent events have shown that shelley's hopes were not exaggerated. while the shelleys were in dublin, a meeting of the irish catholics was announced for the evening of february . it was held in fishamble street theatre; and here shelley made his debut as an orator. he spoke for about an hour; and his speech was, on the whole, well received, though it raised some hisses at the beginning by his remarks upon roman catholicism. there is no proof that shelley, though eloquent in conversation, was a powerful public speaker. the somewhat conflicting accounts we have received of this, his maiden effort, tend to the impression that he failed to carry his audience with him. the dissemination of his pamphlets had, however, raised considerable interest in his favour; and he was welcomed by the press as an englishman of birth and fortune, who wished well to the irish cause. his youth told somewhat against him. it was difficult to take the strong words of the beardless boy at their real value; and as though to aggravate this drawback, his irish servant, daniel hill, an efficient agent in the dissemination of the address, affirmed that his master was fifteen--four years less than his real age. in dublin shelley made acquaintance with curran, whose jokes and dirty stories he could not appreciate, and with a mr. lawless, who began a history of the irish people in concert with the young philosopher. we also obtain, from one of harriet's letters, a somewhat humorous peep at another of their friends, a patriotic mrs. nugent, who supported herself by working in a furrier's shop, and who is described as "sitting in the room now, and talking to percy about virtue." after less than two months' experience of his irish propaganda, shelley came to the conclusion that he "had done all that he could." the population of dublin had not risen to the appeal of their laon with the rapidity he hoped for; and accordingly upon the th of april he once more embarked with his family for holyhead. in after-days he used to hint that the police had given him warning that it would be well for him to leave dublin; but, though the danger of a prosecution was not wholly visionary, this intimation does not seem to have been made. before he quitted ireland, however, he despatched a box containing the remaining copies of his "address" and "proposals", together with the recently printed edition of another manifesto, called a "declaration of rights", to a friend in sussex. this box was delayed at the holyhead custom-house, and opened. its contents gave serious anxiety to the surveyor of customs, who communicated the astonishing discovery through the proper official channels to the government. after some correspondence, the authorities decided to take no steps against shelley, and the box was forwarded to its destination. the friend in question was a miss eliza hitchener, of hurstpierpoint, who kept a sort of school, and who had attracted shelley's favourable notice by her advanced political and religious opinions. he does not seem to have made her personal acquaintance; but some of his most interesting letters from ireland are addressed to her. how recklessly he entered into serious entanglements with people whom he had not learned to know, may be gathered from these extracts:--"we will meet you in wales, and never part again. it will not do. in compliance with harriet's earnest solicitations, i entreated you instantly to come and join our circle, resign your school, all, everything for us and the irish cause." "i ought to count myself a favoured mortal with such a wife and such a friend." harriet addressed this lady as "portia;" and it is an undoubted fact that soon after their return to england, miss hitchener formed one of their permanent family circle. her entrance into it and her exit from it at no very distant period are, however, both obscure. before long she acquired another name than portia in the shelley household, and now she is better known as the "brown demon." eliza westbrook took a strong dislike to her; harriet followed suit; and shelley himself found that he had liked her better at a distance than in close companionship. she had at last to be bought off or bribed to leave. the scene now shifts with bewildering frequency; nor is it easy to trace the shelleys in their rapid flight. about the st of april, they settled for a short time at nantgwilt, near rhayader, in north wales. ere long we find them at lynmouth, on the somersetshire coast. here shelley continued his political propaganda, by circulating the "declaration of rights", whereof mention has already been made. it was, as mr. w.m. rossetti first pointed out, a manifesto concerning the ends of government and the rights of man,--framed in imitation of two similar french revolutionary documents, issued by the constituent assembly in august, , and by robespierre in april, . (reprinted in mccarthy, page .) shelley used to seal this pamphlet in bottles and set it afloat upon the sea, hoping perhaps that after this wise it would traverse st. george's channel and reach the sacred soil of erin. he also employed his servant, daniel hill, to distribute it among the somersetshire farmers. on the th of august this man was arrested in the streets of barnstaple, and sentenced to six months' imprisonment for uttering a seditious pamphlet; and the remaining copies of the "declaration of rights" were destroyed. in strong contrast with the puerility of these proceedings, is the grave and lofty "letter to lord ellenborough", composed at lynmouth, and printed at barnstaple. (reprinted in lady shelley's memorials, page .) a printer, named d.j. eaton, had recently been sentenced to imprisonment by his lordship for publishing the third part of paine's "age of reason". shelley's epistle is an eloquent argument in favour of toleration and the freedom of the intellect, carrying the matter beyond the instance of legal tyranny which occasioned its composition, and treating it with philosophic, if impassioned seriousness. an extract from this composition will serve to show his power of handling weighty english prose, while yet a youth of hardly twenty. i have chosen a passage bearing on his theological opinions:-- "moral qualities are such as only a human being can possess. to attribute them to the spirit of the universe, or to suppose that it is capable of altering them, is to degrade god into man, and to annex to this incomprehensible being qualities incompatible with any possible definition of his nature. "it may be here objected: ought not the creator to possess the perfections of the creature? no. to attribute to god the moral qualities of man, is to suppose him susceptible of passions, which, arising out of corporeal organization, it is plain that a pure spirit cannot possess.... but even suppose, with the vulgar, that god is a venerable old man, seated on a throne of clouds, his breast the theatre of various passions, analogous to those of humanity, his will changeable and uncertain as that of an earthly king; still, goodness and justice are qualities seldom nominally denied him, and it will be admitted that he disapproves of any action incompatible with those qualities. persecution for opinion is unjust. with what consistency, then, can the worshippers of a deity whose benevolence they boast, embitter the existence of their fellow-being, because his ideas of that deity are different from those which they entertain? alas! there is no consistency in those persecutors who worship a benevolent deity; those who worship a demon would alone act consonantly to these principles by imprisoning and torturing in his name." shelley had more than once urged godwin and his family to visit him. the sage of skinner street thought that now was a convenient season. accordingly he left london, and travelled by coach to lynmouth, where he found that the shelleys had flitted a few days previously without giving any notice. this fruitless journey of the poet's mentor is humorously described by hogg, as well as one undertaken by himself in the following year to dublin with a similar result. the shelleys were now established at tan-yr-allt, near tremadoc, in north wales, on an estate belonging to mr. w.a. madocks, m.p. for boston. this gentleman had reclaimed a considerable extent of marshy ground from the sea, and protected it with an embankment. shelley, whose interest in the poor people around him was always keen and practical, lost no time in making their acquaintance at tremadoc. the work of utility carried out by his landlord aroused his enthusiastic admiration; and when the embankment was emperilled by a heavy sea, he got up a subscription for its preservation. heading the list with pounds, how raised, or whether paid, we know not, he endeavoured to extract similar sums from the neighbouring gentry, and even ran up with harriet to london to use his influence for the same purpose with the duke of norfolk. on this occasion he made the personal acquaintance of the godwin family. life at tanyrallt was smooth and studious, except for the diversion caused by the peril to the embankment. we hear of harriet continuing her latin studies, reading odes of horace, and projecting an epistle in that language to hogg. shelley, as usual, collected many books around him. there are letters extant in which he writes to london for spinoza and kant, plato, and the works of the chief greek historians. it appears that at this period, under the influence of godwin, he attempted to conquer a strong natural dislike of history. "i am determined to apply myself to a study which is hateful and disgusting to my very soul, but which is above all studies necessary for him who would be listened to as a mender of antiquated abuses,--i mean, that record of crimes and miseries--history." although he may have made an effort to apply himself to historical reading, he was not successful. his true bias inclined him to metaphysics coloured by a glowing fancy, and to poetry penetrated with speculative enthusiasm. in the historic sense he was deficient; and when he made a serious effort at a later period to compose a tragedy upon the death of charles i, this work was taken up with reluctance, continued with effort, and finally abandoned. in the same letters he speaks about a collection of short poems on which he was engaged, and makes frequent allusions to "queen mab". it appears, from his own assertion, and from medwin's biography, that a poem on queen mab had been projected and partially written by him at the early age of eighteen. but it was not taken seriously in hand until the spring of ; nor was it finished and printed before . the first impression was a private issue of copies, on fine paper, which shelley distributed to people whom he wished to influence. it was pirated soon after its appearance, and again in it was given to the public by a bookseller named clarke. against the latter republication shelley energetically protested, disclaiming in a letter addressed to "the examiner", from pisa, june , , any interest in a production which he had not even seen for several years. "i doubt not but that it is perfectly worthless in point of literary composition; and that in all that concerns moral and political speculation, as well as in the subtler discriminations of metaphysical and religious doctrine, it is still more crude and immature. i am a devoted enemy to religious, political and domestic oppression; and i regret this publication, not so much from literary vanity as because i fear it is better fitted to injure than to serve the sacred cause of freedom." this judgment is undoubtedly severe; but, though exaggerated in its condemnation, it, like all shelley's criticisms on his own works, expresses the truth. we cannot include "queen mab", in spite of its sonorous rhetoric and fervid declamation, in the canon of his masterpieces. it had a succes de scandale on its first appearance, and fatally injured shelley's reputation. as a work of art it lacks maturity and permanent vitality. the shelleys were suddenly driven away from tanyrallt by a mysterious occurrence, of which no satisfactory explanation has yet been given. according to letters written by himself and harriet soon after the event, and confirmed by the testimony of eliza, shelley was twice attacked upon the night of february by an armed ruffian, with whom he struggled in hand-to-hand combat. pistols were fired and windows broken, and shelley's nightgown was shot through: but the assassin made his escape from the house without being recognized. his motive and his personality still remain matters of conjecture. whether the whole affair was a figment of shelley's brain, rendered more than usually susceptible by laudanum taken to assuage intense physical pain; whether it was a perilous hoax played upon him by the irish servant, daniel hill; or whether, as he himself surmised, the crime was instigated by an unfriendly neighbour, it is impossible to say. strange adventures of this kind, blending fact and fancy in a now inextricable tangle, are of no unfrequent occurrence in shelley's biography. in estimating the relative proportions of the two factors in this case, it must be borne in mind, on the one hand, that no one but shelley, who was alone in the parlour, and who for some unexplained reason had loaded his pistols on the evening before the alleged assault, professed to have seen the villain; and, on the other, that the details furnished by harriet, and confirmed at a subsequent period by so hostile a witness as eliza, are too circumstantial to be lightly set aside. on the whole it appears most probable that shelley on this night was the subject of a powerful hallucination. the theory of his enemies at tanyrallt, that the story had been invented to facilitate his escape from the neighbourhood without paying his bills, may be dismissed. but no investigation on the spot could throw any clear light on the circumstance, and shelley's friends, hogg, peacock, and mr. madocks, concurred in regarding the affair as a delusion. there was no money in the common purse of the shelleys at this moment. in their distress they applied to mr. t. hookham, a london publisher, who sent them enough to carry them across the irish channel. after a short residence in , cuffe street, dublin, and a flying visit to killarney, they returned to london. eliza, for some reason as unexplained as the whole episode of this second visit to ireland, was left behind for a short season. the flight from tanyrallt closes the first important period of shelley's life; and his settlement in london marks the beginning of another, fruitful of the gravest consequences and decisive of his future. chapter . second residence in london, and separation from harriet. early in may the shelleys arrived in london, where they were soon joined by eliza, from whose increasingly irksome companionship the poet had recently enjoyed a few weeks' respite. after living for a short while in hotels, they took lodgings in half moon street. the house had a projecting window, where the poet loved to sit with book in hand, and catch, according to his custom, the maximum of sunlight granted by a chary english summer. "he wanted," said one of his female admirers, "only a pan of clear water and a fresh turf to look like some young lady's lark, hanging outside for air and song." according to hogg, this period of london life was a pleasant and tranquil episode in shelley's troubled career. his room was full of books, among which works of german metaphysics occupied a prominent place, though they were not deeply studied. he was now learning italian, and made his first acquaintance with tasso, ariosto, and petrarch. the habits of the household were, to say the least, irregular; for shelley took no thought of sublunary matters, and harriet was an indifferent housekeeper. dinner seems to have come to them less by forethought than by the operation of divine chance; and when there was no meat provided for the entertainment of casual guests, the table was supplied with buns, procured by shelley from the nearest pastry-cook. he had already abjured animal food and alcohol; and his favourite diet consisted of pulse or bread, which he ate dry with water, or made into panada. hogg relates how, when he was walking in the streets and felt hungry, he would dive into a baker's shop and emerge with a loaf tucked under his arm. $this he consumed as he went along, very often reading at the same time, and dodging the foot-passengers with the rapidity of movement which distinguished him. he could not comprehend how any man should want more than bread. "i have dropped a word, a hint," says hogg, "about a pudding; a pudding, bysshe said dogmatically, is a prejudice." this indifference to diet was highly characteristic of shelley. during the last years of his life, even when he was suffering from the frequent attacks of a painful disorder, he took no heed of food; and his friend, trelawny, attributes the derangement of his health, in a great measure, to this carelessness. mrs. shelley used to send him something to eat into the room where he habitually studied; but the plate frequently remained untouched for hours upon a bookshelf, and at the end of the day he might be heard asking, "mary, have i dined?" his dress was no less simple than his diet. hogg says that he never saw him in a great coat, and that his collar was unbuttoned to let the air play freely on his throat. "in the street or road he reluctantly wore a hat; but in fields and gardens, his little round head had no other covering than his long, wild, ragged locks." shelley's head, as is well known, was remarkably small and round; he used to plunge it several times a day in cold water, and expose it recklessly to the intensest heat of fire or sun. mrs. shelley relates that a great part of the "cenci" was written on their house-roof near leghorn, where shelley lay exposed to the unmitigated ardour of italian summer heat; and hogg describes him reading homer by a blazing fire-light, or roasting his skull upon the hearth-rug by the hour. these personal details cannot be omitted by the biographer of such a man as shelley. he was an elemental and primeval creature, as little subject to the laws of custom in his habits as in his modes of thought, living literally as the spirit moved him, with a natural nonchalance that has perhaps been never surpassed. to time and place he was equally indifferent, and could not be got to remember his engagements. "he took strange caprices, unfounded frights and dislikes, vain apprehensions and panic terrors, and therefore he absented himself from formal and sacred engagements. he was unconscious and oblivious of times, places, persons and seasons; and falling into some poetic vision, some day-dream, he quickly and completely forgot all that he had repeatedly and solemnly promised; or he ran away after some object of imaginary urgency and importance, which suddenly came into his head, setting off in vain pursuit of it, he knew not whither. when he was caught, brought up in custody, and turned over to the ladies, with, behold, your king! to be caressed, courted, admired, and flattered, the king of beauty and fancy would too commonly bolt; slip away, steal out, creep off; unobserved and almost magically he vanished; thus mysteriously depriving his fair subjects of his much-coveted, long looked-for company." if he had been fairly caged and found himself in congenial company, he let time pass unheeded, sitting up all night to talk, and chaining his audience by the spell of his unrivalled eloquence; for wonderful as was his poetry, those who enjoyed the privilege of converse with him, judged it even more attractive. "he was commonly most communicative, unreserved, and eloquent, and enthusiastic, when those around him were inclining to yield to the influence of sleep, or rather at the hour when they would have been disposed to seek their chambers, but for the bewitching charms of his discourse." from half moon street the shelleys moved into a house in pimlico; and it was here, according to hogg, or at cooke's hotel in dover street according to other accounts, that shelley's first child, ianthe eliza, was born about the end of june, . harriet did not take much to her little girl, and gave her over to a wet-nurse, for whom shelley conceived a great dislike. that a mother should not nurse her own baby was no doubt contrary to his principles; and the double presence of the servant and eliza, whom he now most cordially detested, made his home uncomfortable. we have it on excellent authority, that of mr. peacock, that he "was extremely fond of it (the child), and would walk up and down a room with it in his arms for a long time together, singing to it a song of his own making, which ran on the repetition of a word of his own coining. his song was yáhmani, yáhmani, yáhmani, yáhmani." to the want of sympathy between the father and the mother in this matter of ianthe, mr. peacock is inclined to attribute the beginning of troubles in the shelley household. there is, indeed, no doubt that the revelation of harriet's maternal coldness must have been extremely painful to her husband; and how far she carried her insensibility, may be gathered from a story told by hogg about her conduct during an operation performed upon the child. during this period of his sojourn in london, shelley was again in some pecuniary difficulties. yet he indulged harriet's vanity by setting up a carriage, in which they afterwards took a hurried journey to edinburgh and back. he narrowly escaped a debtor's prison through this act of extravagance, and by a somewhat ludicrous mistake hogg was arrested for the debt due to the coach-maker. his acquaintances were few and scattered, and he saw nothing of his family. gradually, however, he seems to have become a kind of prophet in a coterie of learned ladies. the views he had propounded in "queen mab", his passionate belief in the perfectibility of man, his vegetarian doctrines, and his readiness to adopt any new nostrum for the amelioration of his race, endeared him to all manners of strange people; nor was he deterred by aristocratic prejudices from frequenting society which proved extremely uncongenial to hogg, and of which we have accordingly some caustic sketches from his pen. his chief friends were a mrs. boinville, for whom he conceived an enthusiastic admiration, and her daughter cornelia, married to a vegetarian, mr. newton. in order to be near them he had moved to pimlico; and his next move, from london to a cottage named high elms, at bracknell, in berkshire, had the same object. with godwin and his family he was also on terms of familiar intercourse. under the philosopher's roof in skinner street there was now gathered a group of miscellaneous inmates--fanny imlay, the daughter of his first wife, mary wollstonecraft; mary, his own daughter by the same marriage; his second wife, and her two children, claire and charles clairmont, the offspring of a previous union. from this connexion with the godwin household events of the gravest importance in the future were destined to arise, and already it appears that fanny imlay had begun to look with perilous approval on the fascinating poet. hogg and mr. peacock, the well-known novelist, described by mrs. newton as "a cold scholar, who, i think, has neither taste nor feeling," were his only intimates. mrs. newton's unfair judgment of mr. peacock marks a discord between the two chief elements of shelley's present society; and indeed it will appear to a careful student of his biography that hogg, peacock, and harriet, now stood somewhat by themselves and aloof from the inner circle of his associates. if we regard the shelleys as the centre of an extended line, we shall find the westbrook family at one end, the boinville family at the other, with hogg and peacock somewhere in the middle. harriet was naturally drawn to the westbrook extremity, and shelley to the boinville. peacock had no affinity for either, but a sincere regard for harriet as well as for her husband; while hogg was in much the same position, except that he had made friends with mrs. newton. the godwins, of great importance to shelley himself, exercised their influence at a distance from the rest. frequent change from bracknell to london and back again, varied by the flying journey to edinburgh, and a last visit paid in strictest secrecy to his mother and sisters, at field place, of which a very interesting record is left in the narrative of mr. kennedy, occupied the interval between july, , and march, . the period was not productive of literary masterpieces. we only hear of a "refutation of deism", a dialogue between eusebes and theosophus, which attacked all forms of theistic belief. since we are now approaching the gravest crisis in shelley's life, it behoves us to be more than usually careful in considering his circumstances at this epoch. his home had become cold and dull. harriet did not love her child, and spent her time in a great measure with her mount street relations. eliza was a source of continual irritation, and the westbrook family did its best, by interference and suggestion, to refrigerate the poet's feelings for his wife. on the other hand he found among the boinville set exactly that high-flown, enthusiastic, sentimental atmosphere which suited his idealizing temper. two extracts from a letter written to hogg upon the th of march, , speak more eloquently than any analysis, and will place before the reader the antagonism which had sprung up in shelley's mind between his own home and the circle of his new friends:--"i have been staying with mrs. b-- for the last month; i have escaped, in the society of all that philosophy and friendship combine, from the dismaying solitude of myself. they have revived in my heart the expiring flame of life. i have felt myself translated to a paradise, which has nothing of mortality but its transitoriness; my heart sickens at the view of that necessity, which will quickly divide me from the delightful tranquillity of this happy home,--for it has become my home. the trees, the bridge, the minutest objects, have already a place in my affections." "eliza is still with us--not here!--but will be with me when the infinite malice of destiny forces me to depart. i am now but little inclined to contest this point. i certainly hate her with all my heart and soul. it is a sight which awakens an inexpressible sensation of disgust and horror, to see her caress my poor little ianthe, in whom i may hereafter find the consolation of sympathy. i sometimes feel faint with the fatigue of checking the overflowings of my unbounded abhorrence for this miserable wretch. but she is no more than a blind and loathsome worm, that cannot see to sting." while divided in this way between a home which had become distasteful to him, and a house where he found scope for his most romantic outpourings of sensibility, shelley fell suddenly and passionately in love with godwin's daughter, mary. peacock, who lived in close intimacy with him at this period, must deliver his testimony as to the overwhelming nature of the new attachment:--"nothing that i ever read in tale or history could present a more striking image of a sudden, violent, irresistible, uncontrollable passion, than that under which i found him labouring when, at his request, i went up from the country to call on him in london. between his old feelings towards harriet, from whom he was not then separated, and his new passion for mary, he 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.'" we may therefore affirm, i think, with confidence that in the winter and spring of , shelley had been becoming gradually more and more estranged from harriet, whose commonplace nature was no mate for his, and whom he had never loved with all the depth of his affection; that his intimacy with the boinville family had brought into painful prominence whatever was jarring and repugnant to him in his home; and that in this crisis of his fate he had fallen in love for the first time seriously with mary godwin. (the date at which he first made mary's acquaintance is uncertain. peacock says that it was between april and june .) she was then a girl of sixteen, "fair and fair-haired, pale indeed, and with a piercing look," to quote hogg's description of her, as she first appeared before him on the th or th of june, . with her freedom from prejudice, her tense and high-wrought sensibility, her acute intellect, enthusiasm for ideas, and vivid imagination, mary godwin was naturally a fitter companion for shelley than the good harriet, however beautiful. that shelley early in had no intention of leaving his wife, is probable; for he was re-married to her on the th of march, eight days after his impassioned letter to hogg, in st. george's, hanover square. harriet was pregnant, and this ratification of the scotch marriage was no doubt intended to place the legitimacy of a possible heir beyond all question. yet it seems, if we may found conjecture on "stanzas, april, ," that in the very month after this new ceremony shelley found the difficulties of his wedded life insuperable, and that he was already making up his mind to part from harriet. about the middle of june the separation actually occurred--not by mutual consent, so far as any published documents throw light on the matter, but rather by shelley's sudden abandonment of his wife and child. (leigh hunt, autobiography page , and medwin, however, both assert that it was by mutual consent. the whole question must be studied in peacock and in garnett, relics of shelly, page .) for a short while harriet was left in ignorance of his abode, and with a very insufficient sum of money at her disposal. she placed herself under the protection of her father, retired to bath, and about the beginning of july received a letter from shelley, who was thenceforth solicitous for her welfare, keeping up a correspondence with her, supplying her with funds, and by no means shrinking from personal communications. that shelley must bear the responsibility of this separation seems to me quite clear. his justification is to be found in his avowed opinions on the subject of love and marriage--opinions which harriet knew well and professed to share, and of which he had recently made ample confession in the notes to "queen mab". the world will still agree with lord eldon in regarding those opinions as dangerous to society, and a blot upon the poet's character; but it would be unfair, while condemning them as frankly as he professed them, to blame him also because he did not conform to the opposite code of morals, for which he frequently expressed extreme abhorrence, and which he stigmatized, however wrongly, as the source of the worst social vices. it must be added that the shelley family in their memorials of the poet, and through their friend, mr. richard garnett, inform us, without casting any slur on harriet, that documents are extant which will completely vindicate the poet's conduct in this matter. it is therefore but just to await their publication before pronouncing a decided judgment. meanwhile there remains no doubt about the fact that forty days after leaving harriet, shelley departed from london with mary godwin, who had consented to share his fortunes. how he plighted his new troth, and won the hand of her who was destined to be his companion for life, may best be told in lady shelley's words:-- "his anguish, his isolation, his difference from other men, his gifts of genius and eloquent enthusiasm, made a deep impression on godwin's daughter mary, now a girl of sixteen, who had been accustomed to hear shelley spoken of as something rare and strange. to her, as they met one eventful day in st. pancras churchyard, by her mother's grave, bysshe, in burning words, poured forth the tale of his wild past--how he had suffered, how he had been misled, and how, if supported by her love, he hoped in future years to enrol his name with the wise and good who had done battle for the fellow-men, and been true through all adverse storms to the cause of humanity. unhesitatingly, she placed her hand in his, and linked her fortune with his own; and most truthfully, as the remaining portions of these memorials will prove, was the pledge of both redeemed. the theories in which the daughter of the authors of "political justice", and of the "rights of woman", had been educated, spared her from any conflict between her duty and her affection. for she was the child of parents whose writings had had for their object to prove that marriage was one among the many institutions which a new era in the history of mankind was about to sweep away. by her father, whom she loved--by the writings of her mother, whom she had been taught to venerate--these doctrines had been rendered familiar to her mind. it was therefore natural that she should listen to the dictates of her own heart, and willingly unite her fate with one who was so worthy of her love." soon after her withdrawal to bath, harriet gave birth to shelley's second child, charles bysshe, who died in . she subsequently formed another connexion which proved unhappy; and on the th of november, , she committed suicide by drowning herself in the serpentine. the distance of time between june, , and november, , and the new ties formed by harriet in this interval, prove that there was no immediate connexion between shelley's abandonment of his wife and her suicide. she had always entertained the thought of self-destruction, as hogg, who is no adverse witness in her case, has amply recorded; and it may be permitted us to suppose that, finding herself for the second time unhappy in her love, she reverted to a long-since cherished scheme, and cut the knot of life and all its troubles. so far as this is possible, i have attempted to narrate the most painful period in shelley's life as it occurred, without extenuation and without condemnation. until the papers, mentioned with such insistence by lady shelley and mr. garnett, are given to the world, it is impossible that the poet should not bear the reproach of heartlessness and inconstancy in this the gravest of all human relations. such, however, is my belief in the essential goodness of his character, after allowing, as we must do, for the operation of his peculiar principles upon his conduct, that i for my own part am willing to suspend my judgment till the time arrives for his vindication. the language used by lady shelley and mr. garnett justify us in expecting that that vindication will be as startling as complete. if it is not, they, as pleading for him, will have overshot the mark of prudence. on the th of july shelley left london with mary godwin, who up to this date had remained beneath her father's roof. there was some secrecy in their departure, because they were accompanied by miss clairmont, whose mother disapproved of her forming a third in the party. having made their way to dover, they crossed the channel in an open boat, and went at once to paris. here they hired a donkey for their luggage, intending to perform the journey across france on foot. shelley, however, sprained his ancle, and a mule-carriage was provided for the party. in this conveyance they reached the jura, and entered switzerland at neufchatel. brunnen, on the lake of lucerne, was chosen for their residence; and here shelley began his romantic tale of "the assassins", a portion of which is printed in his prose works. want of money compelled them soon to think of turning their steps homeward; and the back journey was performed upon the reuss and rhine. they reached gravesend, after a bad passage, on the th of september. mrs. shelley's "history of a six week's tour" relates the details of this trip, which was of great importance in forming shelley's taste, and in supplying him with the scenery of river, rock, and mountain, so splendidly utilized in "alastor". the autumn was a period of more than usual money difficulty; but on the th of january, , sir bysshe died, percy became the next heir to the baronetcy and the family estates, and an arrangement was made with his father by right of which he received an allowance of pounds a year. a portion of his income was immediately set apart for harriet. the winter was passed in london, where shelley walked a hospital, in order, it is said, to acquire some medical knowledge that might be of service to the poor he visited. his own health at this period was very bad. a physician whom he consulted pronounced that he was rapidly sinking under pulmonary disease, and he suffered frequent attacks of acute pain. the consumptive symptoms seem to have been so marked that for the next three years he had no doubt that he was destined to an early death. in , however, all danger of phthisis passed away; and during the rest of his short life he only suffered from spasms and violent pains in the side, which baffled the physicians, but, though they caused him extreme anguish, did not menace any vital organ. to the subject of his health it will be necessary to return at a later period of this biography. for the present it is enough to remember that his physical condition was such as to justify his own expectation of death at no distant time. (see letter to godwin in shelley's memorials, page .) fond as ever of wandering, shelley set out in the early summer for a tour with mary. they visited devonshire and clifton, and then settled in a house on bishopsgate heath, near windsor forest. the summer was further broken by a water excursion up the thames to its source, in the company of mr. peacock and charles clairmont. peacock traces the poet's taste for boating, which afterwards became a passion with him, to this excursion. about this there is, however, some doubt. medwin tells us that shelley while a boy delighted in being on the water, and that he enjoyed the pastime at eton. on the other hand, mr. w.s. halliday, a far better authority than medwin, asserts positively that he never saw shelley on the river at eton, and hogg relates nothing to prove that he practised rowing at oxford. it is certain that, though inordinately fond of boats and every kind of water--river, sea, lake, or canal--he never learned to swim. peacock also notices his habit of floating paper boats, and gives an amusing description of the boredom suffered by hogg on occasions when shelley would stop by the side of a pond or mere to float a mimic navy. the not altogether apocryphal story of his having once constructed a boat out of a bank-post-bill, and launched it on the lake in kensington gardens, deserves to be alluded to in this connexion. on their return from this river journey, shelley began the poem of "alastor", haunting the woodland glades and oak groves of windsor forest, and drawing from that noble scenery his inspiration. it was printed with a few other poems in one volume the next year. not only was "alastor" the first serious poem published by shelley; but it was also the first of his compositions which revealed the greatness of his genius. rarely has blank verse been written with more majesty and music; and while the influence of milton and wordsworth may be traced in certain passages, the versification, tremulous with lyrical vibrations, is such as only shelley could have produced. "alastor" is the greek name for a vengeful daemon, driving its victim into desert places; and shelley, prompted by peacock, chose it for the title of a poem which describes the nemesis of solitary souls. apart from its intrinsic merit as a work of art, "alastor" has great autobiographical value. mrs. shelley affirms that it was written under the expectation of speedy death, and under the sense of disappointment, consequent upon the misfortunes of his early life. this accounts for the somewhat unhealthy vein of sentiment which threads the wilderness of its sublime descriptions. all that shelley had observed of natural beauty--in wales, at lynton, in switzerland, upon the eddies of the reuss, beneath the oak shades of the forest--is presented to us in a series of pictures penetrated with profound emotion. but the deeper meaning of "alastor" is to be found, not in the thought of death nor in the poet's recent communings with nature, but in the motto from st. augustine placed upon its title page, and in the "hymn to intellectual beauty", composed about a year later. enamoured of ideal loveliness, the poet pursues his vision through the universe, vainly hoping to assuage the thirst which has been stimulated in his spirit, and vainly longing for some mortal realization of his love. "alastor", like "epipsychidion," reveals the mistake which shelley made in thinking that the idea of beauty could become incarnate for him in any earthly form: while the "hymn to intellectual beauty" recognizes the truth that such realization of the ideal is impossible. the very last letter written by shelley sets the misconception in its proper light: "i think one is always in love with something or other; the error, and i confess it is not easy for spirits cased in flesh and blood to avoid it, consists in seeking in a mortal image the likeness of what is, perhaps, eternal." but this shelley discovered only with "the years that bring the philosophic mind," and when he was upon the very verge of his untimely death. the following quotation is a fair specimen of the blank verse of "alastor". it expresses that longing for perfect sympathy in an ideal love, which the sense of divine beauty had stirred in the poet's heart:-- at length upon the lone chorasmian shore he paused, a wide and melancholy waste of putrid marshes. a strong impulse urged his steps to the sea-shore. a swan was there, beside a sluggish stream among the reeds. it rose as he approached, and, with strong wings scaling the upward sky, bent its bright course high over the immeasurable main. his eyes pursued its flight:--"thou hast a home, beautiful bird! thou voyagest to thine home, where thy sweet mate will twine her downy neck with thine, and welcome thy return with eyes bright in the lustre of their own fond joy. and what am i that i should linger here, with voice far sweeter than thy dying notes, spirit more vast than thine, frame more attuned to beauty, wasting these surpassing powers in the deaf air, to the blind earth, and heaven that echoes not my thoughts?" a gloomy smile of desperate hope wrinkled his quivering lips. for sleep, he knew, kept most relentlessly its precious charge, and silent death exposed, faithless perhaps as sleep, a shadowy lure, with doubtful smile mocking its own strange charms. william, the eldest son of shelley and mary godwin, was born on the th of january, . in the spring of that year they went together, accompanied by miss clairmont, for a second time to switzerland. they reached geneva on the th of may and were soon after joined by lord byron and his travelling physician, dr. polidori. shelley had not yet made byron's acquaintance, though he had sent him a copy of "queen mab", with a letter, which miscarried in the post. they were now thrown into daily intercourse, occupying the villas diodati and mount alegre, at no great distance from each other, passing their days upon the lake in a boat which they purchased, and spending the nights in conversation. miss clairmont had known byron in london, and their acquaintance now ripened into an intimacy, the fruit of which was the child allegra. this fact has to be mentioned by shelley's biographer, because allegra afterwards became an inmate of his home; and though he and mary were ignorant of what was passing at geneva, they did not withdraw their sympathy from the mother of lord byron's daughter. the lives of byron and shelley during the next six years were destined to be curiously blent. both were to seek in italy an exile-home; while their friendship was to become one of the most interesting facts of english literary history. the influence of byron upon shelley, as he more than once acknowledged, and as his wife plainly perceived, was, to a great extent, depressing. for byron's genius and its fruits in poetry he entertained the highest possible opinion. he could not help comparing his own achievement and his fame with byron's; and the result was that in the presence of one whom he erroneously believed to be the greater poet, he became inactive. shelley, on the contrary, stimulated byron's productive faculty to nobler efforts, raised his moral tone, and infused into his less subtle intellect something of his own philosophical depth and earnestness. much as he enjoyed byron's society and admired his writing, shelley was not blind to the imperfections of his nature. the sketch which he has left us of count maddalo, the letters written to his wife from venice and ravenna, and his correspondence on the subject of leigh hunt's visit to italy, supply the most discriminating criticism which has yet been passed upon his brother poet's character. it is clear that he never found in byron a perfect friend, and that he had not accepted him as one with whom he sympathized upon the deeper questions of feeling and conduct. byron, for his part, recognized in shelley the purest nature he had ever known. "he was the most gentle, the most amiable, and least worldly-minded person i ever met; full of delicacy, disinterested beyond all other men, and possessing a degree of genius joined to simplicity as rare as it is admirable. he had formed to himself a beau ideal of all that is fine, high-minded, and noble, and he acted up to this ideal even to the very letter." toward the end of june the two poets made the tour of lake geneva in their boat, and were very nearly wrecked off the rocks of meillerie. on this occasion shelley was in imminent danger of death from drowning. his one anxiety, however, as he wrote to peacock, was lest byron should attempt to save him at the risk of his own life. byron described him as "bold as a lion;" and indeed it may here be said, once and for all, that shelley's physical courage was only equalled by his moral fearlessness. he carried both without bravado to the verge of temerity, and may justly be said to have never known what terror was. another summer excursion was a visit to chamouni, of which he has left memorable descriptions in his letters to peacock, and in the somewhat coleridgian verses on mont blanc. the preface to "laon and cythna" shows what a powerful impression had been made upon him by the glaciers, and how he delighted in the element of peril. there is a tone of exultation in the words which record the experiences of his two journeys in switzerland and france:--"i have been familiar from boyhood with mountains and lakes and the sea, and the solitude of forests. danger, which sports upon the brink of precipices, has been my playmate. i have trodden the glaciers of the alps, and lived under the eye of mont blanc. i have been a wanderer among distant fields. i have sailed down mighty rivers, and seen the sun rise and set, and the stars come forth, whilst i have sailed night and day down a rapid stream among mountains. i have seen populous cities, and have watched the passions which rise and spread, and sink and change amongst assembled multitudes of men. i have seen the theatre of the more visible ravages of tyranny and war, cities and villages reduced to scattered groups of black and roofless houses, and the naked inhabitants sitting famished upon their desolated thresholds." on their return to the lake, the shelleys found m.g. lewis established with byron. this addition to the circle introduced much conversation about apparitions, and each member of the party undertook to produce a ghost story. polidori's "vampyre" and mrs. shelley's "frankenstein" were the only durable results of their determination. but an incident occurred which is of some importance in the history of shelley's psychological condition. toward midnight on the th of july, byron recited the lines in "christabel" about the lady's breast; when shelley suddenly started up, shrieked, and fled from the room. he had seen a vision of a woman with eyes instead of nipples. at this time he was writing notes upon the phenomena of sleep to be inserted in his "speculations on metaphysics", and mrs. shelley informs us that the mere effort to remember dreams of thrilling or mysterious import so disturbed his nervous system that he had to relinquish the task. at no period of his life was he wholly free from visions which had the reality of facts. sometimes they occurred in sleep, and were prolonged with painful vividness into his waking moments. sometimes they seemed to grow out of his intense meditation, or to present themselves before his eyes as the projection of a powerful inner impression. all his sensations were abnormally acute, and his ever-active imagination confused the border-lands of the actual and the visionary. such a nature as shelley's, through its far greater susceptibility than is common even when with artistic temperaments, was debarred in moments of high-strung emotion from observing the ordinary distinctions of subject and object; and this peculiar quality must never be forgotten when we seek to estimate the proper proportions of dichtung and wahreit in certain episodes of his biography. the strange story, for example, told by peacock about a supposed warning he had received in the spring of this year from mr. williams of tremadoc, may possibly be explained on the hypothesis that his brooding thoughts had taken form before him, both ear and eye having been unconsciously pressed into the service of a subjective energy. (fraser's magazine, january, , page .) on their return to england in september, shelley took a cottage at great marlow on the thames, in order to be near his friend peacock. while it was being prepared for the reception of his family, he stayed at bath, and there heard of harriet's suicide. the life that once was dearest to him, had ended thus in misery, desertion, want. the mother of his two children, abandoned by both her husband and her lover, and driven from her father's home, had drowned herself after a brief struggle with circumstance. however shelley may have felt that his conscience was free from blame, however small an element of self-reproach may have mingled with his grief and horror, there is no doubt that he suffered most acutely. his deepest ground for remorse seems to have been the conviction that he had drawn harriet into a sphere of thought and feeling for which she was not qualified, and that had it not been for him and his opinions, she might have lived a happy woman in some common walk of life. one of his biographers asserts that "he continued to be haunted by certain recollections, partly real and partly imaginative, which pursued him like an orestes," and even trelawny, who knew him only in the last months of his life, said that the impression of that dreadful moment was still vivid. we may trace the echo of his feelings in some painfully pathetic verses written in (forman, .); and though he did not often speak of harriet, peacock has recorded one memorable occasion on which he disclosed the anguish of his spirit to a friend. (fraser, january, , page .) shelley hurried at once to london, and found some consolation in the society of leigh hunt. the friendship extended to him by that excellent man at this season of his trouble may perhaps count for something with those who are inclined to judge him harshly. two important events followed immediately upon the tragedy. the first was shelley's marriage with mary godwin on the th of december, . whether shelley would have taken this step except under strong pressure from without, appears to me very doubtful. of all men who ever lived, he was the most resolutely bent on confirming his theories by his practice; and in this instance there was no valid reason why he should not act up to principles professed in common by himself and the partner of his fortunes, no less than by her father and mother. it is, therefore, reasonable to suppose that he yielded to arguments; and these arguments must have been urged by godwin, who had never treated him with cordiality since he left england in . godwin, though overrated in his generation, and almost ludicrously idealized by shelley, was a man whose talents verged on genius. but he was by no means consistent. his conduct in money-matters shows that he could not live the life of a self-sufficing philosopher; while the irritation he expressed when shelley omitted to address him as esquire, stood in comic contradiction with his published doctrines. we are therefore perhaps justified in concluding that he worried shelley, the one enthusiastic and thorough-going follower he had, into marrying his daughter in spite of his disciple's protestations; nor shall we be far wrong if we surmise that godwin congratulated himself on mary's having won the right to bear the name of a future baronet. the second event was the refusal of mr. westbrook to deliver up the custody of his grandchildren. a chancery suit was instituted; at the conclusion of which, in august, , lord eldon deprived shelley of his son and daughter on the double ground of his opinions expressed in "queen mab", and of his conduct toward his first wife. the children were placed in the hands of a clergyman, to be educated in accordance with principles diametrically opposed to their parent's, while shelley's income was mulcted in a sum of pounds for their maintenance. thus sternly did the father learn the value of that ancient aeschylean maxim, to drasanti pathein, the doer of the deed must suffer. his own impulsiveness, his reckless assumption of the heaviest responsibilities, his overweening confidence in his own strength to move the weight of the world's opinions, had brought him to this tragic pass--to the suicide of the woman who had loved him, and to the sequestration of the offspring whom he loved. shelley is too great to serve as text for any sermon; and yet we may learn from him as from a hero of hebrew or hellenic story. his life was a tragedy; and like some protagonist of greek drama, he was capable of erring and of suffering greatly. he had kicked against the altar of justice as established in the daily sanctities of human life; and now he had to bear the penalty. the conventions he despised and treated like the dust beneath his feet, were found in this most cruel crisis to be a rock on which his very heart was broken. from this rude trial of his moral nature he arose a stronger being; and if longer life had been granted him, he would undoubtedly have presented the ennobling spectacle of one who had been lessoned by his own audacity, and by its bitter fruits, into harmony with the immutable laws which he was ever seeking to obey. it is just this conflict between the innate rectitude of shelley's over-daring nature and the circumstances of ordinary existence, which makes his history so tragic; and we may justly wonder whether, when he read the sophoclean tragedies of oedipus, he did not apply their doctrine of self-will and nemesis to his own fortunes. chapter . life at marlow, and journey to italy. amid the torturing distractions of the chancery suit about his children, and the still more poignant anguish of his own heart, and with the cloud of what he thought swift-coming death above his head, shelley worked steadily, during the summer of , upon his poem of "laon and cythna". six months were spent in this task. "the poem," to borrow mrs. shelley's words, "was written in his boat, as it floated under the beech-groves of bisham, or during wanderings in the neighbouring country, which is distinguished for peculiar beauty." whenever shelley could, he composed in the open air. the terraces of the villa cappuccini at este and the baths of caracalla were the birthplace of "prometheus". "the cenci" was written on the roof of the villa valsovano at leghorn. the cascine of florence, the pine-woods near pisa, the lawns above san guiliano, and the summits of the euganean hills, witnessed the creation of his loveliest lyrics; and his last great poem, the "triumph of life", was transferred to paper in his boat upon the bay of spezia. if "alastor" had expressed one side of shelley's nature, his devotion to ideal beauty, "laon and cythna" was in a far profounder sense representative of its author. all his previous experiences and all his aspirations--his passionate belief in friendship, his principle of the equality of women with men, his demand for bloodless revolution, his confidence in eloquence and reason to move nations, his doctrine of free love, his vegetarianism, his hatred of religious intolerance and tyranny--are blent together and concentrated in the glowing cantos of this wonderful romance. the hero, laon, is himself idealized, the self which he imagined when he undertook his irish campaign. the heroine, cythna, is the helpmate he had always dreamed, the woman exquisitely feminine, yet capable of being fired with male enthusiasms, and of grappling the real problems of our nature with a man's firm grasp. in the first edition of the poem he made laon and cythna brother and sister, not because he believed in the desirability of incest, but because he wished to throw a glove down to society, and to attack the intolerance of custom in its stronghold. in the preface, he tells us that it was his purpose to kindle in the bosoms of his readers "a virtuous enthusiasm for those doctrines of liberty and justice, that faith and hope in something good, which neither violence nor misrepresentation, nor prejudice, can ever wholly extinguish among mankind;" to illustrate "the growth and progress of individual mind aspiring after excellence, and devoted to the love of mankind;" and to celebrate love "as the sole law which should govern the moral world." the wild romantic treatment of this didactic motive makes the poem highly characteristic of its author. it is written in spenserian stanzas, with a rapidity of movement and a dazzling brilliance that are shelley's own. the story relates the kindling of a nation to freedom at the cry of a young poet-prophet, the temporary triumph of the good cause, the final victory of despotic force, and the martyrdom of the hero, together with whom the heroine falls a willing victim. it is full of thrilling incidents and lovely pictures; yet the tale is the least part of the poem; and few readers have probably been able either to sympathize with its visionary characters, or to follow the narrative without weariness. as in the case of other poems by shelley--especially those in which he attempted to tell a story, for which kind of art his genius was not well suited--the central motive of "laon and cythna" is surrounded by so radiant a photosphere of imagery and eloquence that it is difficult to fix our gaze upon it, blinded as we are by the excess of splendour. yet no one now can read the terrible tenth canto, or the lovely fifth, without feeling that a young eagle of poetry had here tried the full strength of his pinions in their flight. this truth was by no means recognized when "laon and cythna" first appeared before the public. hooted down, derided, stigmatized, and howled at, it only served to intensify the prejudice with which the author of "queen mab" had come to be regarded. i have spoken of this poem under its first name of "laon and cythna". a certain number of copies were issued with this title (how many copies were put in circulation is not known. there must certainly have been many more than the traditional three; for when i was a boy at harrow, i picked up two uncut copies in boards at a bristol bookshop, for the price of shillings and pence a piece.); but the publisher, ollier, not without reason dreaded the effect the book would make; he therefore induced shelley to alter the relationship between the hero and his bride, and issued the old sheets with certain cancelled pages under the title of "revolt of islam". it was published in january, . while still resident at marlow, shelley began two autobiographical poems--the one "prince athanase," which he abandoned as too introspective and morbidly self-analytical, the other, "rosalind and helen", which he finished afterwards in italy. of the second of these compositions he entertained a poor opinion; nor will it bear comparison with his best work. to his biographer its chief interest consists in the character of lionel, drawn less perhaps exactly from himself than as an ideal of the man he would have wished to be. the poet in "alastor", laon in the "revolt of islam", lionel in "rosalind and helen", and prince athanase, are in fact a remarkable row of self-portraits, varying in the tone and scale of idealistic treatment bestowed upon them. later on in life, shelley outgrew this preoccupation with his idealized self, and directed his genius to more objective themes. yet the autobiographic tendency, as befitted a poet of the highest lyric type, remained to the end a powerful characteristic. before quitting the first period of shelley's development, it may be well to set before the reader a specimen of that self-delineative poetry which characterized it; and since it is difficult to detach a single passage from the continuous stanzas of "laon and cythna", i have chosen the lines in "rosalind and helen" which describe young lionel: to lionel, though of great wealth and lineage high, yet through those dungeon walls there came thy thrilling light, o liberty! and as the meteor's midnight flame startles the dreamer, sun-like truth flashed on his visionary youth, and filled him, not with love, but faith. and hope, and courage mute in death; for love and life in him were twins, born at one birth: in every other first life, then love its course begins, though they be children of one mother; and so through this dark world they fleet divided, till in death they meet: but he loved all things ever. then he past amid the strife of men, and stood at the throne of armed power pleading for a world of woe: secure as one on a rock-built tower o'er the wrecks which the surge trails to and fro, 'mid the passions wild of human kind he stood, like a spirit calming them; for, it was said, his words could find like music the lulled crowd, and stem that torrent of unquiet dream, which mortals truth and reason deem, but is revenge and fear and pride. joyous he was; and hope and peace on all who heard him did abide, raining like dew from his sweet talk, as where the evening star may walk along the brink of the gloomy seas, liquid mists of splendour quiver. his very gestures touch'd to tears the unpersuaded tyrant, never so moved before: his presence stung the torturers with their victim's pain, and none knew how; and through their ears, the subtle witchcraft of his tongue unlocked the hearts of those who keep gold, the world's bond of slavery. men wondered, and some sneer'd to see one sow what he could never reap: for he is rich, they said, and young, and might drink from the depths of luxury. if he seeks fame, fame never crown'd the champion of a trampled creed: if he seeks power, power is enthroned 'mid ancient rights and wrongs, to feed which hungry wolves with praise and spoil, those who would sit near power must toil; and such, there sitting, all may see. during the year he spent at marlow, shelley was a frequent visitor at leigh hunt's hampstead house, where he made acquaintance with keats, and the brothers smith, authors of "rejected addresses". hunt's recollections supply some interesting details, which, since hogg and peacock fail us at this period, may be profitably used. describing the manner of his life at marlow, hunt writes as follows: "he rose early in the morning, walked and read before breakfast, took that meal sparingly, wrote and studied the greater part of the morning, walked and read again, dined on vegetables (for he took neither meat nor wine), conversed with his friends (to whom his house was ever open) again walked out, and usually finished with reading to his wife till ten o'clock, when he went to bed. this was his daily existence. his book was generally plato, or homer, or one of the greek tragedians, or the bible, in which last he took a great, though peculiar, and often admiring interest. one of his favourite parts was the book of job." mrs. shelley, in her note on the "revolt of islam", confirms this account of his bible studies; and indeed the influence of the old testament upon his style may be traced in several of his poems. in the same paragraph from which i have just quoted, leigh hunt gives a just notion of his relation to christianity, pointing out that he drew a distinction between the pauline presentation of the christian creeds, and the spirit of the gospels. "his want of faith in the letter, and his exceeding faith in the spirit of christianity, formed a comment, the one on the other, very formidable to those who chose to forget what scripture itself observes on that point." we have only to read shelley's "essay on christianity", in order to perceive what reverent admiration he felt for jesus, and how profoundly he understood the true character of his teaching. that work, brief as it is, forms one of the most valuable extant contributions to a sound theology, and is morally far in advance of the opinions expressed by many who regard themselves as specially qualified to speak on the subject. it is certain that, as christianity passes beyond its mediaeval phase, and casts aside the husk of outworn dogmas, it will more and more approximate to shelley's exposition. here and here only is a vital faith, adapted to the conditions of modern thought, indestructible because essential, and fitted to unite instead of separating minds of divers quality. it may sound paradoxical to claim for shelley of all men a clear insight into the enduring element of the christian creed; but it was precisely his detachment from all its accidents which enabled him to discern its spiritual purity, and placed him in a true relation to its founder. for those who would neither on the one hand relinquish what is permanent in religion, nor yet on the other deny the inevitable conclusions of modern thought, his teaching is indubitably valuable. his fierce tirades against historic christianity must be taken as directed against an ecclesiastical system of spiritual tyranny, hypocrisy, and superstition, which in his opinion had retarded the growth of free institutions, and fettered the human intellect. like campanella, he distinguished between christ, who sealed the gospel of charity with his blood, and those christians, who would be the first to crucify their lord if he returned to earth. that shelley lived up to his religious creed is amply proved. to help the needy and to relieve the sick, seemed to him a simple duty, which he cheerfully discharged. "his charity, though liberal, was not weak. he inquired personally into the circumstances of his petitioners, visited the sick in their beds,....and kept a regular list of industrious poor, whom he assisted with small sums to make up their accounts." at marlow, the miserable condition of the lace-makers called forth all his energies; and mrs. shelley tells us that an acute ophthalmia, from which he twice suffered, was contracted in a visit to their cottages. a story told by leigh hunt about his finding a woman ill on hampstead heath, and carrying her from door to door in the vain hopes of meeting with a man as charitable as himself, until he had to house the poor creature with his friends the hunts, reads like a practical illustration of christ's parable about the good samaritan. nor was it merely to the so-called poor that shelley showed his generosity. his purse was always open to his friends. peacock received from him an annual allowance of pounds. he gave leigh hunt, on one occasion, pounds; and he discharged debts of godwin, amounting, it is said, to about pounds. in his pamphlet on "putting reform to the vote", he offered to subscribe pounds for the purpose of founding an association; and we have already seen that he headed the tremadoc subscription with a sum of pounds. these instances of his generosity might be easily multiplied; and when we remember that his present income was pounds, out of which pounds went to the support of his children, it will be understood not only that he could not live luxuriously, but also that he was in frequent money difficulties through the necessity of raising funds upon his expectations. his self-denial in all minor matters of expenditure was conspicuous. without a murmur, without ostentation, this heir of the richest baronet in sussex illustrated by his own conduct those principles of democratic simplicity and of fraternal charity which formed his political and social creed. a glimpse into the cottage at great marlow is afforded by a careless sentence of leigh hunt's. "he used to sit in a study adorned with casts, as large as life, of the vatican apollo and the celestial venus." fancy shelley with his bright eyes and elf-locks in a tiny, low-roofed room, correcting proofs of "laon and cythna", between the apollo of the belvedere and venus de' medici, life-sized, and as crude as casts by shout could make them! in this house, miss clairmont, with her brother and allegra, lived as shelley's guests; and here clara shelley was born on the rd of september, . in the same autumn, shelley suffered from a severe pulmonary attack. the critical state of his health, and the apprehension, vouched for by mrs. shelley, that the chancellor might lay his vulture's talons on the children of his second marriage, were the motives which induced him to leave england for italy in the spring of . (see note on poems of , and compare the lyric "the billows on the beach.") he never returned. four years only of life were left to him--years filled with music that will sound as long as english lasts. it was on the th of march that the shelleys took their departure with miss clairmont and the child allegra. they went straight to milan, and after visiting the lake of como, pisa, the bagni di lucca, venice and rome, they settled early in the following december at naples. shelley's letters to peacock form the invaluable record of this period of his existence. taken altogether, they are the most perfect specimens of descriptive prose in the english language; never over-charged with colour, vibrating with emotions excited by the stimulating scenes of italy, frank in their criticism, and exquisitely delicate in observation. their transparent sincerity and unpremeditated grace, combined with natural finish of expression, make them masterpieces of a style at once familiar and elevated. that shelley's sensibility to art was not so highly cultivated as his feeling for nature, is clear enough in many passages: but there is no trace of admiring to order in his comments upon pictures or statues. familiarity with the great works of antique and italian art would doubtless have altered some of the opinions he at first expressed; just as longer residence among the people made him modify his views about their character. meanwhile, the spirit of modest and unprejudiced attention in which he began his studies of sculpture and painting, might well be imitated in the present day by travellers who think that to pin their faith to some famous critic's verdict is the acme of good taste. if there were space for a long quotation from these letters, i should choose the description of pompeii (january , ), or that of the baths of caracalla (march , ). as it is, i must content myself with a short but eminently characteristic passage, written from ferrarra, november , :-- "the handwriting of ariosto is a small, firm, and pointed character, expressing, as i should say, a strong and keen, but circumscribed energy of mind; that of tasso is large, free, and flowing, except that there is a checked expression in the midst of its flow, which brings the letters into a smaller compass than one expected from the beginning of the word. it is the symbol of an intense and earnest mind, exceeding at times its own depth, and admonished to return by the chillness of the waters of oblivion striking upon its adventurous feet. you know i always seek in what i see the manifestation of something beyond the present and tangible object; and as we do not agree in physiognomy, so we may not agree now. but my business is to relate my own sensations, and not to attempt to inspire others with them." in the middle of august, shelley left his wife at the bagni di lucca, and paid a visit to lord byron at venice. he arrived at midnight in a thunderstorm. "julian and maddalo" was the literary fruit of this excursion--a poem which has rightly been characterized by mr. rossetti as the most perfect specimen in our language of the "poetical treatment of ordinary things." the description of a venetian sunset, touched to sadness amid all its splendour by the gloomy presence of the madhouse, ranks among shelley's finest word-paintings; while the glimpse of byron's life is interesting on a lower level. here is the picture of the sunset and the island of san lazzaro:-- oh! how beautiful is sunset, when the glow of heaven descends upon a land like thee, thou paradise of exiles, italy, thy mountains, seas, and vineyards, and the towers of cities they encircle!--it was ours to stand on thee, beholding it: and then, just where we had dismounted, the count's men were waiting for us with the gondola. as those who pause on some delightful way, though bent on pleasant pilgrimage, we stood looking upon the evening, and the flood which lay between the city and the shore, paved with the image of the sky. the hoar and airy alps, towards the north, appeared, thro' mist, a heaven-sustaining bulwark, reared between the east and west; and half the sky was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry, dark purple at the zenith, which still grew down the steep west into a wondrous hue brighter than burning gold, even to the rent where the swift sun yet paused in his descent among the many-folded hills. they were those famous euganean hills, which bear, as seem from lido through the harbour piles, the likeness of a clump of peaked isles-- and then, as if the earth and sea had been dissolved into one lake of fire, were seen those mountains towering, as from waves of flame, around the vaporous sun, from which there came the inmost purple spirit of light, and made their very peaks transparent. "ere it fade," said my companion, "i will show you soon a better station." so o'er the lagune we glided; and from that funereal bark i leaned, and saw the city, and could mark how from their many isles, in evening's gleam, its temples and its palaces did seem like fabrics of enchantment piled to heaven. i was about to speak, when--"we are even now at the point i meant," said maddalo, and bade the gondolieri cease to row. "look, julian, on the west, and listen well if you hear not a deep and heavy bell." i looked, and saw between us and the sun a building on an island, such a one as age to age might add, for uses vile,-- a windowless, deformed, and dreary pile; and on the top an open tower, where hung a bell, which in the radiance swayed and swung,-- we could just hear its coarse and iron tongue: the broad sun sank behind it, and it tolled in strong and black relief--"what we behold shall be the madhouse and its belfry tower,"-- said maddalo; "and ever at this hour, those who may cross the water hear that bell, which calls the maniacs, each one from his cell, to vespers." it may be parenthetically observed that one of the few familiar quotations from shelley's poems occurs in "julian and maddalo":-- most wretched men are cradled into poetry by wrong: they learn in suffering what they teach in song. byron lent the shelleys his villa of the cappuccini near este, where they spent some weeks in the autumn. here "prometheus unbound" was begun, and the "lines written among the euganean hills" were composed; and here clara became so ill that her parents thought it necessary to rush for medical assistance to venice. they had forgotten their passport; but shelley's irresistible energy overcame all difficulties, and they entered venice--only in time, however, for the child to die. nearly the whole of the winter was spent in naples, where shelley suffered from depression of more than ordinary depth. mrs. shelley attributed this gloom to the state of his health, but medwin tells a strange story, which, if it is not wholly a romance, may better account for the poet's melancholy. he says that so far back as the year , on the night before his departure from london, "a married lady, young, handsome, and of noble connexions," came to him, avowed the passionate love she had conceived for him, and proposed that they should fly together. (medwin's life of shelley, volume . his date, , appears from the context to be a misprint.) he explained to her that his hand and heart had both been given irrevocably to another, and, after the expression of the most exalted sentiments on both sides, they parted. she followed him, however, from place to place; and without intruding herself upon his notice, found some consolation in remaining near him. now she arrived at naples; and at naples she died. the web of shelley's life was a wide one, and included more destinies than his own. godwin, as we have reason to believe, attributed the suicide of fanny imlay to her hopeless love for shelley; and the tale of harriet has already been told. therefore there is nothing absolutely improbable in medwin's story, especially when we remember what hogg half-humorously tells us about shelley's attraction for women in london. at any rate, the excessive wretchedness of the lyrics written at naples can hardly be accounted for by the "constant and poignant physical sufferings" of which mrs. shelley speaks, since these were habitual with him. she was herself, moreover under the impression that he was concealing something from her, and we know from her own words in another place that his "fear to wound the feelings of others" often impelled him to keep his deepest sorrows to himself. (note on the revolt of islam.) all this while his health was steadily improving. the menace of consumption was removed; and though he suffered from severe attacks of pain in the side, the cause of this persistent malady does not seem to have been ascertained. at naples he was under treatment for disease of the liver. afterwards, his symptoms were ascribed to nephritis, and it is certain that his greater or less freedom from uneasiness varied with the quality of the water he drank. he was, for instance, forced to eschew the drinking water of ravenna, because it aggravated his symptoms; while florence, for a similar reason, proved an unsuitable residence. the final settlement of the shelleys at pisa seems to have been determined by the fact that the water of that place agreed with him. that the spasms which from time to time attacked him were extremely serious, is abundantly proved by the testimony of those who lived with him at this period, and by his own letters. some relief was obtained by mesmerism, a remedy suggested by medwin; but the obstinacy of the torment preyed upon his spirits to such an extent, that even during the last months of his life we find him begging trelawny to procure him prussic acid as a final and effectual remedy for all the ills that flesh is heir to. it may be added that mental application increased the mischief, for he told leigh hunt that the composition of "the cenci" had cost him a fresh seizure. yet though his sufferings were indubitably real, the eminent physician, vacca, could discover no organic disease; and possibly trelawny came near the truth when he attributed shelley's spasms to insufficient and irregular diet, and to a continual over-taxing of his nervous system. mrs. shelley states that the change from england to italy was in all respects beneficial to her husband. she was inclined to refer the depression from which he occasionally suffered, to his solitary habits; and there are several passages in his own letters which connect his melancholy with solitude. it is obvious that when he found himself in the congenial company of trelawny, williams, medwin, or the gisbornes, he was simply happy; and nothing could be further from the truth than to paint him as habitually sunk in gloom. on the contrary, we hear quite as much about his high spirits, his "homeric laughter," his playfulness with children, his readiness to join in the amusements of his chosen circle, and his incomparable conversation, as we do about his solitary broodings, and the seasons when pain or bitter memories over-cast his heaven. byron, who had some right to express a judgment in such a matter, described him as the most companionable man under the age of thirty he had ever met with. shelley rode and practised pistol-shooting with his brother bard, sat up late to talk with him, enjoyed his jokes, and even betted with him on one occasion marked by questionable taste. all this is quite incompatible with that martyrdom to persecution, remorse, or physical suffering, with which it has pleased some romantic persons to invest the poet. society of the ordinary kind he hated. the voice of a stranger, or a ring at the house-bell, heard from afar with shelley's almost inconceivable quickness of perception, was enough to make him leave the house; and one of his prettiest poems is written on his mistaking his wife's mention of the aziola, a little owl common enough in tuscany, for an allusion to a tiresome visitor. this dislike for intercourse with commonplace people was a source of some disagreement between him and mrs. shelley, and kept him further apart from byron than he might otherwise have been. in a valuable letter recently published by mr. garnett, he writes:--"i detest all society--almost all, at least--and lord byron is the nucleus of all that is hateful and tiresome in it." and again, speaking about his wife to trelawny, he said:--"she can't bear solitude, nor i society--the quick coupled with the dead." in the year - the shelleys had no friends at all in italy, except lord byron at venice, and mr. and mrs. john gisborne at leghorn. mrs. gisborne had been a friend of mary wollstonecraft and godwin. she was a woman of much cultivation, devoid of prejudice, and, though less enthusiastic than shelley liked, quite capable of appreciating the inestimable privilege of his acquaintance. her husband, to use a now almost obsolete phrase, was a scholar and a gentleman. he shared his wife's enlightened opinions, and remained staunch through good and ill report to his new friends. at rome and naples they knew absolutely no one. shelley's time was therefore passed in study and composition. in the previous summer he had translated the "symposium" of plato, and begun an essay on the ethics of the greeks, which remains unluckily a fragment. together with mary he read much italian literature, and his observations on the chief italian poets form a valuable contribution to their criticism. while he admired the splendour and invention of ariosto, he could not tolerate his moral tone. tasso struck him as cold and artificial, in spite of his "delicate moral sensibility." boccaccio he preferred to both; and his remarks on this prose-poet are extremely characteristic. "how much do i admire boccaccio! what descriptions of nature are those in his little introductions to every new day! it is the morning of life stripped of that mist of familiarity which makes it obscure to us. boccaccio seems to me to have possessed a deep sense of the fair ideal of human life, considered in its social relations. his more serious theories of love agree especially with mine. he often expresses things lightly too, which have serious meanings of a very beautiful kind. he is a moral casuist, the opposite of the christian, stoical, ready-made, and worldly system of morals. do you remember one little remark, or rather maxim of his, which might do some good to the common, narrow-minded conceptions of love,--'bocca baciata non perde ventura; anzi rinnouva, come fa la luna'?" dante and petrarch remained the objects of his lasting admiration, though the cruel christianity of the "inferno" seemed to him an ineradicable blot upon the greatest of italian poems. of petrarch's "tender and solemn enthusiasm," he speaks with the sympathy of one who understood the inner mysteries of idealizing love. it will be gathered from the foregoing quotations that shelley, notwithstanding is profound study of style and his exquisite perception of beauty in form and rhythm, required more than merely artistic excellences in poetry. he judged poems by their content and spirit; and while he plainly expressed his abhorrence of the didactic manner, he held that art must be moralized in order to be truly great. the distinction he drew between theocritus and the earlier greek singers in the "defence of poetry", his severe strictures on "the two noble kinsmen" in a letter to mary (august , ) and his phrase about ariosto, "who is entertaining and graceful, and sometimes a poet," illustrate the application of critical canons wholly at variance with the "art for art" doctrine. while studying italian, he continued faithful to greek. plato was often in his hands, and the dramatists formed his almost inseparable companions. how deeply he felt the art of the homeric poems, may be gathered from the following extract:--"i congratulate you on your conquest of the iliad. you must have been astonished at the perpetually increasing magnificence of the last seven books. homer there truly begins to be himself. the battle of the scamander, the funeral of patroclus, and the high and solemn close of the whole bloody tale in tenderness and inexpiable sorrow, are wrought in a manner incomparable with anything of the same kind. the odyssey is sweet, but there is nothing like this." about this time, prompted by mrs. gisborne, he began the study of spanish, and conceived an ardent admiration for calderon, whose splendid and supernatural fancy tallied with his own. "i am bathing myself in the light and odour of the starry autos," he writes to mr. gisborne in the autumn of . "faust", too, was a favourite. "i have been reading over and over again "faust", and always with sensations which no other composition excites. it deepens the gloom and augments the rapidity of ideas, and would therefore seem to me an unfit study for any person who is a prey to the reproaches of memory, and the delusions of an imagination not to be restrained." the profound impression made upon him by margaret's story is expressed in two letters about retzsch's illustrations:--"the artist makes one envy his happiness that he can sketch such things with calmness, which i only dared look upon once, and which made my brain swim round only to touch the leaf on the opposite side of which i knew that it was figured." the fruits of this occupation with greek, italian, spanish, and german were shelley's translations from homer and euripides, from dante, from calderon's "magico prodigioso", and from "faust", translations which have never been surpassed for beauty of form and complete transfusion of the spirit of one literature into the language of another. on translation, however, he set but little store, asserting that he only undertook it when he "could do absolutely nothing else," and writing earnestly to dissuade leigh hunt from devoting time which might be better spent, to work of subordinate importance. (letter from florence, november .) the following version of a greek epigram on plato's spirit will illustrate his own method of translation:-- eagle! why soarest thou above that tomb? to what sublime and star-y-paven home floatest thou? i am the image of swift plato's spirit, ascending heaven:--athens does inherit his corpse below. some time in the year - , he composed the "defence of poetry", stimulated to this undertaking by his friend peacock's article on poetry, published in the literary miscellany. (see letter to ollier, january , , shelley memorials, page .) this essay not only sets forth his theory of his own art, but it also contains some of his finest prose writing, of which the following passage, valuable alike for matter and style, may be cited as a specimen:-- "the functions of the poetical faculty are two-fold; by one it creates new materials of knowledge, and power, and pleasure; by the other it engenders in the mind a desire to reproduce and arrange them according to a certain rhythm and order which may be called the beautiful and the good. the cultivation of poetry is never more to be desired than at periods when, from an excess of the selfish and calculating principle, the accumulation of the materials of external life exceed the quantity of the power of assimilating them to the internal laws of human nature. the body has then become too unwieldy for that which animates it. "poetry is indeed something divine. it is at once the centre and circumference of knowledge; it is that which comprehends all science, and that to which all science must be referred. it is at the same time the root and blossom of all other systems of thought; it is that from which all spring, and that which adorns all; and that which, if blighted, denies the fruit and the seed, and withholds from the barren world the nourishment and the succession of the scions of the tree of life. it is the perfect and consummate surface and bloom of all things; it is as the odour and the colour of the rose to the texture of the elements which compose it, as the form and splendour of unfaded beauty to the secrets of anatomy and corruption. what were virtue, love, patriotism, friendship--what were the scenery of this beautiful universe which we inhabit--what were our consolations on this side of the grave--and what were our aspirations beyond it, if poetry did not ascend to bring light and fire from those eternal regions where the owl-winged faculty of calculation dare not ever soar? poetry is not like reasoning, a power to be exerted according to the determination of the will. a man cannot say, "i will compose poetry." the greatest poet even cannot say it; for the mind in creation is as a fading coal, which some invisible influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness; this power arises from within, like the colour of a flower which fades and changes as it is developed, and the conscious portions of our natures are unprophetic either of its approach or its departure. could this influence be durable in its original purity and force, it is impossible to predict the greatness of the results; but when composition begins, inspiration is already on the decline, and the most glorious poetry that has ever been communicated to the world is probably a feeble shadow of the original conceptions of the poet. i appeal to the greatest poets of the present day, whether it is not an error to assert that the finest passages of poetry are produced by labour and study. the toil and the delay recommended by critics, can be justly interpreted to mean no more than a careful observation of the inspired moments, and an artificial connexion of the spaces between their suggestions by the intermixture of conventional expressions; a necessity only imposed by the limitedness of the poetical faculty itself; for milton conceived the "paradise lost" as a whole before he executed it in portions. we have his own authority also for the muse having "dictated" to him the "unpremeditated song." and let this be an answer to those who would allege the fifty-six various readings of the first line of the "orlando furioso." compositions so produced are to poetry what mosaic is to painting. this instinct and intuition of the poetical faculty is still more observable in the plastic and pictorial arts; a great statue or picture grows under the power of the artist as a child in the mother's womb; and the very mind which directs the hands in formation is incapable of accounting to itself for the origin, the gradations, or the media of the process. "poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds. we are aware of evanescent visitations of thought and feeling sometimes associated with place or person, sometimes regarding our own mind alone, and always arising unforeseen and departing unbidden, but elevating and delightful beyond all expression: so that even in the desire and the regret they leave, there cannot but be pleasure, participating as it does in the nature of its object. it is as it were the interpenetration of a diviner nature through our own; but its footsteps are like those of a wind over the sea, which the coming calm erases, and whose traces remain only, as on the wrinkled sand which paves it. these and corresponding conditions of being are experienced principally by those of the most delicate sensibility and the most enlarged imagination; and the state of mind produced by them is at war with every base desire. the enthusiasm of virtue, love, patriotism, and friendship, is essentially linked with such emotions; and whilst they last, self appears as what it is, an atom to a universe. poets are not only subject to these experiences as spirits of the most refined organization, but they can colour all that they combine with the evanescent hues of this ethereal world; a word, a trait in the representation of a scene or a passion, will touch the enchanted chord, and reanimate, in those who have ever experienced these emotions, the sleeping, the cold, the buried image of the past. poetry thus makes immortal all that is best and most beautiful in the world; it arrests the vanishing apparitions which haunt the interlunations of life, and veiling them, or in language or in form, sends them forth among mankind, bearing sweet news of kindred joy to those with whom their sisters abide--abide, because there is no portal of expression from the caverns of the spirit which they inhabit into the universe of things. poetry redeems from decay the visitations of the divinity in man." in the midst of these aesthetic studies, and while producing his own greatest works, shelley was not satisfied that his genius ought to be devoted to poetry. "i consider poetry," he wrote to peacock, january th, , "very subordinate to moral and political science, and if i were well, certainly i would aspire to the latter; for i can conceive a great work, embodying the discoveries of all ages, and harmonizing the contending creeds by which mankind have been ruled. far from me is such an attempt, and i shall be content, by exercising my fancy, to amuse myself, and perhaps some others, and cast what weight i can into the scale of that balance which the giant of arthegall holds." whether he was right in the conviction that his genius was no less fitted for metaphysical speculation or for political science than for poetry, is a question that admits of much debate. (see mrs. shelley's note on the revolt of islam, and the whole preface to the prose works.) we have nothing but fragments whereby to form a definite opinion--the unfinished "defence of poetry", the unfinished "essay on a future state", the unfinished "essay on christianity", the unfinished "essay on the punishment of death", and the scattered "speculations on metaphysics". none of these compositions justify the belief so confidently expressed by mrs. shelley in her preface to the prose works, that "had not shelley deserted metaphysics for poetry in his youth, and had he not been lost to us early, so that all his vaster projects were wrecked with him in the waves, he would have presented the world with a complete theory of mind; a theory to which berkeley, coleridge, and kant would have contributed; but more simple, and unimpugnable, and entire than the systems of these writers." their incompleteness rather tends to confirm what she proceeds to state, that the strain of philosophical composition was too great for his susceptible nerves; while her further observation that "thought kindled imagination and awoke sensation, and rendered him dizzy from too great keenness of emotion," seems to indicate that his nature was primarily that of a poet deeply tinctured with philosophical speculation, rather than that of a metaphysician warmed at intervals to an imaginative fervour. another of her remarks confirms us in this opinion. "he considered these philosophical views of mind and nature to be instinct with the intensest spirit of poetry." (note on prometheus.) this is the position of the poet rather than the analyst; and on the whole, we are probably justified in concluding with mrs. shelley, that he followed a true instinct when he dedicated himself to poetry, and trained his powers in that direction. (note on revolt of islam.) to dogmatize upon the topic would be worse than foolish. there was something incalculable, incommensurable, and daemonic in shelley's genius; and what he might have achieved, had his life been spared and had his health progressively improved, it is of course impossible to say. in the spring of the shelleys settled in rome, where the poet proceeded with the composition of "prometheus unbound". he used to write among the ruins of the baths of caracalla, not then, as now, despoiled of all their natural beauty, but waving with the paradise of flowers and shrubs described in his incomparable letter of march the rd to peacock. rome, however, was not destined to retain them long. on the th of june they lost their son william after a short illness. shelley loved this child intensely, and sat by his bedside for sixty hours without taking rest. he was now practically childless; and his grief found expression in many of his poems, especially in the fragment headed "roma, roma, roma! non e piu com' era prima." william was buried in the protestant cemetery, of which shelley had written a description to peacock in the previous december. "the english burying-place is a green slope near the walls, under the pyramidal tomb of cestius, and is, i think, the most beautiful and solemn cemetery i ever beheld. to see the sun shining on its bright grass, fresh, when we first visited it, with the autumnal dews, and hear the whispering of the wind among the leaves of the trees which have overgrown the tomb of cestius, and the soil which is stirring in the sun-warm earth, and to mark the tombs, mostly of women and young people who were buried there, one might, if one were to die, desire the sleep they seem to sleep. such is the human mind, and so it peoples with its wishes vacancy and oblivion." escaping from the scene of so much sorrow, they established themselves at the villa valsovano, near leghorn. here shelley began and finished "the cenci" at the instance of his wife, who rightly thought that he undervalued his own powers as a dramatic poet. the supposed portrait of beatrice in the barberini palace had powerfully affected his imagination, and he fancied that her story would form the fitting subject for a tragedy. it is fortunate for english literature that the real facts of that domestic drama, as recently published by signor bertolotti, were then involved in a tissue of romance and legend. during this summer he saw a great deal of the gisborne family. mrs. gisborne's son by a previous marriage, henry reveley, was an engineer, and shelley conceived a project of helping him build a steamer which should ply between leghorn and marseilles. he was to supply the funds, and the pecuniary profit was to be shared by the gisborne family. the scheme eventually fell through, though shelley spent a good deal of money upon it; and its only importance is the additional light it throws upon his public and private benevolence. from leghorn the shelleys removed in the autumn to florence, where, on the th of november, the present sir percy florence shelley was born. here shelley wrote the last act of "prometheus unbound", which, though the finest portion of that unique drama, seems to have been an afterthought. in the cascine outside florence he also composed the "ode to the west wind", the most symmetrically perfect as well as the most impassioned of his minor lyrics. he spent much time in the galleries, made notes upon the principal antique statues, and formed a plan of systematic art-study. the climate, however, disagreed with him, and in the month of january, , they took up their abode at pisa. was the most important year in shelley's life, so far as literary production is concerned. besides "the cenci" and "prometheus unbound", of which it yet remains to speak, this year saw the production of several political and satirical poems--the "masque of anarchy", suggested by the news of the peterloo massacre, being by far the most important. shelley attempted the composition of short popular songs which should stir the english people to a sense of what he felt to be their degradation. but he lacked the directness which alone could make such verses forcible, and the passionate apostrophe to the men of england in his "masque of anarchy" marks the highest point of his achievement in this style:-- men of england, heirs of glory, heroes of unwritten story, nurslings of one mighty mother, hopes of her, and one another! rise, like lions after slumber, in unvanquishable number, shake your chains to earth like dew, which in sleep had fall'n on you. ye are many, they are few. "peter bell the third", written in this year, and "swellfoot the tyrant", composed in the following autumn, are remarkable as showing with what keen interest shelley watched public affairs in england from his exile home; but, for my own part, i cannot agree with those critics who esteem their humour at a high rate. the political poems may profitably be compared with his contemporary correspondence; with the letters, for instance, to leigh hunt, november rd, ; and to mr. john gisborne, april th, ; and with an undated fragment published by mr. garnett in the "relics of shelley", page . no student of english political history before the reform bill can regard his apprehensions of a great catastrophe as ill-founded. his insight into the real danger to the nation was as penetrating as his suggestion of a remedy was moderate. those who are accustomed to think of the poet as a visionary enthusiast, will rub their eyes when they read the sober lines in which he warns his friend to be cautious about the security offered by the english funds. another letter, dated lerici, june , , illustrates the same practical temper of mind, the same logical application of political principles to questions of public economy. that "prometheus unbound" and "the cenci" should have been composed in one and the same year must be reckoned among the greatest wonders of literature, not only because of their sublime greatness, but also because of their essential difference. aeschylus, it is well known, had written a sequel to his "prometheus bound", in which he showed the final reconciliation between zeus, the oppressor, and prometheus, the champion, of humanity. what that reconciliation was, we do not know, because the play is lost, and the fragments are too brief for supporting any probable hypothesis. but shelley repudiated the notion of compromise. he could not conceive of the titan "unsaying his high language, and quailing before his successful and perfidious adversary." he therefore, approached the theme of liberation from a wholly different point of view. prometheus in his drama is the human vindicator of love, justice, and liberty, as opposed to jove, the tyrannical oppressor, and creator of all evil by his selfish rule. prometheus is the mind of man idealized, the spirit of our race, as shelley thought it made to be. jove is the incarnation of all that thwarts its free development. thus counterposed, the two chief actors represent the fundamental antitheses of good and evil, liberty and despotism, love and hate. they give the form of personality to shelley's ormuzd-ahriman dualism already expressed in the first canto of "laon and cythna"; but, instead of being represented on the theatre of human life, the strife is now removed into the reign of abstractions, vivified by mythopoetry. prometheus resists jove to the uttermost, endures all torments, physical and moral, that the tyrant plagues him with, secure in his own strength, and calmly expectant of an hour which shall hurl jove from heaven, and leave the spirit of good triumphant. that hour arrives; jove disappears; the burdens of the world and men are suddenly removed; a new age of peace and freedom and illimitable energy begins; the whole universe partakes in the emancipation; the spirit of the earth no longer groans in pain, but sings alternate love-songs with his sister orb, the moon; prometheus is re-united in indissoluble bonds to his old love, asia. asia, withdrawn from sight during the first act, but spoken of as waiting in her exile for the fated hour, is the true mate of the human spirit. she is the fairest daughter of earth and ocean. like aphrodite, she rises in the aegean near the land called by her name; and in the time of tribulation she dwells in a far indian vale. she is the idea of beauty incarnate, the shadow of the light of life which sustains the world and enkindles it with love, the reality of alastor's vision, the breathing image of the awful loveliness apostrophized in the "hymn to intellectual beauty," the reflex of the splendour of which adonais was a part. at the moment of her triumph she grows so beautiful that ione her sister cannot see her, only feels her influence. the essential thought of shelley's creed was that the universe is penetrated, vitalized, made real by a spirit, which he sometimes called the spirit of nature, but which is always conceived as more than life, as that which gives its actuality to life, and lastly as love and beauty. to adore this spirit, to clasp it with affection, and to blend with it, is, he thought the true object of man. therefore the final union of prometheus with asia is the consummation of human destinies. love was the only law shelley recognized. unterrified by the grim realities of pain and crime revealed in nature and society, he held fast to the belief that, if we could but pierce to the core of things, if we could but be what we might be, the world and man would both attain to their perfection in eternal love. what resolution through some transcendental harmony was expected by shelley for the palpable discords in the structure of the universe, we hardly know. he did not give his philosophy systematic form: and his new science of love remains a luminous poetic vision--nowhere more brilliantly set forth than in the "sevenfold hallelujahs and harping symphonies" of this, the final triumph of his lyrical poetry. in "prometheus", shelley conceived a colossal work of art, and sketched out the main figures on a scale of surpassing magnificence. while painting in these figures, he seems to reduce their proportions too much to the level of earthly life. he quits his god-creating, heaven-compelling throne of mythopoeic inspiration, and descends to a love-story of asia and prometheus. in other words, he does not sustain the visionary and primeval dignity of these incarnated abstractions; nor, on the other hand, has he so elaborated their characters in detail as to give them the substantiality of persons. there is therefore something vague and hollow in both figures. yet in the subordinate passages of the poem, the true mythopoeic faculty--the faculty of finding concrete forms for thought, and of investing emotion with personality--shines forth with extraordinary force and clearness. we feel ourselves in the grasp of a primitive myth-maker while we read the description of oceanus, and the raptures of the earth and moon. a genuine liking for "prometheus unbound" may be reckoned the touch-stone of a man's capacity for understanding lyric poetry. the world in which the action is supposed to move, rings with spirit voices; and what these spirits sing, is melody more purged of mortal dross than any other poet's ear has caught, while listening to his own heart's song, or to the rhythms of the world. there are hymns in "prometheus", which seem to realize the miracle of making words, detached from meaning, the substance of a new ethereal music; and yet, although their verbal harmony is such, they are never devoid of definite significance for those who understand. shelley scorned the aesthetics of a school which finds "sense swooning into nonsense" admirable. and if a critic is so dull as to ask what "life of life! thy lips enkindle" means, or to whom it is addressed, none can help him any more than one can help a man whose sense of hearing is too gross for the tenuity of a bat's cry. a voice in the air thus sings the hymn of asia at the moment of her apotheosis:-- life of life! thy lips enkindle with their love the breath between them; and thy smiles before they dwindle make the cold air fire; then screen them in those looks where whoso gazes faints, entangled in their mazes. child of light! thy limbs are burning through the vest which seems to hide them, as the radiant lines of morning through the clouds, ere they divide them; and this atmosphere divinest shrouds thee whereso'er thou shinest. fair are others; none beholds thee. but thy voice sounds low and tender, like the fairest, for it folds thee from the sight, that liquid splendour, and all feel, yet see thee never, as i feel now, lost for ever! lamp of earth! where'er thou movest its dim shapes are clad with brightness, and the souls of whom thou lovest walk upon the winds with lightness, till they fail, as i am failing, dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing! it has been said that shelley, as a landscape painter, is decidedly turneresque; and there is much in "prometheus unbound" to justify this opinion. the scale of colour is light and aerial, and the darker shadows are omitted. an excess of luminousness seems to be continually radiated from the objects at which he looks; and in this radiation of many-coloured lights, the outline itself is apt to be a little misty. shelley, moreover, pierced through things to their spiritual essence. the actual world was less for him than that which lies within it and beyond it. "i seek," he says himself, "in what i see, the manifestation of something beyond the present and tangible object." for him, as for the poet described by one of the spirit voices in "prometheus", the bees in the ivy-bloom are scarcely heeded; they become in his mind,-- forms more real than living man, nurslings of immortality. and yet who could have brought the bees, the lake, the sun, the bloom, more perfectly before us than that picture does? (forman, volume page .) what vignette is more exquisitely coloured and finished than the little study of a pair of halcyons in the third act? (forman, volume page .) blake is perhaps the only artist who could have illustrated this drama. he might have shadowed forth the choirs of spirits, the trailing voices and their thrilling songs, phantasmal demorgorgon, and the charioted hour. prometheus, too, with his "flowing limbs," has just blake's fault of impersonation--the touch of unreality in that painter's adam. passing to "the cenci", we change at once the moral and artistic atmosphere. the lyrical element, except for one most lovely dirge, is absent. imagery and description are alike sternly excluded. instead of soaring to the empyrean, our feet are firmly planted on the earth. in exchange for radiant visions of future perfection, we are brought into the sphere of dreadful passions--all the agony, endurance, and half-maddened action, of which luckless human innocence is capable. to tell the legend of beatrice cenci here, is hardly needed. her father, a monster of vice and cruelty, was bent upon breaking her spirit by imprisonment, torture, and nameless outrage. at last her patience ended; and finding no redress in human justice, no champion of her helplessness in living man, she wrought his death. for this she died upon the scaffold, together with her step-mother and her brothers, who had aided in the execution of the murder. the interest of "the cenci", and it is overwhelmingly great, centres in beatrice and her father; from these two chief actors in the drama, all the other characters fall away into greater or less degrees of unsubstantiality. perhaps shelley intended this--as the maker of a bas-relief contrives two or three planes of figures for the presentation of his ruling group. yet there appears to my mind a defect of accomplishment, rather than a deliberate intention, in the delineation of orsino. he seems meant to be the wily, crafty, machiavellian reptile, whose calculating wickedness should form a contrast to the daemonic, reckless, almost maniacal fiendishness of old francesco cenci. but this conception of him wavers; his love for beatrice is too delicately tinted, and he is suffered to break down with an infirmity of conscience alien to such a nature. on the other hand the uneasy vacillations of giacomo, and the irresolution, born of feminine weakness and want of fibre, in lucrezia, serve to throw the firm will of beatrice into prominent relief; while her innocence, sustained through extraordinary suffering in circumstances of exceptional horror--the innocence of a noble nature thrust by no act of its own but by its wrongs beyond the pale of ordinary womankind--is contrasted with the merely childish guiltlessness of bernardo. beatrice rises to her full height in the fifth act, dilates and grows with the approach of danger, and fills the whole scene with her spirit on the point of death. her sublime confidence in the justice and essential rightness of her action, the glance of self-assured purity with which she annihilates the cut-throat brought to testify against her, her song in prison, and her tender solicitude for the frailer lucrezia, are used with wonderful dramatic skill for the fulfilment of a feminine ideal at once delicate and powerful. once and once only does she yield to ordinary weakness; it is when the thought crosses her mind that she may meet her father in the other world, as once he came to her on earth. shelley dedicated "the cenci" to leigh hunt, saying that he had striven in this tragedy to cast aside the subjective manner of his earlier work, and to produce something at once more popular and more concrete, more sober in style, and with a firmer grasp on the realities of life. he was very desirous of getting it acted, and wrote to peacock requesting him to offer it at covent garden. miss o'neil, he thought, would play the part of beatrice admirably. the manager, however, did not take this view; averring that the subject rendered it incapable of being even submitted to an actress like miss o'neil. shelley's self-criticism is always so valuable, that it may be well here to collect what he said about the two great dramas of . concerning "the cenci" he wrote to peacock:--"it is written without any of the peculiar feelings and opinions which characterize my other compositions; i having attended simply to the impartial development of such characters as it is probable the persons represented really were, together with the greatest degree of popular effect to be produced by such a development." "'cenci' is written for the multitude, and ought to sell well." "i believe it singularly fitted for the stage." "'the cenci' is a work of art; it is not coloured by my feelings, nor obscured by my metaphysics. i don't think much of it. it gave me less trouble than anything i have written of the same length." "prometheus", on the other hand, he tells ollier, "is my favourite poem; i charge you, therefore, specially to pet him and feed him with fine ink and good paper"--which was duly done. again:--"for 'prometheus', i expect and desire no great sale; prometheus was never intended for more than five or six persons; it is in my judgment of a higher character than anything i have yet attempted, and is perhaps less an imitation of anything that has gone before it; it is original, and cost me severe mental labour." shelley was right in judging that "the cenci" would be comparatively popular; this was proved by the fact that it went through two editions in his lifetime. the value he set upon "prometheus" as the higher work, will hardly be disputed. unique in the history of literature, and displaying the specific qualities of its author at their height, the world could less easily afford to lose this drama than "the cenci", even though that be the greatest tragedy composed in english since the death of shakespeare. for reasons which will be appreciated by lovers of dramatic poetry, i refrain from detaching portions of these two plays. those who desire to make themselves acquainted with the author's genius, must devote long and patient study to the originals in their entirety. "prometheus unbound", like the majority of shelley's works, fell still-born from the press. it furnished punsters with a joke, however, which went the round of several papers; this poem, they cried, is well named, for who would bind it? of criticism that deserves the name, shelley got absolutely nothing in his lifetime. the stupid but venomous reviews which gave him occasional pain, but which he mostly laughed at, need not now be mentioned. it is not much to any purpose to abuse the authors of mere rubbish. the real lesson to be learned from such of them as may possibly have been sincere, as well as from the failure of his contemporaries to appreciate his genius--the sneers of moore, the stupidity of campbell, the ignorance of wordsworth, the priggishness of southey, or the condescending tone of keats--is that nothing is more difficult than for lesser men or equals to pay just homage to the greatest in their lifetime. those who may be interested in studying shelley's attitude toward his critics, should read a letter addressed to ollier from florence, october , , soon after he had seen the vile attack upon him in the "quarterly", comparing this with the fragments of an expostulatory letter to the editor, and the preface to "adonais". (shelley memorials, page . garnett's relics of shelley, pages , . collected letters, page , in moxon's edition of works in one volume .) it is clear that, though he bore scurrilous abuse with patience, he was prepared if needful to give blow for blow. on the th of june, , he wrote to ollier:--"as yet i have laughed; but woe to those scoundrels if they should once make me lose my temper!" the stanzas on the "quarterly" in "adonais", and the invective against lord eldon, show what shelley could have done if he had chosen to castigate the curs. meanwhile the critics achieved what they intended. shelley, as trelawny emphatically tells us, was universally shunned, coldly treated by byron's friends at pisa, and regarded as a monster by such of the english in italy as had not made his personal acquaintance. on one occasion he is even said to have been knocked down in a post-office by some big bully, who escaped before he could obtain his name and address; but this is one of the stories rendered doubtful by the lack of precise details. chapter . residence at pisa. on the th of january, , the shelley's established themselves at pisa. from this date forward to the th of july, , shelley's life divides itself into two periods of unequal length; the first spent at pisa, the baths of san giuliano, and leghorn; the second at lerici, on the bay of spezia. without entering into minute particulars of dates or recording minor changes of residence, it is possible to treat of the first and longer period in general. the house he inhabited at pisa was on the south side of the arno. after a few months he became the neighbour of lord byron, who engaged the palazzo lanfranchi it order to be near him; and here many english and italian friends gathered round them. among these must be mentioned in the first place captain medwin, whose recollections of the pisan residence are of considerable value, and next captain trelawny, who has left a record of shelley's last days only equalled in vividness by hogg's account of the oxford period, and marked by signs of more unmistakable accuracy. not less important members of this private circle were mr. and mrs. edward elleker williams, with whom shelley and his wife lived on terms of the closest friendship. among italians, the physician vacca, the improvisatore sgricci, and rosini, the author of "la monaca di monza", have to be recorded. it will be seen from this enumeration that shelley was no longer solitary; and indeed it would appear that now, upon the eve of his accidental death, he had begun to enjoy an immunity from many of his previous sufferings. life expanded before him: his letters show that he was concentrating his powers and preparing for a fresh flight; and the months, though ever productive of poetic masterpieces, promised a still more magnificent birth in the future. in the summer and autumn of , shelley produced some of his most genial poems: the "letter to maria gisborne", which might be mentioned as a pendent to "julian and maddalo" for its treatment of familiar things; the "ode to a skylark", that most popular of all his lyrics; the "witch of atlas", unrivalled as an ariel-flight of fairy fancy; and the "ode to naples", which, together with the "ode to liberty", added a new lyric form to english literature. in the winter he wrote the "sensitive plant", prompted thereto, we are told, by the flowers which crowded mrs. shelley's drawing room, and exhaled their sweetness to the temperate italian sunlight. whether we consider the number of these poems or their diverse character, ranging from verse separated by an exquisitely subtle line from simple prose to the most impassioned eloquence and the most ethereal imagination, we shall be equally astonished. every chord of the poet's lyre is touched, from the deep bass string that echoes the diurnal speech of such a man as shelley was, to the fine vibrations of a treble merging its rarity of tone in accents super-sensible to ordinary ears. one passage from the "letter to maria gisborne" may here be quoted, not for its poetry, but for the light it casts upon the circle of his english friends. you are now in london, that great sea, whose ebb and flow at once is deaf and loud, and on the shore vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more. yet in its depth what treasures! you will see that which was godwin,--greater none than he though fallen--and fallen on evil times--to stand among the spirits of our age and land, before the dread tribunal of "to come" the foremost, while rebuke cowers pale and dumb. you will see coleridge--he who sits obscure in the exceeding lustre and the pure intense irradiation of a mind, which, with its own internal lightning blind, flags wearily through darkness and despair-- a cloud-encircled meteor of the air, a hooded eagle among blinking owls. you will see hunt; one of those happy souls which are the salt of the earth, and without whom this world would smell like what it is--a tomb; who is, what others seem. his room no doubt is still adorned by many a cast from shout, with graceful flowers tastefully placed about, and coronals of bay from ribbons hung, and brighter wreaths in neat disorder flung; the gifts of the most learn'd among some dozens of female friends, sisters-in-law, and cousins. and there is he with his eternal puns, which beat the dullest brain for smiles, like duns thundering for money at a poet's door; alas! it is no use to say, "i'm poor!"-- or oft in graver mood, when he will look things wiser than were ever read in book, except in shakespere's wisest tenderness. you will see hogg; and i cannot express his virtues, though i know that they are great, because he locks, then barricades the gate within which they inhabit. of his wit and wisdom, you'll cry out when you are bit. he is a pearl within an oyster-shell, one of the richest of the deep. and there is english peacock, with his mountain fair,-- turn'd into a flamingo, that shy bird that gleams in the indian air. have you not heard when a man marries, dies, or turns hindoo, his best friends hear no more of him. but you will see him, and will like him too, i hope, with the milk-white snowdownian antelope match'd with this camelopard. his fine wit makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it; a strain too learned for a shallow age, too wise for selfish bigots; let his page which charms the chosen spirits of the time, fold itself up for the serener clime of years to come, and find its recompense in that just expectation. wit and sense, virtue and human knowledge, all that might make this dull world a business of delight, are all combined in horace smith. and these, with some exceptions, which i need not tease your patience by descanting on, are all you and i know in london. captain medwin, who came late in the autumn of , at his cousin's invitation, to stay with the shelleys, has recorded many interesting details of their pisan life, as well as valuable notes of shelley's conversation. "it was nearly seven years since we had parted, but i should have immediately recognized him in a crowd. his figure was emaciated, and somewhat bent, owing to near-sightedness, and his being forced to lean over his books, with his eyes almost touching them; his hair, still profuse, and curling naturally, was partially interspersed with grey; but his appearance was youthful. there was also a freshness and purity in his complexion that he never lost." not long after his arrival, medwin suffered from a severe and tedious illness. "shelley tended me like a brother. he applied my leeches, administered my medicines, and during six weeks that i was confined to my room, was assiduous and unintermitting in his affectionate care of me." the poet's solitude and melancholy at this time impressed his cousin very painfully. though he was producing a long series of imperishable poems, he did not take much interest in his work. "i am disgusted with writing," he once said, "and were it not for an irresistible impulse, that predominates my better reason, should discontinue so doing." the brutal treatment he had lately received from the "quarterly review", the calumnies which pursued him, and the coldness of all but a very few friends, checked his enthusiasm for composition. of this there is abundant proof in his correspondence. in a letter to leigh hunt, dated january , , he says: "my faculties are shaken to atoms and torpid. i can write nothing; and if "adonais" had no success, and excited no interest, what incentive can i have to write?" again: "i write little now. it is impossible to compose except under the strong excitement of an assurance of finding sympathy in what you write." lord byron's company proved now, as before, a check rather than an incentive to production: "i do not write; i have lived too long near lord byron, and the sun has extinguished the glow-worm; for i cannot hope, with st. john, that the light came into the world and the world knew it not." "i despair of rivalling lord byron, as well i may, and there is no other with whom it is worth contending." to ollier, in , he wrote: "i doubt whether i shall write more. i could be content either with the hell or the paradise of poetry; but the torments of its purgatory vex me, without exciting my powers sufficiently to put an end to the vexation." it was not that his spirit was cowed by the reviews, or that he mistook the sort of audience he had to address. he more than once acknowledged that, while byron wrote for the many, his poems were intended for the understanding few. yet the sunetoi, as he called them, gave him but scanty encouragement. the cold phrases of kindly horace smith show that he had not comprehended "prometheus unbound"; and shelley whimsically complains that even intelligent and sympathetic critics confounded the ideal passion described in "epipsychidion" with the love affairs of "a servant-girl and her sweetheart." this almost incomprehensible obtuseness on the part of men who ought to have known better, combined with the coarse abuse of vulgar scribblers, was enough to make a man so sincerely modest as shelley doubt his powers, or shrink from the severe labour of developing them. (see medwin, volume page , for shelley's comment on the difficulty of the poet's art.) "the decision of the cause," he wrote to mr. gisborne, "whether or no _i_ am a poet, is removed from the present time to the hour when our posterity shall assemble; but the court is a very severe one, and i fear that the verdict will be, guilty--death." deep down in his own heart he had, however, less doubt: "this i know," he said to medwin, "that whether in prosing or in versing, there is something in my writings that shall live for ever." and again, he writes to hunt: "i am full of thoughts and plans, and should do something, if the feeble and irritable frame which encloses it was willing to obey the spirit. i fancy that then i should do great things." it seems almost certain that the incompleteness of many longer works designed in the italian period, the abandonment of the tragedy on tasso's story, the unfinished state of "charles i", and the failure to execute the cherished plan of a drama suggested by the book of job, were due to the depressing effects of ill-health and external discouragement. poetry with shelley was no light matter. he composed under the pressure of intense excitement, and he elaborated his first draughts with minute care and severe self-criticism. these words must not be taken as implying that he followed the virgilian precedent of polishing and reducing the volume of his verses by an anxious exercise of calm reflection, or that he observed the horatian maxim of deferring their publication till the ninth year. the contrary was notoriously the case with him. yet it is none the less proved by the state of his manuscripts that his compositions, even as we now possess them, were no mere improvisations. the passage already quoted from his "defence of poetry" shows the high ideal he had conceived of the poet's duty toward his art; and it may be confidently asserted that his whole literary career was one long struggle to emerge from the incoherence of his earlier efforts, into the clearness of expression and precision of form that are the index of mastery over style. at the same time it was inconsistent with his most firmly rooted aesthetic principles to attempt composition except under an impulse approaching to inspiration. to imperil his life by the fiery taxing of all his faculties, moral, intellectual, and physical, and to undergo the discipline exacted by his own fastidious taste, with no other object in view than the frigid compliments of a few friends, was more than even shelley's enthusiasm could endure. he, therefore, at this period required the powerful stimulus of some highly exciting cause from without to determine his activity. such external stimulus came to shelley from three quarters early in the year . among his italian acquaintances at pisa was a clever but disreputable professor, of whom medwin draws a very piquant portrait. this man one day related the sad story of a beautiful and noble lady, the contessina emilia viviani, who had been confined by her father in a dismal convent of the suburbs, to await her marriage with a distasteful husband. shelley, fired as ever by a tale of tyranny, was eager to visit the fair captive. the professor accompanied him and medwin to the convent-parlour, where they found her more lovely than even the most glowing descriptions had led them to expect. nor was she only beautiful. shelley soon discovered that she had "cultivated her mind beyond what i have ever met in italian women;" and a rhapsody composed by her upon the subject of uranian love--il vero amore--justifies the belief that she possessed an intellect of more than ordinary elevation. he took mrs. shelley to see her, and both did all they could to make her convent-prison less irksome, by frequent visits, by letters, and by presents of flowers and books. it was not long before shelley's sympathy for this unfortunate lady took the form of love, which, however spiritual and platonic, was not the less passionate. the result was the composition of "epipsychidion," the most unintelligible of all his poems to those who have not assimilated the spirit of plato's "symposium" and dante's "vita nuova". in it he apostrophizes emilia viviani as the incarnation of ideal beauty, the universal loveliness made visible in mortal flesh:-- seraph of heaven! too gentle to be human, veiling beneath that radiant form of woman all that is insupportable in thee of light, and love, and immortality! he tells her that he loves her, and describes the troubles and deceptions of his earlier manhood, under allegories veiled in delicate obscurity. the pandemic and the uranian aphrodite have striven for his soul; for though in youth he dedicated himself to the service of ideal beauty, and seemed to find it under many earthly shapes, yet has he ever been deluded. at last emily appears, and in her he recognizes the truth of the vision veiled from him so many years. she and mary shall henceforth, like sun and moon, rule the world of love within him. then he calls on her to fly. they three will escape and live together, far away from men, in an aegean island. the description of this visionary isle, and of the life to be led there by the fugitives from a dull and undiscerning world, is the most beautiful that has been written this century in the rhymed heroic metre. it is an isle under ionian skies, beautiful as a wreck of paradise; and, for the harbours are not safe and good, this land would have remained a solitude but for some pastoral people native there, who from the elysian, clear, and golden air draw the last spirit of the age of gold, simple and spirited, innocent and bold. the blue aegean girds this chosen home, with ever-changing sound and light and foam kissing the sifted sands and caverns hoar; and all the winds wandering along the shore, undulate with the undulating tide. there are thick woods where sylvan forms abide; and many a fountain, rivulet, and pond, as clear as elemental diamond, or serene morning air. and far beyond, the mossy tracks made by the goats and deer, (which the rough shepherd treads but once a year,) pierce into glades, caverns, and bowers, and halls built round with ivy, which the waterfalls illumining, with sound that never fails accompany the noonday nightingales; and all the place is peopled with sweet airs. the light clear element which the isle wears is heavy with the scent of lemon-flowers, which floats like mist laden with unseen showers, and falls upon the eyelids like faint sleep; and from the moss violets and jonquils peep, and dart the arrowy odour through the brain, till you might faint with that delicious pain. and every motion, odour, beam, and tone, with that deep music is in unison: which is a soul within a soul--they seem like echoes of an antenatal dream. it is an isle 'twixt heaven, air, earth, and sea, cradled, and hung in clear tranquillity; bright as that wandering eden, lucifer, washed by the soft blue oceans of young air. it is a favoured place. famine or blight, pestilence, war, and earthquake, never light upon its mountain-peaks; blind vultures, they sail onward far upon their fatal way. the winged storms, chanting their thunder-psalm to other lands, leave azure chasms of calm over this isle, or weep themselves in dew, from which its fields and woods ever renew their green and golden immortality. and from the sea there rise, and from the sky there fall, clear exhalations, soft and bright, veil after veil, each hiding some delight, which sun or moon or zephyr draws aside, till the isle's beauty, like a naked bride glowing at once with love and loveliness, blushes and trembles at its own excess: yet, like a buried lamp, a soul no less burns in the heart of this delicious isle, an atom of the eternal, whose own smile unfolds itself, and may be felt not seen o'er the grey rocks, blue waves, and forests green, filling their bare and void interstices. shelley did not publish "epipsychidion" with his own name. he gave it to the world as a composition of a man who had "died at florence, as he was preparing for a voyage to one of the sporades," and he requested ollier not to circulate it, except among a few intelligent readers. it may almost be said to have been never published, in such profound silence did it issue from the press. very shortly after its appearance he described it to leigh hunt as "a portion of me already dead," and added this significant allusion to its subject matter:--"some of us have in a prior existence been in love with antigone, and that makes us find no full content in any mortal tie." in the letter of june , , again he says:--"the 'epipsychidion' i cannot look at; the person whom it celebrates was a cloud instead of a juno; and poor ixion starts from the centaur that was the offspring of his own embrace. if you are curious, however, to hear what i am and have been, it will tell you something thereof. it is an idealized history of my life and feelings. i think one is always in love with something or other; the error, and i confess it is not easy for spirits cased in flesh and blood to avoid it, consists in seeking in a mortal image the likeness of what is, perhaps, eternal." this paragraph contains the essence of a just criticism. brilliant as the poem is, we cannot read it with unwavering belief either in the author's sincerity at the time he wrote it, or in the permanence of the emotion it describes. the exordium has a fatal note of rhetorical exaggeration, not because the kind of passion is impossible, but because shelley does not convince us that in this instance he had really been its subject. his own critique, following so close upon the publication of "epipsychidion," confirms the impression made by it, and justifies the conclusion that he had utilized his feeling for emilia to express a favourite doctrine in impassioned verse. to students of shelley's inner life "epipsychidion" will always have high value, independently of its beauty of style, as containing his doctrine of love. it is the full expression of the esoteric principle presented to us in "alastor", the "hymn to intellectual beauty," and "prince athanase." but the words just quoted, which may be compared with mrs. shelley's note to "prince athanase," authorize our pointing out what he himself recognized as the defect of his theory. instead of remaining true to the conception of beauty expressed in the "hymn," shelley "sought through the world the one whom he may love." thus, while his doctrine in "epipsychidion" seems platonic, it will not square with the "symposium." plato treats the love of a beautiful person as a mere initiation into divine mysteries, the first step in the ladder that ascends to heaven. when a man has formed a just conception of the universal beauty, he looks back with a smile upon those who find their soul's sphere in the love of some mere mortal object. tested by this standard, shelley's identification of intellectual beauty with so many daughters of earth, and his worshipping love of emilia, is a spurious platonism. plato would have said that to seek the idea of beauty in emilia viviani was a retrogressive step. all that she could do, would be to quicken the soul's sense of beauty, to stir it from its lethargy, and to make it divine the eternal reality of beauty in the supersensual world of thought. this shelley had already acknowledged in the "hymn;" and this he emphasizes in these words:--"the error consists in seeking in a mortal image the likeness of what is, perhaps, eternal." the fragments and cancelled passages published in forman's edition do not throw much light upon "epipsychidion." the longest, entitled "to his genius" by its first editor, mr. garnett, reads like the induction to a poem conceived and written in a different key, and at a lower level of inspiration. it has, however, this extraordinary interest, that it deals with a love which is both love and friendship, above sex, spiritual, unintelligible to the world at large. thus the fragment enables the student better to realize the kind of worship so passionately expressed in "epipsychidion." the news of keats's death at rome on the th of december, , and the erroneous belief that it had been accelerated, if not caused, by a contemptible review of "endymion" in the "quarterly", stirred shelley to the composition of "adonais". he had it printed at pisa, and sent copies to ollier for circulation in london. this poem was a favourite with its author, who hoped not only that it might find acceptance with the public, but also that it would confer lustre upon the memory of a poet whom he sincerely admired. no criticisms upon shelley's works are half so good as his own. it is, therefore, interesting to collect the passages in which he speaks of an elegy only equalled in our language by "lycidas", and in the point of passionate eloquence even superior to milton's youthful lament for his friend. "the 'adonais', in spite of its mysticism," he writes to ollier, "is the least imperfect of my compositions." "i confess i should be surprised if that poem were born to an immortality of oblivion." "it is a highly wrought piece of art, and perhaps better, in point of composition, than anything i have written." "it is absurd in any review to criticize 'adonais', and still more to pretend that the verses are bad." "i know what to think of 'adonais', but what to think of those who confound it with the many bad poems of the day, i know not." again, alluding to the stanzas hurled against the infamous "quarterly" reviewer, he says:--"i have dipped my pen in consuming fire for his destroyers; otherwise the style is calm and solemn." with these estimates the reader of to-day will cordially agree. although "adonais" is not so utterly beyond the scope of other poets as "prometheus" or "epipsychidion," it presents shelley's qualities in a form of even and sustained beauty, brought within the sphere of the dullest apprehensions. shelley, we may notice, dwells upon the art of the poem; and this perhaps, is what at first sight will strike the student most. he chose as a foundation for his work those laments of bion for adonis, and of moschus for bion, which are the most pathetic products of greek idyllic poetry; and the transmutation of their material into the substance of highly spiritualized modern thought, reveals the potency of a prospero's wand. it is a metamorphosis whereby the art of excellent but positive poets has been translated into the sphere of metaphysical imagination. urania takes the place of aphrodite; the thoughts and fancies and desires of the dead singer are substituted for bion's cupids; and instead of mountain shepherds, the living bards of england are summoned to lament around the poet's bier. yet it is only when shelley frees himself from the influence of his models, that he soars aloft on mighty wing. this point, too, is the point of transition from death, sorrow, and the past to immortality, joy, and the rapture of the things that cannot pass away. the first and second portions of the poem are, at the same time, thoroughly concordant, and the passage from the one to the other is natural. two quotations from "adonais" will suffice to show the power and sweetness of its verse. the first is a description of shelley himself following byron and moore--the "pilgrim of eternity," and ierne's "sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong"--to the couch where keats lies dead. there is both pathos and unconscious irony in his making these two poets the chief mourners, when we remember what byron wrote about keats in "don juan", and what moore afterwards recorded of shelley; and when we think, moreover, how far both keats and shelley have outsoared moore, and disputed with byron his supreme place in the heaven of poetry. midst others of less note, came one frail form, a phantom among men, companionless as the last cloud of an expiring storm, whose thunder is its knell. he, as i guess, had gazed on nature's naked loveliness, actaeon-like, and now he fled astray with feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, and his own thoughts, along that rugged way, pursued like raging hounds their father and their prey. a pard-like spirit beautiful and swift-- a love in desolation masked--a power girt round with weakness; it can scarce uplift the weight of the superincumbent hour; is it a dying lamp, a falling shower, a breaking billow;--even whilst we speak is it not broken? on the withering flower the killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek the life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break. his head was bound with pansies over-blown, and faded violets, white and pied and blue; and a light spear topped with a cypress cone, round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew yet dripping with the forest's noon-day dew, vibrated, as the ever-beating heart shook the weak hand that grasped it. of that crew he came the last, neglected and apart; a herd-abandoned deer, struck by the hunter's dart. the second passage is the peroration of the poem. nowhere has shelley expressed his philosophy of man's relation to the universe with more sublimity and with a more imperial command of language than in these stanzas. if it were possible to identify that philosophy with any recognized system of thought, it might be called pantheism. but it is difficult to affix a name, stereotyped by the usage of the schools, to the aerial spiritualism of its ardent and impassioned poet's creed. the movement of the long melodious sorrow-song has just been interrupted by three stanzas, in which shelley lashes the reviewer of keats. he now bursts forth afresh into the music of consolation:-- peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep! he hath awakened from the dream of life. 'tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife, and in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife invulnerable nothings. we decay like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief convulse us and consume us day by day, and cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay. he has outsoared the shadow of our night; envy and calumny, and hate and pain, and that unrest which men miscall delight, can touch him not and torture not again; from the contagion of the world's slow stain he is secure, and now can never mourn a heart grown cold, a head grown grey in vain; nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, with sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn. he lives, he wakes--'tis death is dead, not he; mourn not for adonais.--thou young dawn, turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee the spirit thou lamentest is not gone; ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan! cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou air which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown o'er the abandoned earth, now leave it bare even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair! he is made one with nature: there is heard his voice in all her music, from the moan of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird; he is a presence to be felt and known in darkness and in light, from herb and stone, spreading itself where'er that power may move which has withdrawn his being to its own; which wields the world with never wearied love, sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above. he is a portion of the loveliness which once he made more lovely: he doth bear his part, while the one spirit's plastic stress sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there all new successions to the forms they wear; torturing th' unwilling dross that checks its flight to its own likeness, as each mass may bear; and bursting in its beauty and its might from trees and beasts and men into the heaven's light. but the absorption of the human soul into primeval nature-forces, the blending of the principle of thought with the universal spirit of beauty, is not enough to satisfy man's yearning after immortality. therefore in the next three stanzas the indestructibility of the personal self is presented to us, as the soul of adonais passes into the company of the illustrious dead who, like him, were untimely slain:-- the splendours of the firmament of time may be eclipsed, but are extinguished not: like stars to their appointed height they climb, and death is a low mist which cannot blot the brightness it may veil. when lofty thought lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, and love and life contend in it, for what shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there, and move like winds of light on dark and stormy air. the inheritors of unfulfilled renown rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought, far in the unapparent. chatterton rose pale, his solemn agony had not yet faded from him; sidney, as he fought and as he fell, and as he lived and loved, sublimely mild, a spirit without spot, arose; and lucan, by his death approved:-- oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved. and many more, whose names on earth are dark, but whose transmitted effluence cannot die so long as fire outlives the parent spark, rose, robed in dazzling immortality. "thou art become as one of us," they cry; "it was for thee yon kingless sphere has long swung blind in unascended majesty, silent alone amid an heaven of song. assume thy winged throne, thou vesper of our throng!" from the more universal and philosophical aspects of his theme, the poet once more turns to the special subject that had stirred him. adonais lies dead; and those who mourn him must seek his grave. he has escaped: to follow him is to die; and where should we learn to dote on death unterrified, if not in rome? in this way the description of keat's resting-place beneath the pyramid of cestius, which was also destined to be shelley's own, is introduced:-- who mourns for adonais? oh come forth, fond wretch! and show thyself and him aright. clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous earth; as from a centre, dart thy spirit's light beyond all worlds, until its spacious might satiate the void circumference: then shrink even to a point within our day and night; and keep thy heart light, let it make thee sink when hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to the brink. or go to rome, which is the sepulchre, oh, not of him, but of our joy: 'tis nought that ages, empires, and religions there lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; for such as he can lend,--they borrow not glory from those who made the world their prey; and he is gathered to the kings of thought who waged contention with their time's decay, and of the past are all that cannot pass away. go thou to rome,--at once the paradise, the grave, the city, and the wilderness; and where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, and flowering weeds and fragrant corpses dress the bones of desolation's nakedness, pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead thy footsteps to a slope of green access, where, like an infant's smile, over the dead a light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread; and grey walls moulder round, on which dull time feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand; and one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, pavilioning the dust of him who planned this refuge for his memory, doth stand like flame transformed to marble; and beneath, a field is spread, on which a newer band have pitched in heaven's smile their camp of death, welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath. here pause: these graves are all too young as yet to have outgrown the sorrow which consigned its charge to each; and if the seal is set, here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, break if not thou! too surely shalt thou find thine own well full, if thou returnest home, of tears and gall. from the world's bitter wind seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. what adonais is, why fear we to become? yet again the thought of death as the deliverer, the revealer, and the mystagogue, through whom the soul of man is reunited to the spirit of the universe, returns; and on this solemn note the poem closes. the symphony of exultation which had greeted the passage of adonais into the eternal world, is here subdued to a graver key, as befits the mood of one whom mystery and mourning still oppress on earth. yet even in the somewhat less than jubilant conclusion we feel that highest of all shelley's qualities--the liberation of incalculable energies, the emancipation and expansion of a force within the soul, victorious over circumstance, exhilarated and elevated by contact with such hopes as make a feebler spirit tremble: the one remains, the many change and pass; heaven's light for ever shines, earth's shadows fly; life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, stains the white radiance of eternity, until death tramples it to fragments.--die, if thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! follow where all is fled!--rome's azure sky, flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak the glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my heart? thy hopes are gone before: from all things here they have departed; thou shouldst now depart! a light is past from the revolving year, and man and woman; and what still is dear attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. the soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near: 'tis adonais calls! oh, hasten thither! no more let life divide what death can join together. that light whose smile kindles the universe, that beauty in which all things work and move, that benediction which the eclipsing curse of birth can quench not, that sustaining love which through the web of being blindly wove by man and beast and earth and air and sea, burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of the fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, consuming the last clouds of cold mortality. the breath whose might i have invoked in song descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven far from the shore, far from the trembling throng whose sails were never to the tempest given. the massy earth and sphered skies are riven! i am borne darkly, fearfully afar; whilst burning through the inmost veil of heaven, the soul of adonais, like a star, beacons from the abode where the eternal are. it will be seen that, whatever shelley may from time to time have said about the immortality of the soul, he was no materialist, and no believer in the extinction of the spiritual element by death. yet he was too wise to dogmatize upon a problem which by its very nature admits of no solution in this world. "i hope," he said, "but my hopes are not unmixed with fear for what will befall this inestimable spirit when we appear to die." on another occasion he told trelawny, "i am content to see no farther into futurity than plato and bacon. my mind is tranquil; i have no fears and some hopes. in our present gross material state our faculties are clouded; when death removes our clay coverings, the mystery will be solved." how constantly the thought of death as the revealer was present to his mind, may be gathered from an incident related by trelawny. they were bathing in the arno, when shelley, who could not swim, plunged into deep water, and "lay stretched out at the bottom like a conger eel, not making the least effort or struggle to save himself." trelawny fished him out, and when he had taken breath he said: "i always find the bottom of the well, and they say truth lies there. in another minute i should have found it, and you would have found an empty shell. death is the veil which those who live call life; they sleep, and it is lifted." yet being pressed by his friend, he refused to acknowledge a formal and precise belief in the imperishability of the human soul. "we know nothing; we have no evidence; we cannot express our inmost thoughts. they are incomprehensible even to ourselves." the clear insight into the conditions of the question conveyed by the last sentence is very characteristic of shelley. it makes us regret the non-completion of his essay on a "future life", which would certainly have stated the problem with rare lucidity and candour, and would have illuminated the abyss of doubt with a sense of spiritual realities not often found in combination with wise suspension of judgment. what he clung to amid all perplexities was the absolute and indestructible existence of the universal as perceived by us in love, beauty, and delight. though the destiny of the personal self be obscure, these things cannot fail. the conclusion of the "sensitive plant" might be cited as conveying the quintessence of his hope upon this most intangible of riddles. whether the sensitive plant, or that which within its boughs like a spirit sat, ere its outward form had known decay, now felt this change, i cannot say. i dare not guess; but in this life of error, ignorance, and strife, where nothing is, but all things seem, and we the shadows of the dream: it is a modest creed, and yet pleasant, if one considers it, to own that death itself must be, like all the rest, a mockery. that garden sweet, that lady fair, and all sweet shapes and odours there, in truth have never passed away: 'tis we, 'tis ours, are changed; not they. for love, and beauty, and delight, there is no death nor change; their might exceeds our organs, which endure no light, being themselves obscure. but it is now time to return from this digression to the poem which suggested it, and which, more than any other, serves to illustrate its author's mood of feeling about the life beyond the grave. the last lines of "adonais" might be read as a prophecy of his own death by drowning. the frequent recurrence of this thought in his poetry is, to say the least, singular. in "alastor" we read:-- a restless impulse urged him to embark and meet lone death on the drear ocean's waste; for well he knew that mighty shadow loves the slimy caverns of the populous deep. the "ode to liberty" closes on the same note:-- as a far taper fades with fading night; as a brief insect dies with dying day, my song, its pinions disarrayed of might, drooped. o'er it closed the echoes far away of the great voice which did its flight sustain, as waves which lately paved his watery way hiss round a drowner's head in their tempestuous play. the "stanzas written in dejection, near naples", echo the thought with a slight variation:-- yet now despair itself is mild, even as the winds and waters are; i could lie down like a tired child, and weep away the life of care which i have borne, and yet must bear,-- till death like sleep might steal on me, and i might feel in the warm air my cheek grow cold, and hear the sea breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. trelawny tells a story of his friend's life at lerici, which further illustrates his preoccupation with the thought of death at sea. he took mrs. williams and her children out upon the bay in his little boat one afternoon, and starting suddenly from a deep reverie, into which he had fallen, exclaimed with a joyful and resolute voice, "now let us together solve the great mystery!" too much value must not be attached to what might have been a mere caprice of utterance. yet the proposal not unreasonably frightened mrs. williams, for shelley's friends were accustomed to expect the realisation of his wildest fancies. it may incidentally be mentioned that before the water finally claimed its victim, he had often been in peril of life upon his fatal element--during the first voyage to ireland, while crossing the channel with mary in an open boat, again at meillerie with byron, and once at least with williams. a third composition of the year was inspired by the visit of prince mavrocordato to pisa. he called on shelley in april, showed him a copy of prince ipsilanti's proclamation, and announced that greece was determined to strike a blow for freedom. the news aroused all shelley's enthusiasm, and he began the lyrical drama of "hellas", which he has described as "a sort of imitation of the 'persae' of aeschylus." we find him at work upon it in october; and it must have been finished by the end of that month, since the dedication bears the date of november st, . shelley did not set great store by it. "it was written," he says, "without much care, and in one of those few moments of enthusiasm which now seldom visit me, and which make me pay dear for their visits." the preface might, if space permitted, be cited as a specimen of his sound and weighty judgment upon one of the greatest political questions of this century. what he says about the debt of the modern world to ancient hellas, is no less pregnant than his severe strictures upon the part played by russia in dealing with eastern questions. for the rest, the poem is distinguished by passages of great lyrical beauty, rising at times to the sublimest raptures, and closing on the half-pathetic cadence of that well-known chorus, "the world's great age begins anew." of dramatic interest it has but little; nor is the play, as finished, equal to the promise held forth by the superb fragment of its so-called prologue. (forman, page .) this truly magnificent torso must, i think, have been the commencement of the drama as conceived upon a different and more colossal plan, which shelley rejected for some unknown reason. it shows the influence not only of the book of job, but also of the prologue in heaven to faust, upon his mind. the lyric movement of the chorus from "hellas", which i propose to quote, marks the highest point of shelley's rhythmical invention. as for the matter expressed in it, we must not forget that these stanzas are written for a chorus of greek captive women, whose creed does not prevent their feeling a regret for the "mightier forms of an older, austerer worship." shelley's note reminds the reader, with characteristic caution and frankness, that "the popular notions of christianity are represented in this chorus as true in their relation to the worship they superseded, and that which in all probability they will supersede, without considering their merits in a relation more universal." worlds on worlds are rolling over from creation to decay, like the bubbles on a river sparkling, bursting, borne away. but they are still immortal who, through birth's orient portal, and death's dark chasm hurrying to and fro, clothe their unceasing flight in the brief dust and light gathered around their chariots as they go; new shapes they still may weave, new gods, new laws receive; bright or dim are they, as the robes they last on death's bare ribs had cast. a power from the unknown god, a promethan conqueror came; like a triumphal path he trod the thorns of death and shame. a mortal shape to him was like the vapour dim which the orient planet animates with light. hell, sin, and slavery came, like bloodhounds mild and tame, nor preyed until their lord had taken flight. the moon of mahomet arose, and it shall set: while blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon the cross leads generations on. swift as the radiant shapes of sleep from one whose dreams are paradise, fly, when the fond wretch wakes to weep, and day peers forth with her blank eyes; so fleet, so faint, so fair, the powers of earth and air fled from the folding star of bethlehem: apollo, pan, and love and even olympian jove, grew weak, for killing truth had glared on them. our hills, and seas, and streams, dispeopled of their dreams, their waters turned to blood, their dew to tears, wailed for the golden years. in the autumn of this year shelley paid lord byron a visit at ravenna, where he made acquaintance with the countess guiccoli. it was then settled that byron, who had formed the project of starting a journal to be called "the liberal" in concert with leigh hunt, should himself settle in pisa. leigh hunt was to join his brother poets in the same place. the prospect gave shelley great pleasure, for he was sincerely attached to hunt; and though he would not promise contributions to the journal, partly lest his name should bring discredit on it, and partly because he did not choose to appear before the world as a hanger-on of byron's, he thoroughly approved of a plan which would be profitable to his friend by bringing him into close relation with the most famous poet of the age. (see the letter to leigh hunt, pisa, august , .) that he was not without doubts as to byron's working easily in harness with leigh hunt, may be seen in his correspondence; and how fully these doubts were destined to be confirmed, is only too well known. at ravenna he was tormented by the report of some more than usually infamous calumny. what it was, we do not know; but that it made profound impression on his mind, appears from a remarkable letter addressed to his wife on the th and th of august from ravenna. in it he repeats his growing weariness, and his wish to escape from society to solitude; the weariness of a nature wounded and disappointed by commerce with the world, but neither soured nor driven to fury by cruel wrongs. it is noticeable at the same time that he clings to his present place of residence:--"our roots never struck so deeply as at pisa, and the transplanted tree flourishes not." at pisa he had found real rest and refreshment in the society of his two friends, the williamses. some of his saddest and most touching lyrics of this year are addressed to jane--for so mrs. williams was called; and attentive students may perceive that the thought of emilia was already blending by subtle transitions with the new thought of jane. one poem, almost terrible in its intensity of melancholy, is hardly explicable on the supposition that shelley was quite happy in his home. ("the serpent is shut out from paradise.") these words must be taken as implying no reflection either upon mary's love for him, or upon his own power to bear the slighter troubles of domestic life. he was not a spoiled child of fortune, a weak egotist, or a querulous complainer. but he was always seeking and never finding the satisfaction of some deeper craving. in his own words, he had loved antigone before he visited this earth: and no one woman could probably have made him happy, because he was for ever demanding more from love than it can give in the mixed circumstances of mortal life. moreover, it must be remembered that his power of self-expression has bestowed permanent form on feelings which may have been but transitory; nor can we avoid the conclusion that, sincere as shelley was, he, like all poets, made use of the emotion of the moment for purposes of art, converting an ephemeral mood into something typical and universal. this was almost certainly the case with "epipsychidion." so much at any rate had to be said upon this subject; for careful readers of shelley's minor poems are forced to the conviction that during the last year of his life he often found relief from a wretchedness, which, however real, can hardly be defined, in the sympathy of this true-hearted woman. the affection he felt for jane was beyond question pure and honourable. all the verses he addressed to her passed through her husband's hands without the slightest interruption to their intercourse; and mrs. shelley, who was not unpardonably jealous of her ariel, continued to be mrs. williams's warm friend. a passage from shelley's letter of june , , expresses the plain prose of his relation to the williamses:--"they are people who are very pleasing to me. but words are not the instruments of our intercourse. i like jane more and more, and i find williams the most amiable of companions. she has a taste for music, and an eloquence of form and motions that compensate in some degree for the lack of literary refinement." two lyrics of this period may here be introduced, partly for the sake of their intrinsic beauty, and partly because they illustrate the fecundity of shelley's genius during the months of tranquil industry which he passed at pisa. the first is an invocation to night:-- swiftly walk over the western wave, spirit of night! out of the misty eastern cave, where all the long and lone daylight, thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, which make thee terrible and dear,-- swift be thy flight! wrap thy form in a mantle grey star-inwrought! blind with thine hair the eyes of day, kiss her until she be wearied out. then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, touching all with thin opiate wand-- come, long-sought! when i arose and saw the dawn, i sighed for thee; when light rode high, and the dew was gone, and noon lay heavy on flower and tree, and the weary day turned to his rest, lingering like an unloved guest, i sighed for thee. thy brother death came, and cried, "wouldst thou me?" thy sweet child sleep, the filmy-eyed, murmured like a noon-tide bee, "shall i nestle near thy side? wouldst thou me?"--and i replied, "no, not thee!" death will come when thou art dead, soon, too soon-- sleep will come when thou art fled; of neither would i ask the boon i ask of thee, beloved night-- swift be thine approaching flight, come soon, soon! the second is an epithalamium composed for a drama which his friend williams was writing. students of the poetic art will find it not uninteresting to compare the three versions of this bridal song, given by mr. forman. (volume page .) they prove that shelley was no careless writer. the golden gates of sleep unbar where strength and beauty, met together, kindle their image like a star in a sea of glassy weather! night, with all thy stars look down-- darkness, weep thy holiest dew! never smiled the inconstant moon on a pair so true. let eyes not see their own delight; haste, swift hour, and thy flight oft renew. fairies, sprites, and angels, keep her! holy stars, permit no wrong! and return to wake the sleeper, dawn, ere it be long. o joy! o fear! what will be done in the absence of the sun! come along! lyrics like these, delicate in thought and exquisitely finished in form, were produced with a truly wonderful profusion in this season of his happiest fertility. a glance at the last section of mr. palgrave's "golden treasury" shows how large a place they occupy among the permanent jewels of our literature. the month of january added a new and most important member to the little pisan circle. this was captain edward john trelawny, to whom more than to any one else but hogg and mrs. shelley, the students of the poet's life are indebted for details at once accurate and characteristic. trelawny had lived a free life in all quarters of the globe, far away from literary cliques and the society of cities, in contact with the sternest realities of existence, which had developed his self-reliance and his physical qualities to the utmost. the impression, therefore, made on him by shelley has to be gravely estimated by all who still incline to treat the poet as a pathological specimen of humanity. this true child of nature recognized in his new friend far more than in byron the stuff of a real man. "to form a just idea of his poetry, you should have witnessed his daily life; his words and actions best illustrated his writings." "the cynic byron acknowledged him to be the best and ablest man he had ever known. the truth was, shelley loved everything better than himself." "i have seen shelley and byron in society, and the contrast was as marked as their characters. the former, not thinking of himself, was as much at ease in his own home, omitting no occasion of obliging those whom he came in contact with, readily conversing with all or any who addressed him, irrespective of age or rank, dress or address." "all who heard him felt the charm of his simple, earnest manner: while byron knew him to be exempt from the egotism, pedantry, coxcombry, and more than all the rivalry of authorship." "shelley's mental activity was infectious; he kept your brain in constant action." "he was always in earnest." "he never laid aside his book and magic mantle; he waved his wand, and byron, after a faint show of defiance, stood mute.... shelley's earnestness and just criticism held him captive." these sentences, and many others, prove that trelawny, himself somewhat of a cynic, cruelly exposing false pretensions, and detesting affectation in any for, paid unreserved homage to the heroic qualities this "dreamy bard,"--"uncommonly awkward," as he also called him--bad rider and poor seaman as he was--"over-sensitive," and "eternally brooding on his own thoughts," who "had seen no more of the waking-day than a girl at a boarding-school." true to himself, gentle, tender, with the courage of a lion, "frank and outspoken, like a well-conditioned boy, well-bred and considerate for others, because he was totally devoid of selfishness and vanity," shelley seemed to this unprejudiced companion of his last few months that very rare product for which diogenes searched in vain--a man. their first meeting must be told in trelawny's own words--words no less certain of immortality than the fame of him they celebrate. "the williamses received me in their earnest, cordial manner; we had a great deal to communicate to each other, and were in loud and animated conversation, when i was rather put out by observing in the passage near the open door, opposite to where i sat, a pair of glittering eyes steadily fixed on mine; it was too dark to make out whom they belonged to. with the acuteness of a woman, mrs. williams's eyes followed the direction of mine, and going to the doorway she laughingly said, 'come in, shelley, its only our friend tre just arrived.' swiftly gliding in, blushing like a girl, a tall, thin stripling held out both his hands; and although i could hardly believe, as i looked at his flushed, feminine, and artless face, that it could be the poet, i returned his warm pressure. after the ordinary greetings and courtesies he sat down and listened. i was silent from 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. he was habited like a boy, in a black jacket and trousers, which he seemed to have outgrown, or his tailor, as is the custom, had most shamefully stinted him in his 'sizings.' mrs. williams saw my embarrassment, and to relieve me asked shelley what book he had in his hand? his face brightened, and he answered briskly,-- "'calderon's "magico prodigioso"--i am translating some passages in it.' "'oh, read it to us.' "shoved off from the shore of commonplace incidents that could not interest him, and fairly launched on a theme that did, he instantly became oblivious of everything but the book in his hand. the masterly manner in which he analysed the genius of the author, his lucid interpretation of the story, and the ease with which he translated into our language the most subtle and imaginative passages of the spanish poet, were marvellous, as was his command of the two languages. after this touch of his quality i no longer doubted his identity; a dead silence ensued; looking up, i asked,-- "'where is he?' "mrs. williams said, 'who? shelley? oh, he comes and goes like a spirit, no one knows when or where.'" two little incidents which happened in the winter of - deserve to be recorded. news reached the pisan circle early in december that a man who had insulted the host at lucca was sentenced to be burned. shelley proposed that the english--himself, byron, medwin, and their friend mr. taafe--should immediately arm and ride off to rescue him. the scheme took byron's fancy; but they agreed to try less quixotic measures before they had recourse to force, and their excitement was calmed by hearing that the man's sentence had been commuted to the galleys. the other affair brought them less agreeably into contact with the tuscan police. the party were riding home one afternoon in march, when a mounted dragoon came rushing by, breaking their ranks and nearly unhorsing mr. taafe. byron and shelley rode after him to remonstrate; but the man struck shelley from his saddle with a sabre blow. the english then pursued him into pisa, making such a clatter that one of byron's servants issued with a pitchfork from the casa lanfranchi, and wounded the fellow somewhat seriously, under the impression that it was necessary to defend his master. shelley called the whole matter "a trifling piece of business;" but it was strictly investigated by the authorities; and though the dragoon was found to have been in the wrong, byron had to retire for a season to leghorn. another consequence was the exile of count gamba and his father from tuscany, which led to byron's final departure from pisa. the even current of shelley's life was not often broken by such adventures. trelawny gives the following account of how he passed his days: he "was up at six or seven, reading plato, sophocles, or spinoza, with the accompaniment of a hunch of dry bread; then he joined williams in a sail on the arno, in a flat-bottomed skiff, book in hand, and from thence he went to the pine-forest, or some out-of-the-way place. when the birds went to roost he returned home, and talked and read until midnight." the great wood of stone pines on the pisan maremma was his favourite study. trelawny tells us how he found him there alone one day, and in what state was the manuscript of that prettiest lyric, "ariel, to miranda take". "it was a frightful scrawl; words smeared out with his finger, and one upon the other, over and over in tiers, and all run together in most 'admired disorder;' it might have been taken for a sketch of a marsh overgrown with bulrushes, and the blots for wild ducks; such a dashed-off daub as self-conceited artists mistake for a manifestation of genius. on my observing this to him, he answered, 'when my brain gets heated with thought, it soon boils, and throws off images and words faster than i can skim them off. in the morning, when cooled down, out of the rude sketch as you justly call it, i shall attempt a drawing." a daily visit to byron diversified existence. byron talked more sensibly with shelley than with his commonplace acquaintances; and when he began to gossip, shelley retired into his own thoughts. then they would go pistol-shooting, byron's trembling hand contrasting with his friend's firmness. they had invented a "little language" for this sport: firing was called tiring; hitting, colping; missing, mancating, etc. it was in fact a kind of pigeon italian. shelley acquired two nick-names in the circle of his pisan friends, both highly descriptive. he was ariel and the snake. the latter suited him because of his noiseless gliding movement, bright eyes, and ethereal diet. it was first given to him by byron during a reading of "faust". when he came to the line of mephistopheles, "wie meine muhme, die beruhmte schlange," and translated it, "my aunt, the renowned snake," byron cried, "then you are her nephew." shelley by no means resented the epithet. indeed he alludes to it in his letters, and in a poem already referred to above. soon after trelawny's arrival the party turned their thoughts to nautical affairs. shelley had already done a good deal of boating with williams on the arno and the serchio, and had on one occasion nearly lost his life by the capsizing of their tiny craft. they now determined to build a larger yacht for excursions on the sea; while byron, liking the project of a summer residence upon the bay of spezia, made up his mind to have one too. shelley's was to be an open boat carrying sail, byron's a large decked schooner. the construction of both was entrusted to a genoese builder, under the direction of trelawny's friend, captain roberts. such was the birth of the ill-fated "don juan", which cost the lives of shelley and willliams, and of the "bolivar", which carried byron off to genoa before he finally set sail for greece. captain roberts was allowed to have his own way about the latter; but shelley and williams had set their hearts upon a model for their little yacht, which did not suit the captain's notions of sea-worthiness. williams overruled his objections, and the "don juan" was built according to his cherished fancy. "when it was finished," says trelawny, "it took two tons of iron ballast to bring her down to her bearings, and then she was very crank in a breeze, though not deficient in beam. she was fast, strongly built, and torbay rigged." she was christened by lord byron, not wholly with shelley's approval; and one young english sailor, charles vivian, in addition to williams and shelley, formed her crew. "it was great fun," says trelawny, "to witness williams teaching the poet how to steer, and other points of seamanship. as usual, shelley had a book in hand, saying he could read and steer at the same time, as one was mental, the other mechanical." "the boy was quick and handy, and used to boats. williams was not as deficient as i anticipated, but over-anxious, and wanted practice, which alone makes a man prompt in emergency. shelley was intent on catching images from the ever-changing sea and sky; he heeded not the boat." chapter . last days. the advance of spring made the climate of pisa too hot for comfort; and early in april trelawny and williams rode off to find a suitable lodging for themselves and the shelleys on the gulf of spezia. they pitched upon a house called the villa magni, between lerici and san terenzio, which "looked more like a boat or a bathing-house than a place to live in. it consisted of a terrace or ground-floor unpaved, and used for storing boat-gear and fishing-tackle, and of a single storey over it, divided into a hall or saloon and four small rooms, which had once been white-washed; there was one chimney for cooking. this place we thought the shelleys might put up with for the summer. the only good thing about it was a verandah facing the sea, and almost over it." when it came to be inhabited, the central hall was used for the living and eating room of the whole party. the shelleys occupied two rooms facing each other; the williamses had one of the remaining chambers, and trelawny another. access to these smaller apartments could only be got through the saloon; and this circumstance once gave rise to a ludicrous incident, when shelley, having lost his clothes out bathing, had to cross, in puris naturalibus, not undetected, though covered in his retreat by the clever italian handmaiden, through a luncheon party assembled in the dining-room. the horror of the ladies at the poet's unexpected apparition and his innocent self-defence are well described by trelawny. life in the villa was of the simplest description. to get food was no easy matter; and the style of the furniture may be guessed by trelawny's laconic remark that the sea was his only washing-basin. they arrived at villa magni on the th of april, and began a course of life which was not interrupted till the final catastrophe of july . these few weeks were in many respects the happiest of shelley's life. we seem to discern in his last letter of importance, recently edited by mr. garnett, that he was now conscious of having reached a platform from which he could survey his past achievement, and whence he would probably have risen to a loftier altitude, by a calmer and more equable exercise of powers which had been ripening during the last three years of life in italy. meanwhile, "i am content," he writes, "if the heaven above me is calm for the passing moment." and this tranquillity was perfect, with none of the oppressive sense of coming danger, which distinguishes the calm before a storm. he was far away from the distractions of the world he hated, in a scene of indescribable beauty, among a population little removed from the state of savages, who enjoyed the primitive pleasures of a race at one with nature, and toiled with hardy perseverance on the element he loved so well. his company was thoroughly congenial and well mixed. he spent his days in excursions on the water with williams, or in solitary musings in his cranky little skiff, floating upon the shallows in shore, or putting out to sea and waiting for the landward breeze to bring him home. the evenings were passed upon the terrace, listening to jane's guitar, conversing with trelawny, or reading his favourite poets aloud to the assembled party. in this delightful solitude, this round of simple occupations, this uninterrupted communion with nature, shelley's enthusiasms and inspirations revived with their old strength. he began a poem, which, if we may judge of its scale by the fragment we possess, would have been one of the longest, as it certainly is one of the loftiest of his masterpieces. the "triumph of life" is composed in no strain of compliment to the powers of this world, which quell untameable spirits, and enslave the noblest by the operation of blind passions and inordinate ambitions. it is rather a pageant of the spirit dragged in chains, led captive to the world, the flesh and the devil. the sonorous march and sultry splendour of the terza rima stanzas, bearing on their tide of song those multitudes of forms, processionally grand, yet misty with the dust of their own tramplings, and half-shrouded in a lurid robe of light, affect the imagination so powerfully that we are fain to abandon criticism and acknowledge only the daemonic fascinations of this solemn mystery. some have compared the "triumph of life" to a panathenaic pomp: others have found in it a reflex of the burning summer heat, and blazing sea, and onward undulations of interminable waves, which were the cradle of its maker as he wrote. the imagery of dante plays a part, and dante has controlled the structure. the genius of the revolution passes by: napoleon is there, and rousseau serves for guide. the great of all ages are arraigned, and the spirit of the world is brought before us, while its heroes pass, unveil their faces for a moment, and are swallowed in the throng that has no ending. but how shelley meant to solve the problems he has raised, by what sublime philosophy he purposed to resolve the discords of this revelation more soul-shattering than daniel's "mene", we cannot even guess. the poem, as we have it, breaks abruptly with these words: "then what is life? i cried"--a sentence of the profoundest import, when we remember that the questioner was now about to seek its answer in the halls of death. to separate any single passage from a poem which owes so much of its splendour to the continuity of music and the succession of visionary images, does it cruel wrong. yet this must be attempted; for shelley is the only english poet who has successfully handled that most difficult of metres, terza rima. his power over complicated versification cannot be appreciated except by duly noticing the method he employed in treating a structure alien, perhaps, to the genius of our literature, and even in italian used with perfect mastery by none but dante. to select the introduction and part of the first paragraph will inflict less violence upon the "triumph of life" as a whole, than to detach one of its episodes. swift as a spirit hastening to his task of glory and of good, the sun sprang forth rejoicing in his splendour, and the mask of darkness fell from the awakened earth. the smokeless altars of the mountain snows flamed above crimson clouds, and at the birth of light, the ocean's orison arose, to which the birds tempered their matin lay. all flowers in field or forest which unclose their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day, swinging their censers in the element, with orient incense lit by the new ray, burned slow and inconsumably, and sent their odorous sighs up to the smiling air; and, in succession due, did continent, isle, ocean, and all things that in them wear the form and character of mortal mould, rise as the sun their father rose, to bear their portion of the toil, which he of old took as his own, and then imposed on them. but i, whom thoughts which must remain untold had kept as wakeful as the stars that gem the cone of night, now they were laid asleep, stretched my faint limbs beneath the hoary stem which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep of a green apennine. before me fled the night; behind me rose the day; the deep was at my feet, and heaven above my head,-- when a strange trance over my fancy grew which was not slumber, for the shade it spread was so transparent that the scene came through as clear as, when a veil of light is drawn o'er evening hills, they glimmer; and i knew that i had felt the freshness of that dawn bathe in the same cold dew my brow and hair, and sate as thus upon that slope of lawn under the self-same bough, and heard as there the birds, the fountains, and the ocean, hold sweet talk in music through the enamoured air. and then a vision on my brain was rolled. such is the exordium of the poem. it will be noticed that at this point one series of the interwoven triplets is concluded. the "triumph of life" itself begins with a new series of rhymes, describing the vision for which preparation has been made in the preceding prelude. it is not without perplexity that an ear unaccustomed to the windings of the terza rima, feels its way among them. entangled and impeded by the labyrinthine sounds, the reader might be compared to one who, swimming in his dreams, is carried down the course of a swift river clogged with clinging and retarding water-weeds. he moves; but not without labour: yet after a while the very obstacles add fascination to his movement. as in that trance of wondrous thought i lay, this was the tenour of my waking dream:-- methought i sate beside a public way thick strewn with summer dust, and a great stream of people there was hurrying to and fro, numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam, all hastening onward, yet none seemed to know whither he went, or whence he came, or why he made one of the multitude, and so was borne amid the crowd, as through the sky one of the million leaves of summer's bier; old age and youth, manhood and infancy, mixed in one mighty torrent did appear: some flying from the thing they feared, and some seeking the object of another's fear; and others, as with steps towards the tomb, pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath, and others mournfully within the gloom of their own shadow walked and called it death; and some fled from it as it were a ghost, half fainting in the affliction of vain breath. but more, with motions which each other crossed, pursued or spurned the shadows the clouds threw, or birds within the noon-day ether lost, upon that path where flowers never grew-- and weary with vain toil and faint for thirst, heard not the fountains, whose melodious dew out of their mossy cells for ever burst; nor felt the breeze which from the forest told of grassy paths, and wood-lawn interspersed, with over-arching elms, and caverns cold, and violet banks where sweet dreams brood;--but they pursued their serious folly as of old. here let us break the chain of rhymes that are unbroken in the text, to notice the extraordinary skill with which the rhythm has been woven in one paragraph, suggesting by recurrences of sound the passing of a multitude, which is presented at the same time to the eye of fancy by accumulated images. the next eleven triplets introduce the presiding genius of the pageant. students of petrarch's "trionfi" will not fail to note what shelley owes to that poet, and how he has transmuted the definite imagery of mediaeval symbolism into something metaphysical and mystic. and as i gazed, methought that in the way the throng grew wilder, as the woods of june when the south wind shakes the extinguished day; and a cold glare, intenser than the noon but icy cold, obscured with blinding light the sun, as he the stars. like the young moon-- when on the sunlit limits of the night her white shell trembles amid crimson air, and whilst the sleeping tempest gathers might,-- doth, as the herald of its coming, bear the ghost of its dead mother, whose dim form bends in dark ether from her infant's chair; so came a chariot on the silent storm of its own rushing splendour, and a shape so sate within, as one whom years deform, beneath a dusky hood and double cape, crouching within the shadow of a tomb. and o'er what seemed the head a cloud-like crape was bent, a dun and faint ethereal gloom tempering the light. upon the chariot beam a janus-visaged shadow did assume the guidance of that wonder-winged team; the shapes which drew it in thick lightnings were lost:--i heard alone on the air's soft stream the music of their ever-moving wings. all the four faces of that charioteer had their eyes banded; little profit brings speed in the van and blindness in the rear, nor then avail the beams that quench the sun, or that with banded eyes could pierce the sphere of all that is, has been, or will be done. so ill was the car guided--but it past with solemn speed majestically on. the intense stirring of his imagination implied by this supreme poetic effort, the solitude of the villa magni, and the elemental fervour of italian heat to which he recklessly exposed himself, contributed to make shelley more than usually nervous. his somnambulism returned, and he saw visions. on one occasion he thought that the dead allegra rose from the sea, and clapped her hands, and laughed, and beckoned to him. on another he roused the whole house at night by his screams, and remained terror-frozen in the trance produced by an appalling vision. this mood he communicated, in some measure, to his friends. one of them saw what she afterwards believed to have been his phantom, and another dreamed that he was dead. they talked much of death, and it is noticeable that the last words written to him by jane were these:--"are you going to join your friend plato?" the leigh hunts arrived at last in genoa, whence they again sailed for leghorn. shelley heard the news upon the th of june. he immediately prepared to join them; and on the st of july set off with williams in the "don juan" for leghorn, where he rushed into the arms of his old friend. leigh hunt, in his autobiography, writes, "i will not dwell upon the moment." from leghorn he drove with the hunts to pisa, and established them in the ground-floor of byron's palazzo lanfranchi, as comfortably as was consistent with his lordship's variable moods. the negotiations which had preceded hunt's visit to italy, raised forebodings in shelley's mind as to the reception he would meet from byron; nor were these destined to be unfulfilled. trelawny tells us how irksome the poet found it to have "a man with a sick wife, and seven disorderly children," established in his palace. to mrs. hunt he was positively brutal; nor could he tolerate her self-complacent husband, who, while he had voyaged far and wide in literature, had never wholly cast the slough of cockneyism. hunt was himself hardly powerful enough to understand the true magnitude of shelley, though he loved him; and the tender solicitude of the great, unselfish shelley, for the smaller, harmlessly conceited hunt, is pathetic. they spent a pleasant day or two together, shelley showing the campo santo and other sights of pisa to his english friend. hunt thought him somewhat less hopeful than he used to be, but improved in health and strength and spirits. one little touch relating to their last conversation, deserves to be recorded:--"he assented warmly to an opinion i expressed in the cathedral at pisa, while the organ was playing, that a truly divine religion might yet be established, if charity were really made the principle of it, instead of faith." on the night following that day of rest, shelley took a postchaise for leghorn; and early in the afternoon of the next day he set sail, with williams, on his return voyage to lerici. the sailor-boy, charles vivian, was their only companion. trelawny, who was detained on board the "bolivar", in the leghorn harbour, watched them start. the weather for some time had been unusually hot and dry. "processions of priests and religiosi have been for several days past praying for rain;" so runs the last entry in williams's diary; "but the gods are either angry or nature too powerful." trelawny's genoese mate observed, as the "don juan" stood out to sea, that they ought to have started at three a.m. instead of twelve hours later; adding "the devil is brewing mischief." then a sea-fog withdrew the "don juan" from their sight. it was an oppressively sultry afternoon. trelawny went down into his cabin, and slept; but was soon roused by the noise of the ships' crews in the harbour making all ready for a gale. in a short time the tempest was upon them, with wind, rain, and thunder. it did not last more than twenty minutes; and at its end trelawny looked out anxiously for shelley's boat. she was nowhere to be seen, and nothing could be heard of her. in fact, though trelawny could not then be absolutely sure of the catastrophe, she had sunk, struck in all probability by the prow of a felucca, but whether by accident or with the intention of running her down is still uncertain. on the morning of the third day after the storm, trelawny rode to pisa, and communicated his fears to hunt. "i then went upstairs to byron. when i told him, his lip quivered, and his voice faltered as he questioned me." couriers were despatched to search the sea-coast, and to bring the "bolivar" from leghorn. trelawny rode in person toward via reggio, and there found a punt, a water-keg, and some bottles, which had been in shelley's boat. a week passed, trelawny patrolling the shore with the coast-guardsmen, but hearing of no new discovery, until at last two bodies were cast upon the sand. one found near the via reggio, on the th of july, was shelley's. it had his jacket, "with the volume of aeschylus in one pocket, and keats's poems in the other, doubled back, as if the reader, in the act of reading, had hastily thrust it away." the other, found near the tower of migliarino, at about four miles' distance, was that of williams. the sailor-boy, charles vivian, though cast up on the same day, the th of july, near massa, was not heard of by trelawny till the th. nothing now remained but to tell the whole dreadful truth to the two widowed women, who had spent the last days in an agony of alternate despair and hope at villa magni. this duty trelawny discharged faithfully and firmly. "the next day i prevailed on them," he says, "to return with me to pisa. the misery of that night and the journey of the next day, and of many days and nights that followed, i can neither describe nor forget." it was decided that shelley should be buried at rome, near his friend keats and his son william, and that williams's remains should be taken to england. but first the bodies had to be burned; and for permission to do this trelawny, who all through had taken the lead, applied to the english embassy at florence. after some difficulty it was granted. what remains to be said concerning the cremation of shelley's body on the th of august, must be told in trelawny's own words. williams, it may be stated, had been burned on the preceding day. "three white wands had been stuck in the sand to mark the poet's grave, but as they were at some distance from each other, we had to cut a trench thirty yards in length, in the line of the sticks, to ascertain the exact spot, and it was nearly an hour before we came upon the grave. "in the meantime byron and leigh hunt arrived in the carriage, attended by soldiers, and the health officer, as before. the lonely and grand scenery that surrounded us, so exactly harmonized with shelley's genius, that i could imagine his spirit soaring over us. the sea, with the islands of gorgona, capraja, and elba, was before us; old battlemented watch-towers stretched along the coast, backed by the marble-crested apennines glistening in the sun, picturesque from their diversified outlines, and not a human dwelling was in sight. "as i thought of the delight shelley felt in such scenes of loneliness and grandeur whilst living, i felt we were no better than a herd of wolves or a pack of wild dogs, in tearing out his battered and naked body from the pure yellow sand that lay so lightly over it, to drag him back to the light of day; but the dead have no voice, nor had i power to check the sacrilege--the work went on silently in the deep and unresisting sand, not a word was spoken, for the italians have a touch of sentiment, and their feelings are easily excited into sympathy. byron was silent and thoughtful. we were startled and drawn together by a dull, hollow sound that followed the blow of a mattock; the iron had struck a skull, and the body was soon uncovered.... after the fire was well kindled we repeated the ceremony of the previous day; and more wine was poured over shelley's dead body than he had consumed during his life. this with the oil and salt made the yellow flames glisten and quiver. the heat from the sun and fire was so intense that the atmosphere was tremulous and wavy.... the fire was so fierce as to produce a white heat on the iron, and to reduce its contents to grey ashes. the only portions that were not consumed were some fragments of bones, the jaw, and the skull; but what surprised us all was that the heart remained entire. in snatching this relic from the fiery furnace, my hand was severely burnt; and had any one seen me do the act, i should have been put into quarantine." shelley's heart was given to hunt, who subsequently, not without reluctance and unseemly dispute, resigned it to mrs. shelley. it is now at boscombe. his ashes were carried by trelawny to rome and buried in the protestant cemetery, so touchingly described by him in his letter to peacock, and afterwards so sublimely in "adonais". the epitaph, composed by hunt, ran thus: "percy bysshe shelley, cor cordium, natus iv. august mdccxcii. obiit viii jul. mdcccxxii." to the latin words trelawny, faithfullest and most devoted of friends, added three lines from ariel's song, much loved in life by shelley: nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea-change into something rich and strange. "and so," writes lady shelley, "the sea and the earth closed over one who was great as a poet, and still greater as a philanthropist; and of whom it may be said, that his wild spiritual character seems to have prepared him for being thus snatched from life under circumstances of mingled terror and beauty, while his powers were yet in their spring freshness, and age had not come to render the ethereal body decrepit, or to wither the heart which could not be consumed by fire." chapter . epilogue. after some deliberation i decided to give this little work on shelley the narrative rather than the essay form, impelled thereto by one commanding reason. shelley's life and his poetry are indissolubly connected. he acted what he thought and felt, with a directness rare among his brethren of the poet's craft; while his verse, with the exception of "the cenci", expressed little but the animating thoughts and aspirations of his life. that life, moreover, was "a miracle of thirty years," so crowded with striking incident and varied experience that, as he said himself, he had already lived longer than his father, and ought to be reckoned with the men of ninety. through all vicissitudes he preserved his youth inviolate, and died, like one whom the gods love, or like a hero of hellenic story, young, despite grey hairs and suffering. his life has, therefore, to be told, in order that his life-work may be rightly valued: for, great as that was, he, the man, was somehow greater; and noble as it truly is, the memory of him is nobler. to the world he presented the rare spectacle of a man passionate for truth, and unreservedly obedient to the right as he discerned it. the anomaly which made his practical career a failure, lay just here. the right he followed was too often the antithesis of ordinary morality: in his desire to cast away the false and grasp the true, he overshot the mark of prudence. the blending in him of a pure and earnest purpose with moral and social theories that could not but have proved pernicious to mankind at large, produced at times an almost grotesque mixture in his actions no less than in his verse. we cannot, therefore, wonder that society, while he lived, felt the necessity of asserting itself against him. but now that he has passed into the company of the great dead, and time has softened down the asperities of popular judgment, we are able to learn the real lesson of his life and writings. that is not to be sought in any of his doctrines, but rather in his fearless bearing, his resolute loyalty to an unselfish and in the simplest sense benevolent ideal. it is this which constitutes his supreme importance for us english at the present time. ours is an age in which ideals are rare, and we belong to a race in which men who follow them so single-heartedly are not common. as a poet, shelley contributed a new quality to english literature--a quality of ideality, freedom, and spiritual audacity, which severe critics of other nations think we lack. byron's daring is in a different region: his elemental worldliness and pungent satire do not liberate our energies, or cheer us with new hopes and splendid vistas. wordsworth, the very antithesis to shelley in his reverent accord with institutions, suits our meditative mood, sustains us with a sound philosophy, and braces us by healthy contact with the nature he so dearly loved. but in wordsworth there is none of shelley's magnetism. $what remains of permanent value in coleridge's poetry--such work as "christabel", the "ancient mariner", or "kubla khan"--is a product of pure artistic fancy, tempered by the author's mysticism. keats, true and sacred poet as he was, loved nature with a somewhat sensuous devotion. she was for him a mistress rather than a diotima; nor did he share the prophetic fire which burns in shelley's verse, quite apart from the direct enunciation of his favourite tenets. in none of shelley's greatest contemporaries was the lyrical faculty so paramount; and whether we consider his minor songs, his odes, or his more complicated choral dramas, we acknowledge that he was the loftiest and the most spontaneous singer of our language. in range of power he was also conspicuous above the rest. not only did he write the best lyrics, but the best tragedy, the best translations, and the best familiar poems of his century. as a satirist and humourist, i cannot place him so high as some of his admirers do; and the purely polemical portions of his poems, those in which he puts forth his antagonism to tyrants and religions and custom in all its myriad forms, seem to me to degenerate at intervals into poor rhetoric. while his genius was so varied and its flight so unapproached in swiftness, it would be vain to deny that shelley, as an artist, had faults from which the men with whom i have compared him were more free. the most prominent of these are haste, incoherence, verbal carelessness, incompleteness, a want of narrative force, and a weak hold on objective realities. even his warmest admirers, if they are sincere critics, will concede that his verse, taken altogether, is marked by inequality. in his eager self-abandonment to inspiration, he produced much that is unsatisfying simply because it is not ripe. there was no defect of power in him, but a defect of patience; and the final word to be pronounced in estimating the larger bulk of his poetry is the word immature. not only was the poet young; but the fruit of his young mind had been plucked before it had been duly mellowed by reflection. again, he did not care enough for common things to present them with artistic fulness. he was intolerant of detail, and thus failed to model with the roundness that we find in goethe's work. he flew at the grand, the spacious, the sublime; and did not always succeed in realizing for his readers what he had imagined. a certain want of faith in his own powers, fostered by the extraordinary discouragement under which he had to write, prevented him from finishing what he began, or from giving that ultimate form of perfection to his longer works which we admire in shorter pieces like the "ode to the west wind". when a poem was ready, he had it hastily printed, and passed on to fresh creative efforts. if anything occurred to interrupt his energy, he flung the sketch aside. some of these defects, if we may use this word at all to indicate our sense that shelley might by care have been made equal to his highest self, were in a great measure the correlative of his chief quality--the ideality, of which i have already spoken. he composed with all his faculties, mental, emotional, and physical, at the utmost strain, at a white heat of intense fervour, striving to attain one object, the truest and most passionate investiture for the thoughts which had inflamed his ever-quick imagination. the result is that his finest work has more the stamp of something natural and elemental--the wind, the sea, the depth of air--than of a mere artistic product. plato would have said: the muses filled this man with sacred madness, and, when he wrote, he was no longer in his own control. there was, moreover, ever-present in his nature an effort, an aspiration after a better than the best this world can show, which prompted him to blend the choicest products of his thought and fancy with the fairest images borrowed from the earth on which he lived. he never willingly composed except under the impulse to body forth a vision of the love and light and life which was the spirit of the power he worshipped. this persistent upward striving, this earnestness, this passionate intensity, this piety of soul and purity of inspiration, give a quite unique spirituality to his poems. but it cannot be expected that the colder perfections of academic art should always be found in them. they have something of the waywardness and negligence of nature, something of the asymmetreia we admire in the earlier creations of greek architecture. that shelley, acute critic and profound student as he was, could conform himself to rule and show himself an artist in the stricter sense, is, however, abundantly proved by "the cenci" and by "adonais". the reason why he did not always observe this method will be understood by those who have studied his "defence of poetry", and learned to sympathize with his impassioned theory of art. working on this small scale, it is difficult to do barest justice to shelley's life or poetry. the materials for the former are almost overwhelmingly copious and strangely discordant. those who ought to meet in love over his grave, have spent their time in quarrelling about him, and baffling the most eager seeker for the truth. (see lady shelley v. hogg; trelawny v. the shelley family; peacock v. lady shelley; garnett v. peacock; garnett v. trelawny; mccarthy v. hogg, etc., etc.) through the turbid atmosphere of their recriminations it is impossible to discern the whole personality of the man. by careful comparison and refined manipulation of the biographical treasures at our disposal, a fair portrait of shelley might still be set before the reader with the accuracy of a finished picture. that labour of exquisite art and of devoted love still remains to be accomplished, though in the meantime mr. w.m. rossetti's memoir is a most valuable instalment. shelley in his lifetime bound those who knew him with a chain of loyal affection, impressing observers so essentially different as hogg, byron, peacock, leigh hunt, trelawny, medwin, williams, with the conviction that he was the gentlest, purest, bravest, and most spiritual being they had ever met. the same conviction is forced upon his biographer. during his four last years this most loveable of men was becoming gradually riper, wiser, truer to his highest instincts. the imperfections of his youth were being rapidly absorbed. his self-knowledge was expanding, his character mellowing, and his genius growing daily stronger. without losing the fire that burned in him, he had been lessoned by experience into tempering its fervour; and when he reached the age of twenty-nine, he stood upon the height of his most glorious achievement, ready to unfold his wings for a yet sublimer flight. at that moment, when life at last seemed about to offer him rest, unimpeded activity, and happiness, death robbed the world of his maturity. posterity has but the product of his cruder years, the assurance that he had already outlived them into something nobler, and the tragedy of his untimely end. if a final word were needed to utter the unutterable sense of waste excited in us by shelley's premature absorption into the mystery of the unknown, we might find it in the last lines of his own "alastor":-- art and eloquence, and all the shows o' the world, are frail and vain to weep a loss that turns their light to shade. it is a woe "too deep for tears," when all is reft at once, when some surpassing spirit, whose light adorned the world around it, leaves those who remain behind nor sobs nor groans, the passionate tumult of a clinging hope; but pale despair and cold tranquillity, nature's vast frame, the web of human things, birth and the grave, that are not as they were. the end. notes to the complete poetical works of percy bysshe shelley by mary w. shelley. preface by mrs. shelley to first collected edition, . obstacles have long existed to my presenting the public with a perfect edition of shelley's poems. these being at last happily removed, i hasten to fulfil an important duty,--that of giving the productions of a sublime genius to the world, with all the correctness possible, and of, at the same time, detailing the history of those productions, as they sprang, living and warm, from his heart and brain. i abstain from any remark on the occurrences of his private life, except inasmuch as the passions which 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 committed 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. whatever faults he had ought to find extenuation among his fellows, since they prove him to be human; without them, the exalted nature of his soul would have raised him into something divine. the qualities that struck any one newly introduced to shelley were,--first, a gentle and cordial goodness that animated his intercourse with warm affection and helpful sympathy. the other, the eagerness and ardour with which he was attached to the cause of human happiness and improvement; and the fervent eloquence with which he discussed such subjects. his conversation was marked by its happy abundance, and the beautiful language in which he clothed his poetic ideas and philosophical notions. to defecate life of its misery and its evil was the ruling passion of his soul; he dedicated to it every power of his mind, every pulsation of his heart. he looked on political freedom as the direct agent to effect the happiness of mankind; and thus any new-sprung hope of liberty inspired a joy and an exultation more intense and wild than he could have felt for any personal advantage. those who have never experienced the workings of passion on general and unselfish subjects cannot understand this; and it must be difficult of comprehension to the younger generation rising around, since they cannot remember the scorn and hatred with which the partisans of reform were regarded some few years ago, nor the persecutions to which they were exposed. he had been from youth the victim of the state of feeling inspired by the reaction of the french revolution; and believing firmly in the justice and excellence of his views, it cannot be wondered that a nature as sensitive, as impetuous, and as generous as his, should put its whole force into the attempt to alleviate for others the evils of those systems from which he had himself suffered. many advantages attended his birth; he spurned them all when balanced with what he considered his duties. he was generous to imprudence, devoted to heroism. these characteristics breathe throughout his poetry. the struggle for human weal; the resolution firm to martyrdom; the impetuous pursuit, the glad triumph in good; the determination not to despair;--such were the features that marked those of his works which he regarded with most complacency, as sustained by a lofty subject and useful aim. in addition to these, his poems may be divided into two classes,--the purely imaginative, and those which sprang from the emotions of his heart. among the former may be classed the "witch of atlas", "adonais", and his latest composition, left imperfect, the "triumph of life". in the first of these particularly he gave the reins to his fancy, and luxuriated in every idea as it rose; in all there is that sense of mystery which formed an essential portion of his perception of life--a clinging to the subtler inner spirit, rather than to the outward form--a curious and metaphysical anatomy of human passion and perception. the second class is, of course, the more popular, as appealing at once to emotions common to us all; some of these rest on the passion of love; others on grief and despondency; others on the sentiments inspired by natural objects. shelley's conception of love was exalted, absorbing, allied to all that is purest and noblest in our nature, and warmed by earnest passion; such it appears when he gave it a voice in verse. yet he was usually averse to expressing these feelings, except when highly idealized; and many of his more beautiful effusions he had cast aside unfinished, and they were never seen by me till after i had lost him. others, as for instance "rosalind and helen" and "lines written among the euganean hills", i found among his papers by chance; and with some difficulty urged him to complete them. there are others, such as the "ode to the skylark and the cloud", which, in the opinion of many critics, bear a purer poetical stamp than any other of his productions. they were written as his mind prompted: listening to the carolling of the bird, aloft in the azure sky of italy; or marking the cloud as it sped across the heavens, while he floated in his boat on the thames. no poet was ever warmed by a more genuine and unforced inspiration. his extreme sensibility gave the intensity of passion to his intellectual pursuits; and rendered his mind keenly alive to every perception of outward objects, as well as to his internal sensations. such a gift is, among the sad vicissitudes of human life, the disappointments we meet, and the galling sense of our own mistakes and errors, fraught with pain; to escape from such, he delivered up his soul to poetry, and felt happy when he sheltered himself, from the influence of human sympathies, in the wildest regions of fancy. his imagination has been termed too brilliant, his thoughts too subtle. he loved to idealize reality; and this is a taste shared by few. we are willing to have our passing whims exalted into passions, for this gratifies our vanity; but few of us understand or sympathize with the endeavour to ally the love of abstract beauty, and adoration of abstract good, the to agathon kai to kalon of the socratic philosophers, with our sympathies with our kind. in this, shelley resembled plato; both taking more delight in the abstract and the ideal than in the special and tangible. this did not result from imitation; for it was not till shelley resided in italy that he made plato his study. he then translated his "symposium" and his "ion"; and the english language boasts of no more brilliant composition than plato's praise of love translated by shelley. to return to his own poetry. the luxury of imagination, which sought nothing beyond itself (as a child burdens itself with spring flowers, thinking of no use beyond the enjoyment of gathering them), often showed itself in his verses: they will be only appreciated by minds which have resemblance to his own; and the mystic subtlety of many of his thoughts will share the same fate. the metaphysical strain that characterizes much of what he has written was, indeed, the portion of his works to which, apart from those whose scope was to awaken mankind to aspirations for what he considered the true and good, he was himself particularly attached. there is much, however, that speaks to the many. when he would consent to dismiss these huntings after the obscure (which, entwined with his nature as they were, he did with difficulty), no poet ever expressed in sweeter, more heart-reaching, or more passionate verse, the gentler or more forcible emotions of the soul. a wise friend once wrote to shelley: 'you are still very young, and in certain essential respects you do not yet sufficiently perceive that you are so.' it is seldom that the young know what youth is, till they have got beyond its period; and time was not given him to attain this knowledge. it must be remembered that there is the stamp of such inexperience on all he wrote; he had not completed his nine-and-twentieth year when he died. the calm of middle life did not add the seal of the virtues which adorn maturity to those generated by the vehement spirit of youth. through life also he was a martyr to ill-health, and constant pain wound up his nerves to a pitch of susceptibility that rendered his views of life different from those of a man in the enjoyment of healthy sensations. perfectly gentle and forbearing in manner, he suffered a good deal of internal irritability, or rather excitement, and his fortitude to bear was almost always on the stretch; and thus, during a short life, he had gone through more experience of sensation than many whose existence is protracted. 'if i die to-morrow,' he said, on the eve of his unanticipated death, 'i have lived to be older than my father.' the weight of thought and feeling burdened him heavily; you read his sufferings in his attenuated frame, while you perceived the mastery he held over them in his animated countenance and brilliant eyes. he died, and the world showed no outward sign. but his influence over mankind, though slow in growth, is fast augmenting; and, in the ameliorations that have taken place in the political state of his country, we may trace in part the operation of his arduous struggles. his spirit gathers peace in its new state from the sense that, though late, his exertions were not made in vain, and in the progress of the liberty he so fondly loved. he died, and his place, among those who knew him intimately, has never been filled up. he walked beside them like a spirit of good to comfort and benefit--to enlighten the darkness of life with irradiations of genius, to cheer it with his sympathy and love. any one, once attached to shelley, must feel all other affections, however true and fond, as wasted on barren soil in comparison. it is our best consolation to know that such a pure-minded and exalted being was once among us, and now exists where we hope one day to join him;--although the intolerant, in their blindness, poured down anathemas, the spirit of good, who can judge the heart, never rejected him. in the notes appended to the poems i have endeavoured to narrate the origin and history of each. the loss of nearly all letters and papers which refer to his early life renders the execution more imperfect than it would otherwise have been. i have, however, the liveliest recollection of all that was done and said during the period of my knowing him. every impression is as clear as if stamped yesterday, and i have no apprehension of any mistake in my statements as far as they go. in other respects i am indeed incompetent: but i feel the importance of the task, and regard it as my most sacred duty. i endeavour to fulfil it in a manner he would himself approve; and hope, in this publication, to lay the first stone of a monument due to shelley's genius, his sufferings, and his virtues:-- se al seguir son tarda, forse avverra che 'l bel nome gentile consacrero con questa stanca penna. postscript in second edition of . in revising this new edition, and carefully consulting shelley's scattered and confused papers, i found a few fragments which had hitherto escaped me, and was enabled to complete a few poems hitherto left unfinished. what at one time escapes the searching eye, dimmed by its own earnestness, becomes clear at a future period. by the aid of a friend, i also present some poems complete and correct which hitherto have been defaced by various mistakes and omissions. it was suggested that the poem "to the queen of my heart" was falsely attributed to shelley. i certainly find no trace of it among his papers; and, as those of his intimate friends whom i have consulted never heard of it, i omit it. two poems are added of some length, "swellfoot the tyrant" and "peter bell the third". i have mentioned the circumstances under which they were written in the notes; and need only add that they are conceived in a very different spirit from shelley's usual compositions. they are specimens of the burlesque and fanciful; but, although they adopt a familiar style and homely imagery, there shine through the radiance of the poet's imagination the earnest views and opinions of the politician and the moralist. at my request the publisher has restored the omitted passages of "queen mab". i now present this edition as a complete collection of my husband's poetical works, and i do not foresee that i can hereafter add to or take away a word or line. putney, november , . preface by mrs. shelley to the volume of posthumous poems published in . in nobil sangue vita umile e queta, ed in alto intelletto un puro core frutto senile in sul giovenil fibre, e in aspetto pensoso anima lieta.--petrarca. it had been my wish, on presenting the public with the posthumous poems of mr. shelley, to have accompanied them by a biographical notice; as it appeared to me that at this moment a narration of the events of my husband's life would come more gracefully from other hands than mine, i applied to mr. leigh hunt. the distinguished friendship that mr. shelley felt for him, and the enthusiastic affection with which mr. leigh hunt clings to his friend's memory, seemed to point him out as the person best calculated for such an undertaking. his absence from this country, which prevented our mutual explanation, has unfortunately rendered my scheme abortive. i do not doubt but that on some other occasion he will pay this tribute to his lost friend, and sincerely regret that the volume which i edit has not been honoured by its insertion. the comparative solitude in which mr. shelley lived was the occasion that he was personally known to few; and his fearless enthusiasm in the cause which he considered the most sacred upon earth, the improvement of the moral and physical state of mankind, was the chief reason why he, like other illustrious reformers, was pursued by hatred and calumny. no man was ever more devoted than he to the endeavour of making those around him happy; no man ever possessed friends more unfeignedly attached to him. the ungrateful world did not feel his loss, and the gap it made seemed to close as quickly over his memory as the murderous sea above his living frame. hereafter men will lament that his transcendent powers of intellect were extinguished before they had bestowed on them their choicest treasures. to his friends his loss is irremediable: the wise, the brave, the gentle, is gone for ever! he is to them as a bright vision, whose radiant track, left behind in the memory, is worth all the realities that society can afford. before the critics contradict me, let them appeal to any one who had ever known him. to see him was to love him: and his presence, like ithuriel's spear, was alone sufficient to disclose the falsehood of the tale which his enemies whispered in the ear of the ignorant world. his life was spent in the contemplation of nature, in arduous study, or in acts of kindness and affection. he was an elegant scholar and a profound metaphysician; without possessing much scientific knowledge, he was unrivalled in the justness and extent of his observations on natural objects; he knew every plant by its name, and was familiar with the history and habits of every production of the earth; he could interpret without a fault each appearance in the sky; and the varied phenomena of heaven and earth filled him with deep emotion. he made his study and reading-room of the shadowed copse, the stream, the lake, and the waterfall. ill health and continual pain preyed upon his powers; and the solitude in which we lived, particularly on our first arrival in italy, although congenial to his feelings, must frequently have weighed upon his spirits; those beautiful and affecting "lines written in dejection near naples" were composed at such an interval; but, when in health, his spirits were buoyant and youthful to an extraordinary degree. such was his love for nature that every page of his poetry is associated, in the minds of his friends, with the loveliest scenes of the countries which he inhabited. in early life he visited the most beautiful parts of this country and ireland. afterwards the alps of switzerland became his inspirers. "prometheus unbound" was written among the deserted and flower-grown ruins of rome; and, when he made his home under the pisan hills, their roofless recesses harboured him as he composed the "witch of atlas", "adonais", and "hellas". in the wild but beautiful bay of spezzia, the winds and waves which he loved became his playmates. his days were chiefly spent on the water; the management of his boat, its alterations and improvements, were his principal occupation. at night, when the unclouded moon shone on the calm sea, he often went alone in his little shallop to the rocky caves that bordered it, and, sitting beneath their shelter, wrote the "triumph of life", the last of his productions. the beauty but strangeness of this lonely place, the refined pleasure which he felt in the companionship of a few selected friends, our entire sequestration from the rest of the world, all contributed to render this period of his life one of continued enjoyment. i am convinced that the two months we passed there were the happiest which he had ever known: his health even rapidly improved, and he was never better than when i last saw him, full of spirits and joy, embark for leghorn, that he might there welcome leigh hunt to italy. i was to have accompanied him; but illness confined me to my room, and thus put the seal on my misfortune. his vessel bore out of sight with a favourable wind, and i remained awaiting his return by the breakers of that sea which was about to engulf him. he spent a week at pisa, employed in kind offices toward his friend, and enjoying with keen delight the renewal of their intercourse. he then embarked with mr. williams, the chosen and beloved sharer of his pleasures and of his fate, to return to us. we waited for them in vain; the sea by its restless moaning seemed to desire to inform us of what we would not learn:--but a veil may well be drawn over such misery. the real anguish of those moments transcended all the fictions that the most glowing imagination ever portrayed; our seclusion, the savage nature of the inhabitants of the surrounding villages, and our immediate vicinity to the troubled sea, combined to imbue with strange horror our days of uncertainty. the truth was at last known,--a truth that made our loved and lovely italy appear a tomb, its sky a pall. every heart echoed the deep lament, and my only consolation was in the praise and earnest love that each voice bestowed and each countenance demonstrated for him we had lost,--not, i fondly hope, for ever; his unearthly and elevated nature is a pledge of the continuation of his being, although in an altered form. rome received his ashes; they are deposited beneath its weed-grown wall, and 'the world's sole monument' is enriched by his remains. i must add a few words concerning the contents of this volume. "julian and maddalo", the "witch of atlas", and most of the "translations", were written some years ago; and, with the exception of the "cyclops", and the scenes from the "magico prodigioso", may be considered as having received the author's ultimate corrections. the "triumph of life" was his last work, and was left in so unfinished a state that i arranged it in its present form with great difficulty. all his poems which were scattered in periodical works are collected in this volume, and i have added a reprint of "alastor, or the spirit of solitude": the difficulty with which a copy can be obtained is the cause of its republication. many of the miscellaneous poems, written on the spur of the occasion, and never retouched, i found among his manuscript books, and have carefully copied. i have subjoined, whenever i have been able, the date of their composition. i do not know whether the critics will reprehend the insertion of some of the most imperfect among them; but i frankly own that i have been more actuated by the fear lest any monument of his genius should escape me than the wish of presenting nothing but what was complete to the fastidious reader. i feel secure that the lovers of shelley's poetry (who know how, more than any poet of the present day, every line and word he wrote is instinct with peculiar beauty) will pardon and thank me: i consecrate this volume to them. the size of this collection has prevented the insertion of any prose pieces. they will hereafter appear in a separate publication. mary w. shelley. london, june , . note on queen mab, by mrs. shelley. shelley was eighteen when he wrote "queen mab"; he never published it. when it was written, he had come to the decision that he was too young to be a 'judge of controversies'; and he was desirous of acquiring 'that sobriety of spirit which is the characteristic of true heroism.' but he never doubted the truth or utility of his opinions; and, in printing and privately distributing "queen mab", he believed that he should further their dissemination, without occasioning the mischief either to others or himself that might arise from publication. it is doubtful whether he would himself have admitted it into a collection of his works. his severe classical taste, refined by the constant study of the greek poets, might have discovered defects that escape the ordinary reader; and the change his opinions underwent in many points would have prevented him from putting forth the speculations of his boyish days. but the poem is too beautiful in itself, and far too remarkable as the production of a boy of eighteen, to allow of its being passed over: besides that, having been frequently reprinted, the omission would be vain. in the former edition certain portions were left out, as shocking the general reader from the violence of their attack on religion. i myself had a painful feeling that such erasures might be looked upon as a mark of disrespect towards the author, and am glad to have the opportunity of restoring them. the notes also are reprinted entire--not because they are models of reasoning or lessons of truth, but because shelley wrote them, and that all that a man at once so distinguished and so excellent ever did deserves to be preserved. the alterations his opinions underwent ought to be recorded, for they form his history. a series of articles was published in the "new monthly magazine" during the autumn of the year , written by a man of great talent, a fellow-collegian and warm friend of shelley: they describe admirably the state of his mind during his collegiate life. inspired with ardour for the acquisition of knowledge, endowed with the keenest sensibility and with the fortitude of a martyr, shelley came among his fellow-creatures, congregated for the purposes of education, like a spirit from another sphere; too delicately organized for the rough treatment man uses towards man, especially in the season of youth, and too resolute in carrying out his own sense of good and justice, not to become a victim. to a devoted attachment to those he loved he added a determined resistance to oppression. refusing to fag at eton, he was treated with revolting cruelty by masters and boys: this roused instead of taming his spirit, and he rejected the duty of obedience when it was enforced by menaces and punishment. to aversion to the society of his fellow-creatures, such as he found them when collected together in societies, where one egged on the other to acts of tyranny, was joined the deepest sympathy and compassion; while the attachment he felt for individuals, and the admiration with which he regarded their powers and their virtues, led him to entertain a high opinion of the perfectibility of human nature; and he believed that all could reach the highest grade of moral improvement, did not the customs and prejudices of society foster evil passions and excuse evil actions. the oppression which, trembling at every nerve yet resolute to heroism, it was his ill-fortune to encounter at school and at college, led him to dissent in all things from those whose arguments were blows, whose faith appeared to engender blame and hatred. 'during my existence,' he wrote to a friend in , 'i have incessantly speculated, thought, and read.' his readings were not always well chosen; among them were the works of the french philosophers: as far as metaphysical argument went, he temporarily became a convert. at the same time, it was the cardinal article of his faith that, if men were but taught and induced to treat their fellows with love, charity, and equal rights, this earth would realize paradise. he looked upon religion, as it is professed, and above all practised, as hostile instead of friendly to the cultivation of those virtues which would make men brothers. can this be wondered at? at the age of seventeen, fragile in health and frame, of the purest habits in morals, full of devoted generosity and universal kindness, glowing with ardour to attain wisdom, resolved at every personal sacrifice to do right, burning with a desire for affection and sympathy,--he was treated as a reprobate, cast forth as a criminal. the cause was that he was sincere; that he believed the opinions which he entertained to be true. and he loved truth with a martyr's love; he was ready to sacrifice station and fortune, and his dearest affections, at its shrine. the sacrifice was demanded from, and made by, a youth of seventeen. it is a singular fact in the history of society in the civilized nations of modern times that no false step is so irretrievable as one made in early youth. older men, it is true, when they oppose their fellows and transgress ordinary rules, carry a certain prudence or hypocrisy as a shield along with them. but youth is rash; nor can it imagine, while asserting what it believes to be true, and doing what it believes to be right, that it should be denounced as vicious, and pursued as a criminal. shelley possessed a quality of mind which experience has shown me to be of the rarest occurrence among human beings: this was his unworldliness. the usual motives that rule men, prospects of present or future advantage, the rank and fortune of those around, the taunts and censures, or the praise, of those who were hostile to him, had no influence whatever over his actions, and apparently none over his thoughts. it is difficult even to express the simplicity and directness of purpose that adorned him. some few might be found in the history of mankind, and some one at least among his own friends, equally disinterested and scornful, even to severe personal sacrifices, of every baser motive. but no one, i believe, ever joined this noble but passive virtue to equal active endeavours for the benefit of his friends and mankind in general, and to equal power to produce the advantages he desired. the world's brightest gauds and its most solid advantages were of no worth in his eyes, when compared to the cause of what he considered truth, and the good of his fellow-creatures. born in a position which, to his inexperienced mind, afforded the greatest facilities to practise the tenets he espoused, he boldly declared the use he would make of fortune and station, and enjoyed the belief that he should materially benefit his fellow-creatures by his actions; while, conscious of surpassing powers of reason and imagination, it is not strange that he should, even while so young, have believed that his written thoughts would tend to disseminate opinions which he believed conducive to the happiness of the human race. if man were a creature devoid of passion, he might have said and done all this with quietness. but he was too enthusiastic, and too full of hatred of all the ills he witnessed, not to scorn danger. various disappointments tortured, but could not tame, his soul. the more enmity he met, the more earnestly he became attached to his peculiar views, and hostile to those of the men who persecuted him. he was animated to greater zeal by compassion for his fellow-creatures. his sympathy was excited by the misery with which the world is burning. he witnessed the sufferings of the poor, and was aware of the evils of ignorance. he desired to induce every rich man to despoil himself of superfluity, and to create a brotherhood of property and service, and was ready to be the first to lay down the advantages of his birth. he was of too uncompromising a disposition to join any party. he did not in his youth look forward to gradual improvement: nay, in those days of intolerance, now almost forgotten, it seemed as easy to look forward to the sort of millennium of freedom and brotherhood which he thought the proper state of mankind as to the present reign of moderation and improvement. ill-health made him believe that his race would soon be run; that a year or two was all he had of life. he desired that these years should be useful and illustrious. he saw, in a fervent call on his fellow-creatures to share alike the blessings of the creation, to love and serve each other, the noblest work that life and time permitted him. in this spirit he composed "queen mab". he was a lover of the wonderful and wild in literature, but had not fostered these tastes at their genuine sources--the romances and chivalry of the middle ages--but in the perusal of such german works as were current in those days. under the influence of these he, at the age of fifteen, wrote two short prose romances of slender merit. the sentiments and language were exaggerated, the composition imitative and poor. he wrote also a poem on the subject of ahasuerus--being led to it by a german fragment he picked up, dirty and torn, in lincoln's inn fields. this fell afterwards into other hands, and was considerably altered before it was printed. our earlier english poetry was almost unknown to him. the love and knowledge of nature developed by wordsworth--the lofty melody and mysterious beauty of coleridge's poetry--and the wild fantastic machinery and gorgeous scenery adopted by southey--composed his favourite reading; the rhythm of "queen mab" was founded on that of "thalaba", and the first few lines bear a striking resemblance in spirit, though not in idea, to the opening of that poem. his fertile imagination, and ear tuned to the finest sense of harmony, preserved him from imitation. another of his favourite books was the poem of "gebir" by walter savage landor. from his boyhood he had a wonderful facility of versification, which he carried into another language; and his latin school-verses were composed with an ease and correctness that procured for him prizes, and caused him to be resorted to by all his friends for help. he was, at the period of writing "queen mab", a great traveller within the limits of england, scotland, and ireland. his time was spent among the loveliest scenes of these countries. mountain and lake and forest were his home; the phenomena of nature were his favourite study. he loved to inquire into their causes, and was addicted to pursuits of natural philosophy and chemistry, as far as they could be carried on as an amusement. these tastes gave truth and vivacity to his descriptions, and warmed his soul with that deep admiration for the wonders of nature which constant association with her inspired. he never intended to publish "queen mab" as it stands; but a few years after, when printing "alastor", he extracted a small portion which he entitled "the daemon of the world". in this he changed somewhat the versification, and made other alterations scarcely to be called improvements. some years after, when in italy, a bookseller published an edition of "queen mab" as it originally stood. shelley was hastily written to by his friends, under the idea that, deeply injurious as the mere distribution of the poem had proved, the publication might awaken fresh persecutions. at the suggestion of these friends he wrote a letter on the subject, printed in the "examiner" newspaper--with which i close this history of his earliest work. to the editor of the 'examiner.' 'sir, 'having heard that a poem entitled "queen mab" has been surreptitiously published in london, and that legal proceedings have been instituted against the publisher, i request the favour of your insertion of the following explanation of the affair, as it relates to me. 'a poem entitled "queen mab" was written by me at the age of eighteen, i daresay in a sufficiently intemperate spirit--but even then was not intended for publication, and a few copies only were struck off, to be distributed among my personal friends. i have not seen this production for several years. i doubt not but that it is perfectly worthless in point of literary composition; and that, in all that concerns moral and political speculation, as well as in the subtler discriminations of metaphysical and religious doctrine, it is still more crude and immature. i am a devoted enemy to religious, political, and domestic oppression; and i regret this publication, not so much from literary vanity, as because i fear it is better fitted to injure than to serve the sacred cause of freedom. i have directed my solicitor to apply to chancery for an injunction to restrain the sale; but, after the precedent of mr. southey's "wat tyler" (a poem written, i believe, at the same age, and with the same unreflecting enthusiasm), with little hope of success. 'whilst i exonerate myself from all share in having divulged opinions hostile to existing sanctions, under the form, whatever it may be, which they assume in this poem, it is scarcely necessary for me to protest against the system of inculcating the truth of christianity or the excellence of monarchy, however true or however excellent they may be, by such equivocal arguments as confiscation and imprisonment, and invective and slander, and the insolent violation of the most sacred ties of nature and society. 'sir, 'i am your obliged and obedient servant, 'percy b. shelley. 'pisa, june , .' note on "alastor", by mrs. shelley. "alastor" is written in a very different tone from "queen mab". in the latter, shelley poured out all the cherished speculations of his youth--all the irrepressible emotions of sympathy, censure, and hope, to which the present suffering, and what he considers the proper destiny of his fellow-creatures, gave birth. "alastor", on the contrary, contains an individual interest only. a very few years, with their attendant events, had checked the ardour of shelley's hopes, though he still thought them well-grounded, and that to advance their fulfilment was the noblest task man could achieve. this is neither the time nor place to speak of the misfortunes that chequered his life. it will be sufficient to say that, in all he did, he at the time of doing it believed himself justified to his own conscience; while the various ills of poverty and loss of friends brought home to him the sad realities of life. physical suffering had also considerable influence in causing him to turn his eyes inward; inclining him rather to brood over the thoughts and emotions of his own soul than to glance abroad, and to make, as in "queen mab", the whole universe the object and subject of his song. in the spring of , an eminent physician pronounced that he was dying rapidly of a consumption; abscesses were formed on his lungs, and he suffered acute spasms. suddenly a complete change took place; and though through life he was a martyr to pain and debility, every symptom of pulmonary disease vanished. his nerves, which nature had formed sensitive to an unexampled degree, were rendered still more susceptible by the state of his health. as soon as the peace of had opened the continent, he went abroad. he visited some of the more magnificent scenes of switzerland, and returned to england from lucerne, by the reuss and the rhine. the river-navigation enchanted him. in his favourite poem of "thalaba", his imagination had been excited by a description of such a voyage. in the summer of , after a tour along the southern coast of devonshire and a visit to clifton, he rented a house on bishopsgate heath, on the borders of windsor forest, where he enjoyed several months of comparative health and tranquil happiness. the later summer months were warm and dry. accompanied by a few friends, he visited the source of the thames, making a voyage in a wherry from windsor to crichlade. his beautiful stanzas in the churchyard of lechlade were written on that occasion. "alastor" was composed on his return. he spent his days under the oak-shades of windsor great park; and the magnificent woodland was a fitting study to inspire the various descriptions of forest scenery we find in the poem. none of shelley's poems is more characteristic than this. the solemn spirit that reigns throughout, the worship of the majesty of nature, the broodings of a poet's heart in solitude--the mingling of the exulting joy which the various aspects of the visible universe inspires with the sad and struggling pangs which human passion imparts--give a touching interest to the whole. the death which he had often contemplated during the last months as certain and near he here represented in such colours as had, in his lonely musings, soothed his soul to peace. the versification sustains the solemn spirit which breathes throughout: it is peculiarly melodious. the poem ought rather to be considered didactic than narrative: it was the outpouring of his own emotions, embodied in the purest form he could conceive, painted in the ideal hues which his brilliant imagination inspired, and softened by the recent anticipation of death. note on the "revolt of islam", by mrs. shelley. shelley possessed two remarkable qualities of intellect--a brilliant imagination, and a logical exactness of reason. his inclinations led him (he fancied) almost alike to poetry and metaphysical discussions. i say 'he fancied,' because i believe the former to have been paramount, and that it would have gained the mastery even had he struggled against it. however, he said that he deliberated at one time whether he should dedicate himself to poetry or metaphysics; and, resolving on the former, he educated himself for it, discarding in a great measure his philosophical pursuits, and engaging himself in the study of the poets of greece, italy, and england. to these may be added a constant perusal of portions of the old testament--the psalms, the book of job, the prophet isaiah, and others, the sublime poetry of which filled him with delight. as a poet, his intellect and compositions were powerfully influenced by exterior circumstances, and especially by his place of abode. he was very fond of travelling, and ill-health increased this restlessness. the sufferings occasioned by a cold english winter made him pine, especially when our colder spring arrived, for a more genial climate. in he again visited switzerland, and rented a house on the banks of the lake of geneva; and many a day, in cloud or sunshine, was passed alone in his boat--sailing as the wind listed, or weltering on the calm waters. the majestic aspect of nature ministered such thoughts as he afterwards enwove in verse. his lines on the bridge of the arve, and his "hymn to intellectual beauty", were written at this time. perhaps during this summer his genius was checked by association with another poet whose nature was utterly dissimilar to his own, yet who, in the poem he wrote at that time, gave tokens that he shared for a period the more abstract and etherealised inspiration of shelley. the saddest events awaited his return to england; but such was his fear to wound the feelings of others that he never expressed the anguish he felt, and seldom gave vent to the indignation roused by the persecutions he underwent; while the course of deep unexpressed passion, and the sense of injury, engendered the desire to embody themselves in forms defecated of all the weakness and evil which cling to real life. he chose therefore for his hero a youth nourished in dreams of liberty, some of whose actions are in direct opposition to the opinions of the world; but who is animated throughout by an ardent love of virtue, and a resolution to confer the boons of political and intellectual freedom on his fellow-creatures. he created for this youth a woman such as he delighted to imagine--full of enthusiasm for the same objects; and they both, with will unvanquished, and the deepest sense of the justice of their cause, met adversity and death. there exists in this poem a memorial of a friend of his youth. the character of the old man who liberates laon from his tower prison, and tends on him in sickness, is founded on that of doctor lind, who, when shelley was at eton, had often stood by to befriend and support him, and whose name he never mentioned without love and veneration. during the year we were established at marlow in buckinghamshire. shelley's choice of abode was fixed chiefly by this town being at no great distance from london, and its neighbourhood to the thames. the poem was written in his boat, as it floated under the beech groves of bisham, or during wanderings in the neighbouring country, which is distinguished for peculiar beauty. the chalk hills break into cliffs that overhang the thames, or form valleys clothed with beech; the wilder portion of the country is rendered beautiful by exuberant vegetation; and the cultivated part is peculiarly fertile. with all this wealth of nature which, either in the form of gentlemen's parks or soil dedicated to agriculture, flourishes around, marlow was inhabited (i hope it is altered now) by a very poor population. the women are lacemakers, and lose their health by sedentary labour, for which they were very ill paid. the poor-laws ground to the dust not only the paupers, but those who had risen just above that state, and were obliged to pay poor-rates. the changes produced by peace following a long war, and a bad harvest, brought with them the most heart-rending evils to the poor. shelley afforded what alleviation he could. in the winter, while bringing out his poem, he had a severe attack of ophthalmia, caught while visiting the poor cottages. i mention these things,--for this minute and active sympathy with his fellow-creatures gives a thousandfold interest to his speculations, and stamps with reality his pleadings for the human race. the poem, bold in its opinions and uncompromising in their expression, met with many censurers, not only among those who allow of no virtue but such as supports the cause they espouse, but even among those whose opinions were similar to his own. i extract a portion of a letter written in answer to one of these friends. it best details the impulses of shelley's mind, and his motives: it was written with entire unreserve; and is therefore a precious monument of his own opinion of his powers, of the purity of his designs, and the ardour with which he clung, in adversity and through the valley of the shadow of death, to views from which he believed the permanent happiness of mankind must eventually spring. 'marlowe, december , . 'i have read and considered all that you say about my general powers, and the particular instance of the poem in which i have attempted to develop them. nothing can be more satisfactory to me than the interest which your admonitions express. but i think you are mistaken in some points with regard to the peculiar nature of my powers, whatever be their amount. i listened with deference and self-suspicion to your censures of "the revolt of islam"; but the productions of mine which you commend hold a very low place in my own esteem; and this reassures me, in some degree at least. the poem was produced by a series of thoughts which filled my mind with unbounded and sustained enthusiasm. i felt the precariousness of my life, and i engaged in this task, resolved to leave some record of myself. much of what the volume contains was written with the same feeling--as real, though not so prophetic--as the communications of a dying man. i never presumed indeed to consider it anything approaching to faultless; but, when i consider contemporary productions of the same apparent pretensions, i own i was filled with confidence. i felt that it was in many respects a genuine picture of my own mind. i felt that the sentiments were true, not assumed. and in this have i long believed that my power consists; in sympathy, and that part of the imagination which relates to sentiment and contemplation. i am formed, if for anything not in common with the herd of mankind, to apprehend minute and remote distinctions of feeling, whether relative to external nature or the living beings which surround us, and to communicate the conceptions which result from considering either the moral or the material universe as a whole. of course, i believe these faculties, which perhaps comprehend all that is sublime in man, to exist very imperfectly in my own mind. but, when you advert to my chancery-paper, a cold, forced, unimpassioned, insignificant piece of cramped and cautious argument, and to the little scrap about "mandeville", which expressed my feelings indeed, but cost scarcely two minutes' thought to express, as specimens of my powers more favourable than that which grew as it were from "the agony and bloody sweat" of intellectual travail; surely i must feel that, in some manner, either i am mistaken in believing that i have any talent at all, or you in the selection of the specimens of it. yet, after all, i cannot but be conscious, in much of what i write, of an absence of that tranquillity which is the attribute and accompaniment of power. this feeling alone would make your most kind and wise admonitions, on the subject of the economy of intellectual force, valuable to me. and, if i live, or if i see any trust in coming years, doubt not but that i shall do something, whatever it may be, which a serious and earnest estimate of my powers will suggest to me, and which will be in every respect accommodated to their utmost limits. [shelley to godwin.] note on rosalind and helen by mrs. shelley. "rosalind and helen" was begun at marlow, and thrown aside--till i found it; and, at my request, it was completed. shelley had no care for any of his poems that did not emanate from the depths of his mind, and develop some high or abstruse truth. when he does touch on human life and the human heart, no pictures can be more faithful, more delicate, more subtle, or more pathetic. he never mentioned love but he shed a grace borrowed from his own nature, that scarcely any other poet has bestowed on that passion. when he spoke of it as the law of life, which inasmuch as we rebel against we err and injure ourselves and others, he promulgated that which he considered an irrefragable truth. in his eyes it was the essence of our being, and all woe and pain arose from the war made against it by selfishness, or insensibility, or mistake. by reverting in his mind to this first principle, he discovered the source of many emotions, and could disclose the secrets of all hearts, and his delineations of passion and emotion touch the finest chords of our nature. "rosalind and helen" was finished during the summer of , while we were at the baths of lucca. note by mrs. shelley. from the baths of lucca, in , shelley visited venice; and, circumstances rendering it eligible that we should remain a few weeks in the neighbourhood of that city, he accepted the offer of lord byron, who lent him the use of a villa he rented near este; and he sent for his family from lucca to join him. i capuccini was a villa built on the site of a capuchin convent, demolished when the french suppressed religious houses; it was situated on the very overhanging brow of a low hill at the foot of a range of higher ones. the house was cheerful and pleasant; a vine-trellised walk, a pergola, as it is called in italian, led from the hall-door to a summer-house at the end of the garden, which shelley made his study, and in which he began the "prometheus"; and here also, as he mentions in a letter, he wrote "julian and maddalo". a slight ravine, with a road in its depth, divided the garden from the hill, on which stood the ruins of the ancient castle of este, whose dark massive wall gave forth an echo, and from whose ruined crevices owls and bats flitted forth at night, as the crescent moon sunk behind the black and heavy battlements. we looked from the garden over the wide plain of lombardy, bounded to the west by the far apennines, while to the east the horizon was lost in misty distance. after the picturesque but limited view of mountain, ravine, and chestnut-wood, at the baths of lucca, there was something infinitely gratifying to the eye in the wide range of prospect commanded by our new abode. our first misfortune, of the kind from which we soon suffered even more severely, happened here. our little girl, an infant in whose small features i fancied that i traced great resemblance to her father, showed symptoms of suffering from the heat of the climate. teething increased her illness and danger. we were at este, and when we became alarmed, hastened to venice for the best advice. when we arrived at fusina, we found that we had forgotten our passport, and the soldiers on duty attempted to prevent our crossing the laguna; but they could not resist shelley's impetuosity at such a moment. we had scarcely arrived at venice before life fled from the little sufferer, and we returned to este to weep her loss. after a few weeks spent in this retreat, which was interspersed by visits to venice, we proceeded southward. note on "prometheus unbound", by mrs. shelley. on the th of march, , shelley quitted england, never to return. his principal motive was the hope that his health would be improved by a milder climate; he suffered very much during the winter previous to his emigration, and this decided his vacillating purpose. in december, , he had written from marlow to a friend, saying: 'my health has been materially worse. my feelings at intervals are of a deadly and torpid kind, or awakened to such a state of unnatural and keen excitement that, only to instance the organ of sight, i find the very blades of grass and the boughs of distant trees present themselves to me with microscopic distinctness. towards evening i sink into a state of lethargy and inanimation, and often remain for hours on the sofa between sleep and waking, a prey to the most painful irritability of thought. such, with little intermission, is my condition. the hours devoted to study are selected with vigilant caution from among these periods of endurance. it is not for this that i think of travelling to italy, even if i knew that italy would relieve me. but i have experienced a decisive pulmonary attack; and although at present it has passed away without any considerable vestige of its existence, yet this symptom sufficiently shows the true nature of my disease to be consumptive. it is to my advantage that this malady is in its nature slow, and, if one is sufficiently alive to its advances, is susceptible of cure from a warm climate. in the event of its assuming any decided shape, it would be my duty to go to italy without delay. it is not mere health, but life, that i should seek, and that not for my own sake--i feel i am capable of trampling on all such weakness; but for the sake of those to whom my life may be a source of happiness, utility, security, and honour, and to some of whom my death might be all that is the reverse.' in almost every respect his journey to italy was advantageous. he left behind friends to whom he was attached; but cares of a thousand kinds, many springing from his lavish generosity, crowded round him in his native country, and, except the society of one or two friends, he had no compensation. the climate caused him to consume half his existence in helpless suffering. his dearest pleasure, the free enjoyment of the scenes of nature, was marred by the same circumstance. he went direct to italy, avoiding even paris, and did not make any pause till he arrived at milan. the first aspect of italy enchanted shelley; it seemed a garden of delight placed beneath a clearer and brighter heaven than any he had lived under before. he wrote long descriptive letters during the first year of his residence in italy, which, as compositions, are the most beautiful in the world, and show how truly he appreciated and studied the wonders of nature and art in that divine land. the poetical spirit within him speedily revived with all the power and with more than all the beauty of his first attempts. he meditated three subjects as the groundwork for lyrical dramas. one was the story of tasso; of this a slight fragment of a song of tasso remains. the other was one founded on the book of job, which he never abandoned in idea, but of which no trace remains among his papers. the third was the "prometheus unbound". the greek tragedians were now his most familiar companions in his wanderings, and the sublime majesty of aeschylus filled him with wonder and delight. the father of greek tragedy does not possess the pathos of sophocles, nor the variety and tenderness of euripides; the interest on which he founds his dramas is often elevated above human vicissitudes into the mighty passions and throes of gods and demi-gods: such fascinated the abstract imagination of shelley. we spent a month at milan, visiting the lake of como during that interval. thence we passed in succession to pisa, leghorn, the baths of lucca, venice, este, rome, naples, and back again to rome, whither we returned early in march, . during all this time shelley meditated the subject of his drama, and wrote portions of it. other poems were composed during this interval, and while at the bagni di lucca he translated plato's "symposium". but, though he diversified his studies, his thoughts centred in the prometheus. at last, when at rome, during a bright and beautiful spring, he gave up his whole time to the composition. the spot selected for his study was, as he mentions in his preface, the mountainous ruins of the baths of caracalla. these are little known to the ordinary visitor at rome. he describes them in a letter, with that poetry and delicacy and truth of description which render his narrated impressions of scenery of unequalled beauty and interest. at first he completed the drama in three acts. it was not till several months after, when at florence, that he conceived that a fourth act, a sort of hymn of rejoicing in the fulfilment of the prophecies with regard to prometheus, ought to be added to complete the composition. the prominent feature of shelley's theory of the destiny of the human species was that evil is not inherent in the system of the creation, but an accident that might be expelled. this also forms a portion of christianity: god made earth and man perfect, till he, by his fall, 'brought death into the world and all our woe.' shelley believed that mankind had only to will that there should be no evil, and there would be none. it is not my part in these notes to notice the arguments that have been urged against this opinion, but to mention the fact that he entertained it, and was indeed attached to it with fervent enthusiasm. that man could be so perfectionized 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. such he had depicted in his last poem, when he made laon the enemy and the victim of tyrants. he now took a more idealized image of the same subject. he followed certain classical authorities in figuring saturn as the good principle, jupiter the usurping evil one, and prometheus as the regenerator, who, unable to bring mankind back to primitive innocence, used knowledge as a weapon to defeat evil, by leading mankind, beyond the state wherein they are sinless through ignorance, to that in which they are virtuous through wisdom. jupiter punished the temerity of the titan by chaining him to a rock of caucasus, and causing a vulture to devour his still-renewed heart. there was a prophecy afloat in heaven portending the fall of jove, the secret of averting which was known only to prometheus; and the god offered freedom from torture on condition of its being communicated to him. according to the mythological story, this referred to the offspring of thetis, who was destined to be greater than his father. prometheus at last bought pardon for his crime of enriching mankind with his gifts, by revealing the prophecy. hercules killed the vulture, and set him free; and thetis was married to peleus, the father of achilles. shelley adapted the catastrophe of this story to his peculiar views. the son greater than his father, born of the nuptials of jupiter and thetis, was to dethrone evil, and bring back a happier reign than that of saturn. prometheus defies the power of his enemy, and endures centuries of torture; till the hour arrives when jove, blind to the real event, but darkly guessing that some great good to himself will flow, espouses thetis. at the moment, the primal power of the world drives him from his usurped throne, and strength, in the person of hercules, liberates humanity, typified in prometheus, from the tortures generated by evil done or suffered. asia, one of the oceanides, is the wife of prometheus--she was, according to other mythological interpretations, the same as venus and nature. when the benefactor of mankind is liberated, nature resumes the beauty of her prime, and is united to her husband, the emblem of the human race, in perfect and happy union. in the fourth act, the poet gives further scope to his imagination, and idealizes the forms of creation--such as we know them, instead of such as they appeared to the greeks. maternal earth, the mighty parent, is superseded by the spirit of the earth, the guide of our planet through the realms of sky; while his fair and weaker companion and attendant, the spirit of the moon, receives bliss from the annihilation of evil in the superior sphere. shelley develops, more particularly in the lyrics of this drama, his abstruse and imaginative theories with regard to the creation. it requires a mind as subtle and penetrating as his own to understand the mystic meanings scattered throughout the poem. they elude the ordinary reader by their abstraction and delicacy of distinction, but they are far from vague. it was his design to write prose metaphysical essays on the nature of man, which would have served to explain much of what is obscure in his poetry; a few scattered fragments of observations and remarks alone remain. he considered these philosophical views of mind and nature to be instinct with the intensest spirit of poetry. more popular poets clothe the ideal with familiar and sensible imagery. shelley loved to idealize the real--to gift the mechanism of the material universe with a soul and a voice, and to bestow such also on the most delicate and abstract emotions and thoughts of the mind. sophocles was his great master in this species of imagery. i find in one of his manuscript books some remarks on a line in the "oedipus tyrannus", which show at once the critical subtlety of shelley's mind, and explain his apprehension of those 'minute and remote distinctions of feeling, whether relative to external nature or the living beings which surround us,' which he pronounces, in the letter quoted in the note to the "revolt of islam", to comprehend all that is sublime in man. 'in the greek shakespeare, sophocles, we find the image, pollas d' odous elthonta phrontidos planois: a line of almost unfathomable depth of poetry; yet how simple are the images in which it is arrayed! "coming to many ways in the wanderings of careful thought." if the words odous and planois had not been used, the line might have been explained in a metaphorical instead of an absolute sense, as we say "ways and means," and "wanderings" for error and confusion. but they meant literally paths or roads, such as we tread with our feet; and wanderings, such as a man makes when he loses himself in a desert, or roams from city to city--as oedipus, the speaker of this verse, was destined to wander, blind and asking charity. what a picture does this line suggest of the mind as a wilderness of intricate paths, wide as the universe, which is here made its symbol; a world within a world which he who seeks some knowledge with respect to what he ought to do searches throughout, as he would search the external universe for some valued thing which was hidden from him upon its surface.' in reading shelley's poetry, we often find similar verses, resembling, but not imitating the greek in this species of imagery; for, though he adopted the style, he gifted it with that originality of form and colouring which sprung from his own genius. in the "prometheus unbound", shelley fulfils the promise quoted from a letter in the note on the "revolt of islam". (while correcting the proof-sheets of that poem, it struck me that the poet had indulged in an exaggerated view of the evils of restored despotism; which, however injurious and degrading, were less openly sanguinary than the triumph of anarchy, such as it appeared in france at the close of the last century. but at this time a book, "scenes of spanish life", translated by lieutenant crawford from the german of dr. huber, of rostock, fell into my hands. the account of the triumph of the priests and the serviles, after the french invasion of spain in , bears a strong and frightful resemblance to some of the descriptions of the massacre of the patriots in the "revolt of islam".) the tone of the composition is calmer and more majestic, the poetry more perfect as a whole, and the imagination displayed at once more pleasingly beautiful and more varied and daring. the description of the hours, as they are seen in the cave of demogorgon, is an instance of this--it fills the mind as the most charming picture--we long to see an artist at work to bring to our view the 'cars drawn by rainbow-winged steeds which trample the dim winds: in each there stands a wild-eyed charioteer urging their flight. some look behind, as fiends pursued them there, and yet i see no shapes but the keen stars: others, with burning eyes, lean forth, and drink with eager lips the wind of their own speed, as if the thing they loved fled on before, and now, even now, they clasped it. their bright locks stream like a comet's flashing hair: they all sweep onward.' through the whole poem there reigns a sort of calm and holy spirit of love; it soothes the tortured, and is hope to the expectant, till the prophecy is fulfilled, and love, untainted by any evil, becomes the law of the world. england had been rendered a painful residence to shelley, as much by the sort of persecution with which in those days all men of liberal opinions were visited, and by the injustice he had lately endured in the court of chancery, as by the symptoms of disease which made him regard a visit to italy as necessary to prolong his life. an exile, and strongly impressed with the feeling that the majority of his countrymen regarded him with sentiments of aversion such as his own heart could experience towards none, he sheltered himself from such disgusting and painful thoughts in the calm retreats of poetry, and built up a world of his own--with the more pleasure, since he hoped to induce some one or two to believe that the earth might become such, did mankind themselves consent. the charm of the roman climate 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 praxitelean shapes that throng the vatican, the capitol, and the palaces of rome, his soul imbibed forms of loveliness which became a portion of itself. there are many passages in the "prometheus" which show the intense delight he received from such studies, and give back the impression with a beauty of poetical description peculiarly his own. he felt this, as a poet must feel when he satisfies himself by the result of his labours; and he wrote from rome, 'my "prometheus unbound" is just finished, and in a month or two i shall send it. it is a drama, with characters and mechanism of a kind yet unattempted; and i think the execution is better than any of my former attempts.' i may mention, for the information of the more critical reader, that the verbal alterations in this edition of "prometheus" are made from a list of errata written by shelley himself. note on the cenci, by mrs. shelley. the sort of mistake that shelley made as to the extent of his own genius and powers, which led him deviously at first, but lastly into the direct track that enabled him fully to develop them, is a curious instance of his modesty of feeling, and of the methods which the human mind uses at once to deceive itself, and yet, in its very delusion, to make its way out of error into the path which nature has marked out as its right one. he often incited me to attempt the writing a tragedy: he conceived that i possessed some dramatic talent, and he was always most earnest and energetic in his exhortations that i should cultivate any talent i possessed, to the utmost. i entertained a truer estimate of my powers; and above all (though at that time not exactly aware of the fact) i was far too young to have any chance of succeeding, even moderately, in a species of composition that requires a greater scope of experience in, and sympathy with, human passion than could then have fallen to my lot,--or than any perhaps, except shelley, ever possessed, even at the age of twenty-six, at which he wrote the cenci. on the other hand, shelley most erroneously conceived himself to be destitute of this talent. he believed that one of the first requisites was the capacity of forming and following-up a story or plot. he fancied himself to be defective in this portion of imagination: it was that which gave him least pleasure in the writings of others, though he laid great store by it as the proper framework to support the sublimest efforts of poetry. he asserted that he was too metaphysical and abstract, too fond of the theoretical and the ideal, to succeed as a tragedian. it perhaps is not strange that i shared this opinion with himself; for he had hitherto shown no inclination for, nor given any specimen of his powers in framing and supporting the interest of a story, either in prose or verse. once or twice, when he attempted such, he had speedily thrown it aside, as being even disagreeable to him as an occupation. the subject he had suggested for a tragedy was charles i: and he had written to me: 'remember, remember charles i. i have been already imagining how you would 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.' these words were written in , while we were in lombardy, when he little thought how soon a work of his own would prove a proud comment on the passage he quoted. when in rome, in , a friend put into our hands the old manuscript account of the story of the cenci. we visited the colonna and doria palaces, where the portraits of beatrice were to be found; and her beauty cast the reflection of its own grace over her appalling story. shelley's imagination became strongly excited, and he urged the subject to me as one fitted for a tragedy. more than ever i felt my incompetence; but i entreated him to write it instead; and he began, and proceeded swiftly, urged on by intense sympathy with the sufferings of the human beings whose passions, so long cold in the tomb, he revived, and gifted with poetic language. this tragedy is the only one of his works that he communicated to me during its progress. we talked over the arrangement of the scenes together. i speedily saw the great mistake we had made, and triumphed in the discovery of the new talent brought to light from that mine of wealth (never, alas, through his untimely death, worked to its depths)--his richly gifted mind. we suffered a severe affliction in rome by the loss of our eldest child, who was of such beauty and promise as to cause him deservedly to be the idol of our hearts. we left the capital of the world, anxious for a time to escape a spot associated too intimately with his presence and loss. (such feelings haunted him when, in "the cenci", he makes beatrice speak to cardinal camillo of 'that fair blue-eyed child who was the lodestar of your life:'--and say-- all see, since his most swift and piteous death, that day and night, and heaven and earth, and time, and all the things hoped for or done therein are changed to you, through your exceeding grief.') some friends of ours were residing in the neighbourhood of leghorn, and we took a small house, villa valsovano, about half-way between the town and monte nero, where we remained during the summer. our villa was situated in the midst of a podere; the peasants sang as they worked beneath our windows, during the heats of a very hot season, and in the evening the water-wheel creaked as the process of irrigation went on, and the fireflies flashed from among the myrtle hedges: nature was bright, sunshiny, and cheerful, or diversified by storms of a majestic terror, such as we had never before witnessed. at the top of the house there was a sort of terrace. there is often such in italy, generally roofed: this one was very small, yet not only roofed but glazed. this shelley made his study; it looked out on a wide prospect of fertile country, and commanded a view of the near sea. the storms that sometimes varied our day showed themselves most picturesquely as they were driven across the ocean; sometimes the dark lurid clouds dipped towards the waves, and became water-spouts that churned up the waters beneath, as they were chased onward and scattered by the tempest. at other times the dazzling sunlight and heat made it almost intolerable to every other; but shelley basked in both, and his health and spirits revived under their influence. in this airy cell he wrote the principal part of "the cenci". he was making a study of calderon at the time, reading his best tragedies with an accomplished lady living near us, to whom his letter from leghorn was addressed during the following year. he admired calderon, both for his poetry and his dramatic genius; but it shows his judgement and originality that, though greatly struck by his first acquaintance with the spanish poet, none of his peculiarities crept into the composition of "the cenci"; and there is no trace of his new studies, except in that passage to which he himself alludes as suggested by one in "el purgatorio de san patricio". shelley wished "the cenci" to be acted. he was not a playgoer, being of such fastidious taste that he was easily disgusted by the bad filling-up of the inferior parts. while preparing for our departure from england, however, he saw miss o'neil several times. she was then in the zenith of her glory; and shelley was deeply moved by her impersonation of several parts, and by the graceful sweetness, the intense pathos, the sublime vehemence of passion she displayed. she was often in his thoughts as he wrote: and, when he had finished, he became anxious that his tragedy should be acted, and receive the advantage of having this accomplished actress to fill the part of the heroine. with this view he wrote the following letter to a friend in london: 'the object of the present letter us to ask a favour of you. i have written a tragedy on a story well known in italy, and, in my conception, eminently dramatic. i have taken some pains to make my play fit for representation, and those who have already seen it judge favourably. it is written without any of the peculiar feelings and opinions which characterize my other compositions; i have attended simply to the impartial development of such characters as it is probable the persons represented really were, together with the greatest degree of popular effect to be produced by such a development. i send you a translation of the italian manuscript on which my play is founded; the chief circumstance of which i have touched very delicately; for my principal doubt as to whether it would succeed as an acting play hangs entirely on the question as to whether any such a thing as incest in this shape, however treated, would be admitted on the stage. i think, however, it will form no objection; considering, first, that the facts are matter of history, and, secondly, the peculiar delicacy with which i have treated it. (in speaking of his mode of treating this main incident, shelley said that it might be remarked that, in the course of the play, he had never mentioned expressly cenci's worst crime. every one knew what it must be, but it was never imaged in words--the nearest allusion to it being that portion of cenci's curse beginning--"that, if she have a child," etc.) 'i am exceedingly interested in the question of whether this attempt of mine will succeed or not. i am strongly inclined to the affirmative at present; founding my hopes on this--that, as a composition, it is certainly not inferior to any of the modern plays that have been acted, with the exception of "remorse"; that the interest of the plot is incredibly greater and more real; and that there is nothing beyond what the multitude are contented to believe that they can understand, either in imagery, opinion, or sentiment. i wish to preserve a complete incognito, and can trust to you that, whatever else you do, you will at least favour me on this point. indeed, this is essential, deeply essential, to its success. after it had been acted, and successfully (could i hope for such a thing), i would own it if i pleased, and use the celebrity it might acquire to my own purposes. 'what i want you to do is to procure for me its presentation at covent garden. the principal character, beatrice, is precisely fitted for miss o'neil, and it might even seem to have been written for her (god forbid that i should see her play it--it would tear my nerves to pieces); and in all respects it is fitted only for covent garden. the chief male character i confess i should be very unwilling that any one but kean should play. that is impossible, and i must be contented with an inferior actor.' the play was accordingly sent to mr. harris. he pronounced the subject to be so objectionable that he could not even submit the part to miss o'neil for perusal, but expressed his desire that the author would write a tragedy on some other subject, which he would gladly accept. shelley printed a small edition at leghorn, to ensure its correctness; as he was much annoyed by the many mistakes that crept into his text when distance prevented him from correcting the press. universal approbation soon stamped "the cenci" as the best tragedy of modern times. writing concerning it, shelley said: 'i have been cautious to avoid the introducing faults of youthful composition; diffuseness, a profusion of inapplicable imagery, vagueness, generality, and, as hamlet says, "words, words".' there is nothing that is not purely dramatic throughout; and the character of beatrice, proceeding, from vehement struggle, to horror, to deadly resolution, and lastly to the elevated dignity of calm suffering, joined to passionate tenderness and pathos, is touched with hues so vivid and so beautiful that the poet seems to have read intimately the secrets of the noble heart imaged in the lovely countenance of the unfortunate girl. the fifth act is a masterpiece. it is the finest thing he ever wrote, and may claim proud comparison not only with any contemporary, but preceding, poet. the varying feelings of beatrice are expressed with passionate, heart-reaching eloquence. every character has a voice that echoes truth in its tones. it is curious, to one acquainted with the written story, to mark the success with which the poet has inwoven the real incidents of the tragedy into his scenes, and yet, through the power of poetry, has obliterated all that would otherwise have shown too harsh or too hideous in the picture. his success was a double triumph; and often after he was earnestly entreated to write again in a style that commanded popular favour, while it was not less instinct with truth and genius. but the bent of his mind went the other way; and, even when employed on subjects whose interest depended on character and incident, he would start off in another direction, and leave the delineations of human passion, which he could depict in so able a manner, for fantastic creations of his fancy, or the expression of those opinions and sentiments, with regard to human nature and its destiny, a desire to diffuse which was the master passion of his soul. note on the mask of anarchy, by mrs. shelley. though shelley's first eager desire to excite his countrymen to resist openly the oppressions existent during 'the good old times' had faded with early youth, still his warmest sympathies were for the people. he was a republican, and loved a democracy. he looked on all human beings as inheriting an equal right to possess the dearest privileges of our nature; the necessaries of life when fairly earned by labour, and intellectual instruction. his hatred of any despotism that looked upon the people as not to be consulted, or protected from want and ignorance, was intense. he was residing near leghorn, at villa valsovano, writing "the cenci", when the news of the manchester massacre reached us; it roused in him violent emotions of indignation and compassion. the great truth that the many, if accordant and resolute, could control the few, as was shown some years after, made him long to teach his injured countrymen how to resist. inspired by these feelings, he wrote the "mask of anarchy", which he sent to his friend leigh hunt, to be inserted in the examiner, of which he was then the editor. 'i did not insert it,' leigh hunt writes in his valuable and interesting preface to this poem, when he printed it in , 'because i thought that the public at large had not become sufficiently discerning to do justice to the sincerity and kind-heartedness of the spirit that walked in this flaming robe of verse.' days of outrage have passed away, and with them the exasperation that would cause such an appeal to the many to be injurious. without being aware of them, they at one time acted on his suggestions, and gained the day. but they rose when human life was respected by the minister in power; such was not the case during the administration which excited shelley's abhorrence. the poem was written for the people, and is therefore in a more popular tone than usual: portions strike as abrupt and unpolished, but many stanzas are all his own. i heard him repeat, and admired, those beginning 'my father time is old and gray,' before i knew to what poem they were to belong. but the most touching passage is that which describes the blessed effects of liberty; it might make a patriot of any man whose heart was not wholly closed against his humbler fellow-creatures. note on peter bell the third, by mrs. shelley. in this new edition i have added "peter bell the third". a critique on wordsworth's "peter bell" reached us at leghorn, which amused shelley exceedingly, and suggested this poem. i need scarcely observe that nothing personal to the author of "peter bell" is intended in this poem. no man ever admired wordsworth's poetry more;--he read it perpetually, and taught others to appreciate its beauties. this poem is, like all others written by shelley, ideal. he conceived the idealism of a poet--a man of lofty and creative genius--quitting the glorious calling of discovering and announcing the beautiful and good, to support and propagate ignorant prejudices and pernicious errors; imparting to the unenlightened, not that ardour for truth and spirit of toleration which shelley looked on as the sources of the moral improvement and happiness of mankind, but false and injurious opinions, that evil was good, and that ignorance and force were the best allies of purity and virtue. his idea was that a man gifted, even as transcendently as the author of "peter bell", with the highest qualities of genius, must, if he fostered such errors, be infected with dulness. this poem was written as a warning--not as a narration of the reality. he was unacquainted personally with wordsworth, or with coleridge (to whom he alludes in the fifth part of the poem), and therefore, i repeat, his poem is purely ideal;--it contains something of criticism on the compositions of those great poets, but nothing injurious to the men themselves. no poem contains more of shelley's peculiar views with regard to the errors into which many of the wisest have fallen, and the pernicious effects of certain opinions on society. much of it is beautifully written: and, though, like the burlesque drama of "swellfoot", it must be looked on as a plaything, it has so much merit and poetry--so much of himself in it--that it cannot fail to interest greatly, and by right belongs to the world for whose instruction and benefit it was written. note on the witch of atlas, by mrs. shelley. we spent the summer of at the baths of san giuliano, four miles from pisa. these baths were of great use to shelley in soothing his nervous irritability. we made several excursions in the neighbourhood. the country around is fertile, and diversified and rendered picturesque by ranges of near hills and more distant mountains. the peasantry are a handsome intelligent race; and there was a gladsome sunny heaven spread over us, that rendered home and every scene we visited cheerful and bright. during some of the hottest days of august, shelley made a solitary journey on foot to the summit of monte san pellegrino--a mountain of some height, on the top of which there is a chapel, the object, during certain days of the year, of many pilgrimages. the excursion delighted him while it lasted; though he exerted himself too much, and the effect was considerable lassitude and weakness on his return. during the expedition he conceived the idea, and wrote, in the three days immediately succeeding to his return, the "witch of atlas". this poem is peculiarly characteristic of his tastes--wildly fanciful, full of brilliant imagery, and discarding human interest and passion, to revel in the fantastic ideas that his imagination suggested. the surpassing excellence of "the cenci" had made me greatly desire that shelley should increase his popularity by adopting subjects that would more suit the popular taste than a poem conceived in the abstract and dreamy spirit of the "witch of atlas". it was not only that i wished him to acquire popularity as redounding to his fame; but i believed that he would obtain a greater mastery over his own powers, and greater happiness in his mind, if public applause crowned his endeavours. the few stanzas that precede the poem were addressed to me on my representing these ideas to him. even now i believe that i was in the right. shelley did not expect sympathy and approbation from the public; but the want of it took away a portion of the ardour that ought to have sustained him while writing. he was thrown on his own resources, and on the inspiration of his own soul; and wrote because his mind overflowed, without the hope of being appreciated. i had not the most distant wish that he should truckle in opinion, or submit his lofty aspirations for the human race to the low ambition and pride of the many; but i felt sure that, if his poems were more addressed to the common feelings of men, his proper rank among the writers of the day would be acknowledged, and that popularity as a poet would enable his countrymen to do justice to his character and virtues, which in those days it was the mode to attack with the most flagitious calumnies and insulting abuse. that he felt these things deeply cannot be doubted, though he armed himself with the consciousness of acting from a lofty and heroic sense of right. the truth burst from his heart sometimes in solitude, and he would write a few unfinished verses that showed that he felt the sting; among such i find the following:-- 'alas! this is not what i thought life was. i knew that there were crimes and evil men, misery and hate; nor did i hope to pass untouched by suffering through the rugged glen. in mine own heart i saw as in a glass the hearts of others...and, when i went among my kind, with triple brass of calm endurance my weak breast i armed, to bear scorn, fear, and hate--a woful mass!' i believed that all this morbid feeling would vanish if the chord of sympathy between him and his countrymen were touched. but my persuasions were vain, the mind could not be bent from its natural inclination. shelley shrunk instinctively from portraying human passion, with its mixture of good and evil, of disappointment and disquiet. such opened again the wounds of his own heart; and he loved to shelter himself rather in the airiest flights of fancy, forgetting love and hate, and regret and lost hope, in such imaginations as borrowed their hues from sunrise or sunset, from the yellow moonshine or paly twilight, from the aspect of the far ocean or the shadows of the woods,--which celebrated the singing of the winds among the pines, the flow of a murmuring stream, and the thousand harmonious sounds which nature creates in her solitudes. these are the materials which form the "witch of atlas": it is a brilliant congregation of ideas such as his senses gathered, and his fancy coloured, during his rambles in the sunny land he so much loved. note on oedipus tyrannus, by mrs. shelley. in the brief journal i kept in those days, i find recorded, in august, , shelley 'begins "swellfoot the tyrant", suggested by the pigs at the fair of san giuliano.' this was the period of queen caroline's landing in england, and the struggles made by george iv to get rid of her claims; which failing, lord castlereagh placed the "green bag" on the table of the house of commons, demanding in the king's name that an enquiry should be instituted into his wife's conduct. these circumstances were the theme of all conversation among the english. we were then at the baths of san giuliano. a friend came to visit us on the day when a fair was held in the square, beneath our windows: shelley read to us his "ode to liberty"; and was riotously accompanied by the grunting of a quantity of pigs brought for sale to the fair. he compared it to the 'chorus of frogs' in the satiric drama of aristophanes; and, it being an hour of merriment, and one ludicrous association suggesting another, he imagined a political-satirical drama on the circumstances of the day, to which the pigs would serve as chorus--and "swellfoot" was begun. when finished, it was transmitted to england, printed, and published anonymously; but stifled at the very dawn of its existence by the society for the suppression of vice, who threatened to prosecute it, if not immediately withdrawn. the friend who had taken the trouble of bringing it out, of course did not think it worth the annoyance and expense of a contest, and it was laid aside. hesitation of whether it would do honour to shelley prevented my publishing it at first. but i cannot bring myself to keep back anything he ever wrote; for each word is fraught with the peculiar views and sentiments which he believed to be beneficial to the human race, and the bright light of poetry irradiates every thought. the world has a right to the entire compositions of such a man; for it does not live and thrive by the outworn lesson of the dullard or the hypocrite, but by the original free thoughts of men of genius, who aspire to pluck bright truth 'from the pale-faced moon; or dive into the bottom of the deep where fathom-line would never touch the ground, and pluck up drowned' truth. even those who may dissent from his opinions will consider that he was a man of genius, and that the world will take more interest in his slightest word than in the waters of lethe which are so eagerly prescribed as medicinal for all its wrongs and woe. this drama, however, must not be judged for more than was meant. it is a mere plaything of the imagination; which even may not excite smiles among many, who will not see wit in those combinations of thought which were full of the ridiculous to the author. but, like everything he wrote, it breathes that deep sympathy for the sorrows of humanity, and indignation against its oppressors, which make it worthy of his name. note on hellas, by mrs. shelley. the south of europe was in a state of great political excitement at the beginning of the year . the spanish revolution had been a signal to italy; secrete societies were formed; and, when naples rose to declare the constitution, the call was responded to from brundusium to the foot of the alps. to crush these attempts to obtain liberty, early in the austrians poured their armies into the peninsula: at first their coming rather seemed to add energy and resolution to a people long enslaved. the piedmontese asserted their freedom; genoa threw off the yoke of the king of sardinia; and, as if in playful imitation, the people of the little state of massa and carrara gave the conge to their sovereign, and set up a republic. tuscany alone was perfectly tranquil. it was said that the austrian minister presented a list of sixty carbonari to the grand duke, urging their imprisonment; and the grand duke replied, 'i do not know whether these sixty men are carbonari, but i know, if i imprison them, i shall directly have sixty thousand start up.' but, though the tuscans had no desire to disturb the paternal government beneath whose shelter they slumbered, they regarded the progress of the various italian revolutions with intense interest, and hatred for the austrian was warm in every bosom. but they had slender hopes; they knew that the neapolitans would offer no fit resistance to the regular german troops, and that the overthrow of the constitution in naples would act as a decisive blow against all struggles for liberty in italy. we have seen the rise and progress of reform. but the holy alliance was alive and active in those days, and few could dream of the peaceful triumph of liberty. it seemed then that the armed assertion of freedom in the south of europe was the only hope of the liberals, as, if it prevailed, the nations of the north would imitate the example. happily the reverse has proved the fact. the countries accustomed to the exercise of the privileges of freemen, to a limited extent, have extended, and are extending, these limits. freedom and knowledge have now a chance of proceeding hand in hand; and, if it continue thus, we may hope for the durability of both. then, as i have said--in --shelley, as well as every other lover of liberty, looked upon the struggles in spain and italy as decisive of the destinies of the world, probably for centuries to come. the interest he took in the progress of affairs was intense. when genoa declared itself free, his hopes were at their highest. day after day he read the bulletins of the austrian army, and sought eagerly to gather tokens of its defeat. he heard of the revolt of genoa with emotions of transport. his whole heart and soul were in the triumph of the cause. we were living at pisa at that time; and several well-informed italians, at the head of whom we may place the celebrated vacca, were accustomed to seek for sympathy in their hopes from shelley: they did not find such for the despair they too generally experienced, founded on contempt for their southern countrymen. while the fate of the progress of the austrian armies then invading naples was yet in suspense, the news of another revolution filled him with exultation. we had formed the acquaintance at pisa of several constantinopolitan greeks, of the family of prince caradja, formerly hospodar of wallachia; who, hearing that the bowstring, the accustomed finale of his viceroyalty, was on the road to him, escaped with his treasures, and took up his abode in tuscany. among these was the gentleman to whom the drama of "hellas" is dedicated. prince mavrocordato was warmed by those aspirations for the independence of his country which filled the hearts of many of his countrymen. he often intimated the possibility of an insurrection in greece; but we had no idea of its being so near at hand, when, on the st of april , he called on shelley, bringing the proclamation of his cousin, prince ypsilanti, and, radiant with exultation and delight, declared that henceforth greece would be free. shelley had hymned the dawn of liberty in spain and naples, in two odes dictated by the warmest enthusiasm; he felt himself naturally impelled to decorate with poetry the uprise of the descendants of that people whose works he regarded with deep admiration, and to adopt the vaticinatory character in prophesying their success. "hellas" was written in a moment of enthusiasm. it is curious to remark how well he overcomes the difficulty of forming a drama out of such scant materials. his prophecies, indeed, came true in their general, not their particular, purport. he did not foresee the death of lord londonderry, which was to be the epoch of a change in english politics, particularly as regarded foreign affairs; nor that the navy of his country would fight for instead of against the greeks, and by the battle of navarino secure their enfranchisement from the turks. almost against reason, as it appeared to him, he resolved to believe that greece would prove triumphant; and in this spirit, auguring ultimate good, yet grieving over the vicissitudes to be endured in the interval, he composed his drama. "hellas" was among the last of his compositions, and is among the most beautiful. the choruses are singularly imaginative, and melodious in their versification. there are some stanzas that beautifully exemplify shelley's peculiar style; as, for instance, the assertion of the intellectual empire which must be for ever the inheritance of the country of homer, sophocles, and plato:-- 'but greece and her foundations are built below the tide of war, based on the crystalline sea of thought and its eternity.' and again, that philosophical truth felicitously imaged forth-- 'revenge and wrong bring forth their kind, the foul cubs like their parents are, their den is in the guilty mind, and conscience feeds them with despair.' the conclusion of the last chorus is among the most beautiful of his lyrics. the imagery is distinct and majestic; the prophecy, such as poets love to dwell upon, the regeneration of mankind--and that regeneration reflecting back splendour on the foregone time, from which it inherits so much of intellectual wealth, and memory of past virtuous deeds, as must render the possession of happiness and peace of tenfold value. note on the early poems, by mrs. shelley. the remainder of shelley's poems will be arranged in the order in which they were written. of course, mistakes will occur in placing some of the shorter ones; for, as i have said, many of these were thrown aside, and i never saw them till i had the misery of looking over his writings after the hand that traced them was dust; and some were in the hands of others, and i never saw them till now. the subjects of the poems are often to me an unerring guide; but on other occasions i can only guess, by finding them in the pages of the same manuscript book that contains poems with the date of whose composition i am fully conversant. in the present arrangement all his poetical translations will be placed together at the end. the loss of his early papers prevents my being able to give any of the poetry of his boyhood. of the few i give as "early poems", the greater part were published with "alastor"; some of them were written previously, some at the same period. the poem beginning 'oh, there are spirits in the air' was addressed in idea to coleridge, whom he never knew; and at whose character he could only guess imperfectly, through his writings, and accounts he heard of him from some who knew him well. he regarded his change of opinions as rather an act of will than conviction, and believed that in his inner heart he would be haunted by what shelley considered the better and holier aspirations of his youth. the summer evening that suggested to him the poem written in the churchyard of lechlade occurred during his voyage up the thames in . he had been advised by a physician to live as much as possible in the open air; and a fortnight of a bright warm july was spent in tracing the thames to its source. he never spent a season more tranquilly than the summer of . he had just recovered from a severe pulmonary attack; the weather was warm and pleasant. he lived near windsor forest; and his life was spent under its shades or on the water, meditating subjects for verse. hitherto, he had chiefly aimed at extending his political doctrines, and attempted so to do by appeals in prose essays to the people, exhorting them to claim their rights; but he had now begun to feel that the time for action was not ripe in england, and that the pen was the only instrument wherewith to prepare the way for better things. in the scanty journals kept during those years i find a record of the books that shelley read during several years. during the years of and the list is extensive. it includes, in greek, homer, hesiod, theocritus, the histories of thucydides and herodotus, and diogenes laertius. in latin, petronius, suetonius, some of the works of cicero, a large proportion of those of seneca and livy. in english, milton's poems, wordsworth's "excursion", southey's "madoc" and "thalaba", locke "on the human understanding", bacon's "novum organum". in italian, ariosto, tasso, and alfieri. in french, the "reveries d'un solitaire" of rousseau. to these may be added several modern books of travel. he read few novels. note on poems of , by mrs. shelley. shelley wrote little during this year. the poem entitled "the sunset" was written in the spring of the year, while still residing at bishopsgate. he spent the summer on the shores of the lake of geneva. the "hymn to intellectual beauty" was conceived during his voyage round the lake with lord byron. he occupied himself during this voyage by reading the "nouvelle heloise" for the first time. the reading it on the very spot where the scenes are laid added to the interest; and he was at once surprised and charmed by the passionate eloquence and earnest enthralling interest that pervade this work. there was something in the character of saint-preux, in his abnegation of self, and in the worship he paid to love, that coincided with shelley's own disposition; and, though differing in many of the views and shocked by others, yet the effect of the whole was fascinating and delightful. "mont blanc" was inspired by a view of that mountain and its surrounding peaks and valleys, as he lingered on the bridge of arve on his way through the valley of chamouni. shelley makes the following mention of this poem in his publication of the "history of a six weeks' tour, and letters from switzerland": 'the poem entitled "mont blanc" is written by the author of the two letters from chamouni and vevai. it was composed under the immediate impression of the deep and powerful feelings excited by the objects which it attempts to describe; and, as an undisciplined overflowing of the soul, rests its claim to approbation on an attempt to imitate the untamable wildness and inaccessible solemnity from which those feelings sprang.' this was an eventful year, and less time was given to study than usual. in the list of his reading i find, in greek, theocritus, the "prometheus" of aeschylus, several of plutarch's "lives", and the works of lucian. in latin, lucretius, pliny's "letters", the "annals" and "germany" of tacitus. in french, the "history of the french revolution" by lacretelle. he read for the first time, this year, montaigne's "essays", and regarded them ever after as one of the most delightful and instructive books in the world. the list is scanty in english works: locke's "essay", "political justice", and coleridge's "lay sermon", form nearly the whole. it was his frequent habit to read aloud to me in the evening; in this way we read, this year, the new testament, "paradise lost", spenser's "faery queen", and "don quixote". note on poems of , by mrs. shelley. the very illness that oppressed, and the aspect of death which had approached so near shelley, appear to have kindled to yet keener life the spirit of poetry in his heart. the restless thoughts kept awake by pain clothed themselves in verse. much was composed during this year. the "revolt of islam", written and printed, was a great effort--"rosalind and helen" was begun--and the fragments and poems i can trace to the same period show how full of passion and reflection were his solitary hours. in addition to such poems as have an intelligible aim and shape, many a stray idea and transitory emotion found imperfect and abrupt expression, and then again lost themselves in silence. as he never wandered without a book and without implements of writing, i find many such, in his manuscript books, that scarcely bear record; while some of them, broken and vague as they are, will appear valuable to those who love shelley's mind, and desire to trace its workings. he projected also translating the "hymns" of homer; his version of several of the shorter ones remains, as well as that to mercury already published in the "posthumous poems". his readings this year were chiefly greek. besides the "hymns" of homer and the "iliad", he read the dramas of aeschylus and sophocles, the "symposium" of plato, and arrian's "historia indica". in latin, apuleius alone is named. in english, the bible was his constant study; he read a great portion of it aloud in the evening. among these evening readings i find also mentioned the "faerie queen"; and other modern works, the production of his contemporaries, coleridge, wordsworth, moore and byron. his life was now spent more in thought than action--he had lost the eager spirit which believed it could achieve what it projected for the benefit of mankind. and yet in the converse of daily life shelley was far from being a melancholy man. he was eloquent when philosophy or politics or taste were the subjects of conversation. he was playful; and indulged in the wild spirit that mocked itself and others--not in bitterness, but in sport. the author of "nightmare abbey" seized on some points of his character and some habits of his life when he painted scythrop. he was not addicted to 'port or madeira,' but in youth he had read of 'illuminati and eleutherarchs,' and believed that he possessed the power of operating an immediate change in the minds of men and the state of society. these wild dreams had faded; sorrow and adversity had struck home; but he struggled with despondency as he did with physical pain. there are few who remember him sailing paper boats, and watching the navigation of his tiny craft with eagerness--or repeating with wild energy "the ancient mariner", and southey's "old woman of berkeley"; but those who do will recollect that it was in such, and in the creations of his own fancy when that was most daring and ideal, that he sheltered himself from the storms and disappointments, the pain and sorrow, that beset his life. no words can express the anguish he felt when his elder children were torn from him. in his first resentment against the chancellor, on the passing of the decree, he had written a curse, in which there breathes, besides haughty indignation, all the tenderness of a father's love, which could imagine and fondly dwell upon its loss and the consequences. at one time, while the question was still pending, the chancellor had said some words that seemed to intimate that shelley should not be permitted the care of any of his children, and for a moment he feared that our infant son would be torn from us. he did not hesitate to resolve, if such were menaced, to abandon country, fortune, everything, and to escape with his child; and i find some unfinished stanzas addressed to this son, whom afterwards we lost at rome, written under the idea that we might suddenly be forced to cross the sea, so to preserve him. this poem, as well as the one previously quoted, were not written to exhibit the pangs of distress to the public; they were the spontaneous outbursts of a man who brooded over his wrongs and woes, and was impelled to shed the grace of his genius over the uncontrollable emotions of his heart. i ought to observe that the fourth verse of this effusion is introduced in "rosalind and helen". when afterwards this child died at rome, he wrote, a propos of the english burying-ground in that city: 'this spot is the repository of a sacred loss, of which the yearnings of a parent's heart are now prophetic; he is rendered immortal by love, as his memory is by death. my beloved child lies buried here. i envy death the body far less than the oppressors the minds of those whom they have torn from me. the one can only kill the body, the other crushes the affections.' note on poems of , by mrs. shelley. we often hear of persons disappointed by a first visit to italy. this was not shelley's case. the aspect of its nature, its sunny sky, its majestic storms, of the luxuriant vegetation of the country, and the noble marble-built cities, enchanted him. the sight of the works of art was full enjoyment and wonder. he had not studied pictures or statues before; he now did so with the eye of taste, that referred not to the rules of schools, but to those of nature and truth. the first entrance to rome opened to him a scene of remains of antique grandeur that far surpassed his expectations; and the unspeakable beauty of naples and its environs added to the impression he received of the transcendent and glorious beauty of italy. our winter was spent at naples. here he wrote the fragments of "marenghi" and "the woodman and the nightingale", which he afterwards threw aside. at this time, shelley suffered greatly in health. he put himself under the care of a medical man, who promised great things, and made him endure severe bodily pain, without any good results. constant and poignant physical suffering exhausted him; and though he preserved the appearance of cheerfulness, and often greatly enjoyed our wanderings in the environs of naples, and our excursions on its sunny sea, yet many hours were passed when his thoughts, shadowed by illness, became gloomy,--and then he escaped to solitude, and in verses, which he hid from fear of wounding me, poured forth morbid but too natural bursts of discontent and sadness. one looks back with unspeakable regret and gnawing remorse to such periods; fancying that, had one been more alive to the nature of his feelings, and more attentive to soothe them, such would not have existed. and yet, enjoying as he appeared to do every sight or influence of earth or sky, it was difficult to imagine that any melancholy he showed was aught but the effect of the constant pain to which he was a martyr. we lived in utter solitude. and such is often not the nurse of cheerfulness; for then, at least with those who have been exposed to adversity, the mind broods over its sorrows too intently; while the society of the enlightened, the witty, and the wise, enables us to forget ourselves by making us the sharers of the thoughts of others, which is a portion of the philosophy of happiness. shelley never liked society in numbers,--it harassed and wearied him; but neither did he like loneliness, and usually, when alone, sheltered himself against memory and reflection in a book. but, with one or two whom he loved, he gave way to wild and joyous spirits, or in more serious conversation expounded his opinions with vivacity and eloquence. if an argument arose, no man ever argued better. he was clear, logical, and earnest, in supporting his own views; attentive, patient, and impartial, while listening to those on the adverse side. had not a wall of prejudice been raised at this time between him and his countrymen, how many would have sought the acquaintance of one whom to know was to love and to revere! how many of the more enlightened of his contemporaries have since regretted that they did not seek him! how very few knew his worth while he lived! and, of those few, several were withheld by timidity or envy from declaring their sense of it. but no man was ever more enthusiastically loved--more looked up to, as one superior to his fellows in intellectual endowments and moral worth, by the few who knew him well, and had sufficient nobleness of soul to appreciate his superiority. his excellence is now acknowledged; but, even while admitted, not duly appreciated. for who, except those who were acquainted with him, can imagine his unwearied benevolence, his generosity, his systematic forbearance? and still less is his vast superiority in intellectual attainments sufficiently understood--his sagacity, his clear understanding, his learning, his prodigious memory. all these as displayed in conversation, were known to few while he lived, and are now silent in the tomb: 'ahi orbo mondo ingrato! gran cagion hai di dever pianger meco; che quel ben ch' era in te, perdut' hai seco.' note on poems of , by mrs. shelley. shelley loved the people; and respected them as often more virtuous, as always more suffering, and therefore more deserving of sympathy, than the great. he believed that a clash between the two classes of society was inevitable, and he eagerly ranged himself on the people's side. he had an idea of publishing a series of poems adapted expressly to commemorate their circumstances and wrongs. he wrote a few; but, in those days of prosecution for libel, they could not be printed. they are not among the best of his productions, a writer being always shackled when he endeavours to write down to the comprehension of those who could not understand or feel a highly imaginative style; but they show his earnestness, and with what heart-felt compassion he went home to the direct point of injury--that oppression is detestable as being the parent of starvation, nakedness, and ignorance. besides these outpourings of compassion and indignation, he had meant to adorn the cause he loved with loftier poetry of glory and triumph: such is the scope of the "ode to the assertors of liberty". he sketched also a new version of our national anthem, as addressed to liberty. note on poems of , by mrs. shelley. we spent the latter part of the year in florence, where shelley passed several hours daily in the gallery, and made various notes on its ancient works of art. his thoughts were a good deal taken up also by the project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, to ply between leghorn and marseilles, for which he supplied a sum of money. this was a sort of plan to delight shelley, and he was greatly disappointed when it was thrown aside. there was something in florence that disagreed excessively with his health, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that we left it sooner than we intended, and removed to pisa, where we had some friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated vacca as to the cause of shelley's sufferings. he, like every other medical man, could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; he enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave his complaint to nature. as he had vainly consulted medical men of the highest repute in england, he was easily persuaded to adopt this advice. pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residence at pisa agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence we remained. in the spring we spent a week or two near leghorn, borrowing the house of some friends who were absent on a journey to england. it was on a beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whose myrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard the carolling of the skylark which inspired one of the most beautiful of his poems. he addressed the letter to mrs. gisborne from this house, which was hers: he had made his study of the workshop of her son, who was an engineer. mrs. gisborne had been a friend of my father in her younger days. she was a lady of great accomplishments, and charming from her frank and affectionate nature. she had the most intense love of knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved freshness of mind after a life of considerable adversity. as a favourite friend of my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and the most open and cordial friendship was established between us. our stay at the baths of san giuliano was shortened by an accident. at the foot of our garden ran the canal that communicated between the serchio and the arno. the serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking its bounds, this canal also overflowed; all this part of the country is below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it was speedily flooded. the rising waters filled the square of the baths, in the lower part of which our house was situated. the canal overflowed in the garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst open the doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height of six feet. it was a picturesque sight at night to see the peasants driving the cattle from the plains below to the hills above the baths. a fire was kept up to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and the animals showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, which was reflected again in the waters that filled the square. we then removed to pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter. the extreme mildness of the climate suited shelley, and his solitude was enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. chance cast us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but its very peace suited shelley. its river, the near mountains, and not distant sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many delightful excursions. we feared the south of italy, and a hotter climate, on account of our child; our former bereavement inspiring us with terror. we seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards; often, indeed, entertaining projects for visiting other parts of italy, but still delaying. but for our fears on account of our child, i believe we should have wandered over the world, both being passionately fond of travelling. but human life, besides its great unalterable necessities, is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle at the time, although it is difficult to account afterwards for their influence over our destiny. note on poems of , by mrs. shelley. my task becomes inexpressibly painful as the year draws near that which sealed our earthly fate, and each poem, and each event it records, has a real or mysterious connection with the fatal catastrophe. i feel that i am incapable of putting on paper the history of those times. the heart of the man, abhorred of the poet, who could 'peep and botanize upon his mother's grave,' does not appear to me more inexplicably framed than that of one who can dissect and probe past woes, and repeat to the public ear the groans drawn from them in the throes of their agony. the year was spent in pisa, or at the baths of san giuliano. we were not, as our wont had been, alone; friends had gathered round us. nearly all are dead, and, when memory recurs to the past, she wanders among tombs. the genius, with all his blighting errors and mighty powers; the companion of shelley's ocean-wanderings, and the sharer of his fate, than whom no man ever existed more gentle, generous, and fearless; and others, who found in shelley's society, and in his great knowledge and warm sympathy, delight, instruction, and solace; have joined him beyond the grave. a few survive who have felt life a desert since he left it. what misfortune can equal death? change can convert every other into a blessing, or heal its sting--death alone has no cure. it shakes the foundations of the earth on which we tread; it destroys its beauty; it casts down our shelter; it exposes us bare to desolation. when those we love have passed into eternity, 'life is the desert and the solitude' in which we are forced to linger--but never find comfort more. there is much in the "adonais" which seems now more applicable to shelley himself than to the young and gifted poet whom he mourned. the poetic view he takes of death, and the lofty scorn he displays towards his calumniators, are as a prophecy on his own destiny when received among immortal names, and the poisonous breath of critics has vanished into emptiness before the fame he inherits. shelley's favourite taste was boating; when living near the thames or by the lake of geneva, much of his life was spent on the water. on the shore of every lake or stream or sea near which he dwelt, he had a boat moored. he had latterly enjoyed this pleasure again. there are no pleasure-boats on the arno; and the shallowness of its waters (except in winter-time, when the stream is too turbid and impetuous for boating) rendered it difficult to get any skiff light enough to float. shelley, however, overcame the difficulty; he, together with a friend, contrived a boat such as the huntsmen carry about with them in the maremma, to cross the sluggish but deep streams that intersect the forests,--a boat of laths and pitched canvas. it held three persons; and he was often seen on the arno in it, to the horror of the italians, who remonstrated on the danger, and could not understand how anyone could take pleasure in an exercise that risked life. 'ma va per la vita!' they exclaimed. i little thought how true their words would prove. he once ventured, with a friend, on the glassy sea of a calm day, down the arno and round the coast to leghorn, which, by keeping close in shore, was very practicable. they returned to pisa by the canal, when, missing the direct cut, they got entangled among weeds, and the boat upset; a wetting was all the harm done, except that the intense cold of his drenched clothes made shelley faint. once i went down with him to the mouth of the arno, where the stream, then high and swift, met the tideless sea, and disturbed its sluggish waters. it was a waste and dreary scene; the desert sand stretched into a point surrounded by waves that broke idly though perpetually around; it was a scene very similar to lido, of which he had said-- 'i love all waste and solitary places; where we taste the pleasure of believing what we see is boundless, as we wish our souls to be: and such was this wide ocean, and this shore more barren than its billows.' our little boat was of greater use, unaccompanied by any danger, when we removed to the baths. some friends lived at the village of pugnano, four miles off, and we went to and fro to see them, in our boat, by 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 noon-day kept up their hum; the aziola cooed in the quiet evening. it was a pleasant summer, bright in all but shelley's health and inconstant spirits; yet he enjoyed himself greatly, and became more and more attached to the part of the country were chance appeared to cast us. sometimes he projected taking a farm situated on the height of one of the near hills, surrounded by chestnut and pine woods, and overlooking a wide extent of country: or settling still farther 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. still, shelley's passion was the ocean; and he wished that our summers, instead of being passed among the hills near pisa, should be spent on the shores of the sea. it was very difficult to find a spot. we shrank from naples from a fear that the heats would disagree with percy: leghorn had lost its only attraction, since our friends who had resided there were returned to england; and, monte nero being the resort of many english, we did not wish to find ourselves in the midst of a colony of chance travellers. no one then thought it possible to reside at via reggio, which latterly has become a summer resort. the low lands and bad air of maremma stretch the whole length of the western shores of the mediterranean, till broken by the rocks and hills of spezia. it was a vague idea, but shelley suggested an excursion to spezia, to see whether it would be feasible to spend a summer there. the beauty of the bay enchanted him. we saw no house to suit us; but the notion took root, and many circumstances, enchained as by fatality, occurred to urge him to execute it. he looked forward this autumn with great pleasure to the prospect of a visit from leigh hunt. when shelley visited lord byron at ravenna, the latter had suggested his coming out, together with the plan of a periodical work in which they should all join. shelley saw a prospect of good for the fortunes of his friend, and pleasure in his society; and instantly exerted himself to have the plan executed. he did not intend himself joining in the work: partly from pride, not wishing to have the air of acquiring readers for his poetry by associating it with the compositions of more popular writers; and also because he might feel shackled in the free expression of his opinions, if any friends were to be compromised. by those opinions, carried even to their outermost extent, he wished to live and die, as being in his conviction not only true, but such as alone would conduce to the moral improvement and happiness of mankind. the sale of the work might meanwhile, either really or supposedly, be injured by the free expression of his thoughts; and this evil he resolved to avoid. note on poems of , by mrs. shelley. this morn thy gallant bark sailed on a sunny sea: 'tis noon, and tempests dark have wrecked it on the lee. ah woe! ah woe! by spirits of the deep thou'rt cradled on the billow to thy eternal sleep. thou sleep'st upon the shore beside the knelling surge, and sea-nymphs evermore shall sadly chant thy dirge. they come, they come, the spirits of the deep,-- while near thy seaweed pillow my lonely watch i keep. from far across the sea i hear a loud lament, by echo's voice for thee from ocean's caverns sent. o list! o list! the spirits of the deep! they raise a wail of sorrow, while i forever weep. with this last year of the life of shelley these notes end. they are not what i intended them to be. i began with energy, and a burning desire to impart to the world, in worthy language, the sense i have of the virtues and genius of the beloved and the lost; my strength has failed under the task. recurrence to the past, full of its own deep and unforgotten joys and sorrows, contrasted with succeeding years of painful and solitary struggle, has shaken my health. days of great suffering have followed my attempts to write, and these again produced a weakness and languor that spread their sinister influence over these notes. i dislike speaking of myself, but cannot help apologizing to the dead, and to the public, for not having executed in the manner i desired the history i engaged to give of shelley's writings. (i at one time feared that the correction of the press might be less exact through my illness; but i believe that it is nearly free from error. some asterisks occur in a few pages, as they did in the volume of "posthumous poems", either because they refer to private concerns, or because the original manuscript was left imperfect. did any one see the papers from which i drew that volume, the wonder would be how any eyes or patience were capable of extracting it from so confused a mass, interlined and broken into fragments, so that the sense could only be deciphered and joined by guesses which might seem rather intuitive than founded on reasoning. yet i believe no mistake was made.) the winter of was passed in pisa, if we might call that season winter in which autumn merged into spring after the interval of but few days of bleaker weather. spring sprang up early, and with extreme beauty. shelley had conceived the idea of writing a tragedy on the subject of charles i. it was one that he believed adapted for a drama; full of intense interest, contrasted character, and busy passion. he had recommended it long before, when he encouraged me to attempt a play. whether the subject proved more difficult than he anticipated, or whether in fact he could not bend his mind away from the broodings and wanderings of thought, divested from human interest, which he best loved, i cannot tell; but he proceeded slowly, and threw it aside for one of the most mystical of his poems, the "triumph of life", on which he was employed at the last. his passion for boating was fostered at this time by having among our friends several sailors. his favourite companion, edward ellerker williams, of the th light dragoons, had begun his life in the navy, and had afterwards entered the army; he had spent several years in india, and his love for adventure and manly exercises accorded with shelley's taste. it was their favourite plan to build a boat such as they could manage themselves, and, living on the sea-coast, to enjoy at every hour and season the pleasure they loved best. captain roberts, r.n., undertook to build the boat at genoa, where he was also occupied in building the "bolivar" for lord byron. ours was to be an open boat, on a model taken from one of the royal dockyards. i have since heard that there was a defect in this model, and that it was never seaworthy. in the month of february, shelley and his friend went to spezia to seek for houses for us. only one was to be found at all suitable; however, a trifle such as not finding a house could not stop shelley; the one found was to serve for all. it was unfurnished; we sent our furniture by sea, and with a good deal of precipitation, arising from his impatience, made our removal. we left pisa on the th of april. the bay of spezia is of considerable extent, and divided by a rocky promontory into a larger and smaller one. the town of lerici is situated on the eastern point, and in the depth of the smaller bay, which bears the name of this town, is the village of san terenzo. our house, casa magni, was close to this village; the sea came up to the door, a steep hill sheltered it behind. the proprietor of the estate on which it was situated was insane; he had begun to erect a large house at the summit of the hill behind, but his malady prevented its being finished, and it was falling into ruin. he had (and this to the italians had seemed a glaring symptom of very decided madness) rooted up the olives on the hillside, and planted forest trees. these were mostly young, but the plantation was more in english taste than i ever elsewhere saw in italy; some fine walnut and ilex trees intermingled their dark massy foliage, and formed groups which still haunt my memory, as then they satiated the eye with a sense of loveliness. the scene was indeed of unimaginable beauty. the blue extent of waters, the almost landlocked bay, the near castle of lerici shutting it in to the east, and distant porto venere to the west; the varied forms of the precipitous rocks that bound in the beach, over which there was only a winding rugged footpath towards lerici, and none on the other side; the tideless sea leaving no sands nor shingle, formed a picture such as one sees in salvator rosa's landscapes only. sometimes the sunshine vanished when the sirocco raged--the 'ponente' the wind was called on that shore. the gales and squalls that hailed our first arrival surrounded the bay with foam; the howling wind swept round our exposed house, and the sea roared unremittingly, so that we almost fancied ourselves on board ship. at other times sunshine and calm invested sea and sky, and the rich tints of italian heaven bathed the scene in bright and ever-varying tints. the natives were wilder than the place. our near neighbours of san terenzo were more like savages than any people i ever before lived among. many a night they passed on the beach, singing, or rather howling; the women dancing about among the waves that broke at their feet, the men leaning against the rocks and joining in their loud wild chorus. we could get no provisions nearer than sarzana, at a distance of three miles and a half off, with the torrent of the magra between; and even there the supply was very deficient. had we been wrecked on an island of the south seas, we could scarcely have felt ourselves farther from civilisation and comfort; but, where the sun shines, the latter becomes an unnecessary luxury, and we had enough society among ourselves. yet i confess housekeeping became rather a toilsome task, especially as i was suffering in my health, and could not exert myself actively. at first the fatal boat had not arrived, and was expected with great impatience. on monday, th may, it came. williams records the long-wished-for fact in his journal: 'cloudy and threatening weather. m. maglian called; and 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 last, but had been driven back by the 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.'--it was thus that short-sighted mortals welcomed death, he having disguised his grim form in a pleasing mask! the time of the friends was now spent on the sea; the weather became fine, and our whole party often passed the evenings on the water when the wind promised pleasant sailing. shelley and williams made longer excursions; they sailed several times to massa. they had engaged one of the seamen who brought her round, a boy, by name charles vivian; and they had not the slightest apprehension of danger. when the weather was unfavourable, they employed themselves with alterations in the rigging, and by building a boat of canvas and reeds, as light as possible, to have on board the other for the convenience of landing in waters too shallow for the larger vessel. when shelley was on board, he had his papers with him; and much of the "triumph of life" was written as he sailed or weltered on that sea which was soon to engulf him. the heats set in in the middle of june; the days became excessively hot. but the sea-breeze cooled the air at noon, and extreme heat always put shelley in spirits. a long drought had preceded the heat; and prayers for rain were being put up in the churches, and processions of relics for the same effect took place in every town. at this time we received letters announcing the arrival of leigh hunt at genoa. shelley was very eager to see him. i was confined to my room by severe illness, and could not move; it was agreed that shelley and williams should go to leghorn in the boat. strange that no fear of danger crossed our minds! living on the sea-shore, the ocean became as a plaything: as a child may sport with a lighted stick, till a spark inflames a forest, and spreads destruction over all, so did we fearlessly and blindly tamper with danger, and make a game of the terrors of the ocean. our italian neighbours, even, trusted themselves as far as massa in the skiff; and the running down the line of coast to leghorn gave no more notion of peril than a fair-weather inland navigation would have done to those who had never seen the sea. once, some months before, trelawny had raised a warning voice as to the difference of our calm bay and the open sea beyond; but shelley and his friend, with their one sailor-boy, thought themselves a match for the storms of the mediterranean, in a boat which they looked upon as equal to all it was put to do. on the st of july they left us. if ever shadow of future ill darkened the present hour, such was over my mind when they went. during the whole of our stay at lerici, an intense presentiment of coming evil brooded over my mind, and covered this beautiful place and genial summer with the shadow of coming misery. i had vainly struggled with these emotions--they seemed accounted for by my illness; but at this hour of separation they recurred with renewed violence. i did not anticipate danger for them, but a vague expectation of evil shook me to agony, and i could scarcely bring myself to let them go. the day was calm and clear; and, a fine breeze rising at twelve, they weighed for leghorn. they made the run of about fifty miles in seven hours and a half. the "bolivar" was in port; and, the regulations of the health-office not permitting them to go on shore after sunset, they borrowed cushions from the larger vessel, and slept on board their boat. they spent a week at pisa and leghorn. the want of rain was severely felt in the country. the weather continued sultry and fine. i have heard that shelley all this time was in brilliant spirits. not long before, talking of presentiment, he had said the only one that he ever found infallible was the certain advent of some evil fortune when he felt peculiarly joyous. yet, if ever fate whispered of coming disaster, such inaudible but not unfelt prognostics hovered around us. the beauty of the place seemed unearthly in its excess: the distance we were at from all signs of civilization, the sea at our feet, its murmurs or its roaring for ever in our ears,--all these things led the mind to brood over strange thoughts, and, lifting it from everyday life, caused it to be familiar with the unreal. a sort of spell surrounded us; and each day, as the voyagers did not return, we grew restless and disquieted, and yet, strange to say, we were not fearful of the most apparent danger. the spell snapped; it was all over; an interval of agonizing doubt--of days passed in miserable journeys to gain tidings, of hopes that took firmer root even as they were more baseless--was changed to the certainty of the death that eclipsed all happiness for the survivors for evermore. there was something in our fate peculiarly harrowing. the remains of those we lost were cast on shore; but, by the quarantine-laws of the coast, we were not permitted to have possession of them--the law with respect to everything cast on land by the sea being that such should be burned, to prevent the possibility of any remnant bringing the plague into italy; and no representation could alter the law. at length, through the kind and unwearied exertions of mr. dawkins, our charge d'affaires at florence, we gained permission to receive the ashes after the bodies were consumed. nothing could equal the zeal of trelawny in carrying our wishes into effect. he was indefatigable in his exertions, and full of forethought and sagacity in his arrangements. it was a fearful task; he stood before us at last, his hands scorched and blistered by the flames of the funeral-pyre, and by touching the burnt relics as he placed them in the receptacles prepared for the purpose. and there, in compass of that small case, was gathered all that remained on earth of him whose genius and virtue were a crown of glory to the world--whose love had been the source of happiness, peace, and good,--to be buried with him! the concluding stanzas of the "adonais" pointed out where the remains ought to be deposited; in addition to which our beloved child lay buried in the cemetery at rome. thither shelley's ashes were conveyed; and they rest beneath one of the antique weed-grown towers that recur at intervals in the circuit of the massy ancient wall of rome. he selected the hallowed place himself; there is 'the sepulchre, oh, not of him, but of our joy!-- ... and gray walls moulder round, on which dull time feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand; and one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, pavilioning the dust of him who planned this refuge for his memory, doth stand like flame transformed to marble; and beneath, a field is spread, on which a newer band have pitched in heaven's smile their camp of death, welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath.' could sorrow for the lost, and shuddering anguish at the vacancy left behind, be soothed by poetic imaginations, there was something in shelley's fate to mitigate pangs which yet, alas! could not be so mitigated; for hard reality brings too miserably home to the mourner all that is lost of happiness, all of lonely unsolaced struggle that remains. still, though dreams and hues of poetry cannot blunt grief, it invests his fate with a sublime fitness, which those less nearly allied may regard with complacency. a year before he had poured into verse all such ideas about death as give it a glory of its own. he had, as it now seems, almost anticipated his own destiny; and, when the mind figures his skiff wrapped from sight by the thunder-storm, as it was last seen upon the purple sea, and then, as the cloud of the tempest passed away, no sign remained of where it had been (captain roberts watched the vessel with his glass from the top of the lighthouse of leghorn, on its homeward track. they were off via reggio, at some distance from shore, when a storm was driven over the sea. it enveloped them and several larger vessels in darkness. when the cloud passed onwards, roberts looked again, and saw every other vessel sailing on the ocean except their little schooner, which had vanished. from that time he could scarcely doubt the fatal truth; yet we fancied that they might have been driven towards elba or corsica, and so be saved. the observation made as to the spot where the boat disappeared caused it to be found, through the exertions of trelawny for that effect. it had gone down in ten fathom water; it had not capsized, and, except such things as had floated from her, everything was found on board exactly as it had been placed when they sailed. the boat itself was uninjured. roberts possessed himself of her, and decked her; but she proved not seaworthy, and her shattered planks now lie rotting on the shore of one of the ionian islands, on which she was wrecked.)--who but will regard as a prophecy the last stanza of the "adonais"? 'the breath whose might i have invoked in song descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, far from the shore, far from the trembling throng whose sails were never to the tempest given; the massy earth and sphered skies are riven! i am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; whilst burning through the inmost veil of heaven, the soul of adonais, like a star, beacons from the abode where the eternal are.' putney, may , . generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) shelley at oxford shelley at oxford by thomas jefferson hogg with an introduction by r. a. streatfeild methuen & co. essex street w.c. london introduction thomas jefferson hogg's account of shelley's career at oxford first appeared in the form of a series of articles contributed to the _new monthly magazine_ in and . it was afterwards incorporated into his _life of shelley_, which was published in . it is by common consent the most life-like portrait of the poet left by any of his contemporaries. "hogg," said trelawny, "has painted shelley exactly as i knew him," and mary shelley, referring to hogg's articles in her edition of shelley's poems, bore witness to the fidelity with which her husband's character had been delineated. in later times everyone who has written about shelley has drawn upon hogg more or less freely, for he is practically the only authority upon shelley's six months at oxford. yet, save in the extracts that appear in various biographies of the poet, this remarkable work is little known. hogg's fragmentary _life of shelley_ was discredited by the plainly-expressed disapproval of the shelley family and has never been reprinted. but the inaccuracies, to call them by no harsher term, that disfigure hogg's later production do not affect the value of his earlier narrative, the substantial truth of which has never been impugned. in the _new monthly magazine_ was edited by the first lord lytton (at that time edward lytton bulwer), to whom hogg was introduced by mrs shelley. hogg complained bitterly of the way in which his manuscript was treated. "to write articles in a magazine or a review," he observed in the preface to his _life of shelley_, "is to walk in leading-strings. however, i submitted to the requirements and restraints of bibliopolar discipline, being content to speak of my young fellow-collegian, not exactly as i would, but as i might. i struggled at first, and feebly, for full liberty of speech, for a larger license of commendation and admiration, for entire freedom of the press without censorship." bulwer, however, was inexorable, and it is owing, no doubt, to his salutary influence that the style of hogg's account of shelley's oxford days is so far superior to that of his later compilation. hogg, in fact, tacitly admitted the value of bulwer's emendations by reprinting the articles in question in his biography of shelley word for word as they appeared in the _new monthly magazine_, not in the form in which they originally left his pen. hogg himself was unquestionably a man of remarkable powers, though his present fame depends almost entirely upon his connection with shelley. he was born in , being the eldest son of john hogg, a gentleman of old family and strong tory opinions, who lived at norton in the county of durham. he was educated at durham grammar school, and entered university college, oxford, in january , a short time before shelley. the account of his meeting with shelley and of their intimacy down to the day of their expulsion is told in these pages. on the strength of a remark of trelawny's it has often been repeated that hogg was a hard-headed man of the world who despised literature, "he thought it all nonsense and barely tolerated shakespeare." such is not the impression that a reader of these pages will retain, nor, i think, will he be inclined to echo the opinion pronounced by another critic that hogg regarded shelley with a kind of amused disdain. on the contrary, it is plain that hogg entertained for shelley a sincere regard and admiration, and although himself a man of temperament directly opposed to that usually described as poetical, he was fully capable of appreciating the transcendent qualities of his friend's genius. there is little to add to the tale of hogg's and shelley's oxford life as told in the following narrative, but further details as to their expulsion and the causes that led to it may be read in professor dowden's biography of the poet. after leaving oxford, hogg established himself at york, where he was articled to a conveyancer. there he was visited by shelley and his young wife, harriet westbrook, in the course of their wanderings. for the latter hogg conceived a violent passion, and during a brief absence of shelley's assailed her with the most unworthy proposals, which she communicated to her husband on his return. after a painful interview shelley forgave his friend, but left york with his wife abruptly for keswick. letters passed between hogg and shelley, hogg at first demanding harriet's forgiveness under a threat of suicide and subsequently challenging shelley to a duel. one of shelley's replies, characteristically noble in sentiment, was printed by hogg with cynical effrontery in his biography of the poet many years later as a "fragment of a novel." after these incidents there was no intercourse between the two until, in october , the shelleys arrived in london, whither hogg had moved. from that time until shelley's final departure from england in his connection with hogg was resumed with much of its old intimacy. in the year hogg produced a work of fiction, _the memoirs of prince alexy haimatoff_, said to be translated from the original latin mss. under the immediate inspection of the prince, by john brown, esq. the tale, which is for the most part told in stilted and extravagant language, can hardly be called amusing, but the discussions upon liberty which are a feature of it appear to be an echo of shelley's conversation, and the hero himself may possibly be intended as a portrait of the poet. certainly there are points in the prince's description of himself which seem to be borrowed from shelley's physiognomy. "my complexion was a clear brown, rather inclining to yellow; my hair a deep and bright black; my eyes dark and strongly expressive of pride and anger,... my hands very small, and my head remarkable for its roundness and diminutive size." it would be interesting to trace in the other characters the portraits of various members of hogg's circle. mr garnett identifies gothon as dr lind, the eton tutor whose sympathy and encouragement did much to alleviate the misery of shelley's school-days. the fair rosalie ought to be harriet, and certain features of her character recall that unhappy damsel, but rosalie disliked reading and thought aristotle an "egregious trifler," whereas harriet's taste in literature was of an extreme seriousness, and her partiality for reading works of a moral tendency to her companions in season and out of season was one of the least engaging features of her character. shelley reviewed _the memoirs of prince alexy haimatoff_ in the _critical review_ of december , discussing the talents of the author in terms of glowing eulogy, though he found fault with his views on the subject of sexual relations. soon after his york experiences hogg had entered at the middle temple and he was called to the bar in . he was not successful as a barrister, lacking the quickness and ready eloquence that command success. in or about the year hogg married jane, the widow of edward ellerker williams, who had shared shelley's fate three years previously. it is said that mrs williams insisted upon hogg's preparing himself for the union, or perhaps we should rather say, proving his devotion, by a course of foreign travel. hogg undertook the ordeal, voluntarily depriving himself of three things, each of which, to use his own words, "daily habit had taught me to consider a prime necessary of life--law, greek, and an english newspaper." in he published the record of his tour in two volumes, entitled _two hundred and nine days; or, the journal of a traveller on the continent_, which, so far from illustrating the anguish of hope deferred, is a storehouse of shrewd and cynical observation. in hogg was appointed one of the municipal corporation commissioners for england and wales, and for many years he acted as revising barrister for northumberland, berwick and the northern boroughs. about he was commissioned by the shelley family to write the poet's biography and was furnished with the necessary papers. in he produced the two extant volumes, which proved so little satisfactory to shelley's representatives that the materials for the continuation of his task were withdrawn and the work interrupted, never to be resumed. hogg died in . he was a man of varied culture; in knowledge of greek few scholars of his time surpassed him, and he was well read in german, french, italian and spanish. he was a fair botanist, and rejoiced to think that he was born upon the anniversary of the birth of linnæus, for whose concise and simple style he professed a great admiration. nevertheless it is chiefly as the friend and biographer of shelley that he interests the present generation, and the re-publication of his account of the poet's oxford experiences can scarcely fail to win him new admirers. r. a. streatfeild shelley at oxford chapter i what is the greatest disappointment in life? the question has often been asked. in a perfect life--that is to say, in a long course of various disappointments, when the collector has completed the entire set and series, which should he pronounce to be the greatest? what is the greatest disappointment of all? the question has often been asked, and it has received very different answers. some have said matrimony; others, the accession of an inheritance that had long been anxiously anticipated; others, the attainment of honours; others, the deliverance from an ancient and intolerable nuisance, since a new and more grievous one speedily succeeded to the old. many solutions have been proposed, and each has been ingeniously supported. at a very early age i had formed a splendid picture of the glories of our two universities. my father took pleasure in describing his academical career. i listened to him with great delight, and many circumstances gave additional force to these first impressions. the clergy--and in the country they make one's principal guests--always spoke of these establishments with deep reverence, and of their academical days as the happiest of their lives. when i went to school, my prejudices were strengthened; for the master noticed all deficiencies in learning as being unfit, and every remarkable proficiency as being fit, for the university. such expressions marked the utmost limits of blame and of praise. whenever any of the elder boys were translated to college--and several went thither from our school every year--the transmission was accompanied with a certain awe. i had always contemplated my own removal with the like feeling, and as the period approached, i anticipated it with a reverent impatience. the appointed day at last arrived, and i set out with a schoolfellow, about to enter the same career, and his father. the latter was a dutiful and a most grateful son of _alma mater_; and the conversation of this estimable man, during our long journey, fanned the flame of my young ardour. such, indeed, had been the effect of his discourse for many years; and as he possessed a complete collection of the oxford almanacks, and it had been a great and frequent gratification to contemplate the engravings at the top of the annual sheets when i visited his quiet vicarage, i was already familiar with the aspect of the noble buildings that adorn that famous city. after travelling for several days we reached the last stage, and soon afterwards approached the point whence, i was told, we might discern the first glimpse of the metropolis of learning. i strained my eyes to catch a view of that land of promise, for which i had so eagerly longed. the summits of towers and spires and domes appeared afar and faintly; then the prospect was obstructed. by degrees it opened upon us again, and we saw the tall trees that shaded the colleges. at three o'clock on a fine autumnal afternoon we entered the streets of oxford. although the weather was cold we had let down all the windows of our post-chaise, and i sat forward, devouring every object with greedy eyes. members of the university, of different ages and ranks, were gliding through the quiet streets of the venerable city in academic costume. we devoted two or three days to the careful examination of the various objects of interest that oxford contains. the eye was gratified, for the external appearance of the university even surpassed the bright picture which my youthful imagination had painted. the outside was always admirable; it was far otherwise with the inside. it is essential to the greatness of a disappointment that the previous expectation should have been great. nothing could exceed my young anticipations--nothing could be more complete than their overthrow. it would be impossible to describe my feelings without speaking harshly and irreverently of the venerable university. on this subject, then, i will only confess my disappointment, and discreetly be silent as to its causes. whatever those causes, i grew, at least, and i own it cheerfully, soon pleased with oxford, on the whole; pleased with the beauty of the city and its gentle river, and the pleasantness of the surrounding country. although no great facilities were afforded to the student, there were the same opportunities of _solitary_ study as in other places. all the irksome restraints of school were removed, and those of the university are few and trifling. our fare was good, although not so good, perhaps, as it ought to have been, in return for the enormous cost; and i liked the few companions with whom i most commonly mixed. i continued to lead a life of tranquil and studious and somewhat melancholy contentment until the long vacation, which i spent with my family; and, when it expired, i returned to the university. at the commencement of michaelmas term--that is, at the end of october, in the year , i happened one day to sit next to a freshman at dinner. it was his first appearance in hall. his figure was slight, and his aspect remarkably youthful, even at our table, where all were very young. he seemed thoughtful and absent. he ate little, and had no acquaintance with anyone. i know not how it was that we fell into conversation, for such familiarity was unusual, and, strange to say, much reserve prevailed in a society where there could not possibly be occasion for any. we have often endeavoured in vain to recollect in what manner our discourse began, and especially by what transition it passed to a subject sufficiently remote from all the associations we were able to trace. the stranger had expressed an enthusiastic admiration for poetical and imaginative works of the german school; i dissented from his criticisms. he upheld the originality of the german writings; i asserted their want of nature. "what modern literature," said he, "will you compare to theirs?" i named the italian. this roused all his impetuosity; and few, as i soon discovered, were more impetuous in argumentative conversation. so eager was our dispute that, when the servants came in to clear the tables, we were not aware that we had been left alone. i remarked that it was time to quit the hall, and i invited the stranger to finish the discussion at my rooms. he eagerly assented. he lost the thread of his discourse in the transit, and the whole of his enthusiasm in the cause of germany; for, as soon as he arrived at my rooms, and whilst i was lighting the candles, he said calmly, and to my great surprise, that he was not qualified to maintain such a discussion, for he was alike ignorant of italian and german, and had only read the works of the germans, in translations, and but little of italian poetry, even at second hand. for my part, i confessed, with an equal ingenuousness, that i knew nothing of german, and but little of italian; that i had spoken only through others, and, like him, had hitherto seen by the glimmering light of translations. it is upon such scanty data that young men reason; upon such slender materials do they build up their opinions. it may be urged, however, that if they did not discourse freely with each other upon insufficient information--for such alone can be acquired in the pleasant morning of life, and until they educate themselves--they would be constrained to observe a perpetual silence, and to forego the numerous advantages that flow from frequent and liberal discussion. i inquired of the vivacious stranger, as we sat over our wine and dessert, how long he had been at oxford, and how he liked it? he answered my questions with a certain impatience, and, resuming the subject of our discussion, he remarked that, "whether the literature of germany or of italy be the more original, or in a purer and more accurate taste, is of little importance, for polite letters are but vain trifling; the study of languages, not only of the modern tongues, but of latin and greek also, is merely the study of words and phrases, of the names of things; it matters not how they are called. it is surely far better to investigate things themselves." i inquired, a little bewildered, how this was to be effected? he answered, "through the physical sciences, and especially through chemistry;" and, raising his voice, his face flushing as he spoke, he discoursed with a degree of animation, that far outshone his zeal in defence of the germans, of chemistry and chemical analysis. concerning that science, then so popular, i had merely a scanty and vulgar knowledge, gathered from elementary books, and the ordinary experiments of popular lecturers. i listened, therefore, in silence to his eloquent disquisition, interposing a few brief questions only, and at long intervals, as to the extent of his own studies and manipulations. as i felt, in truth, but a slight interest in the subject of his conversation, i had leisure to examine, and, i may add, to admire, the appearance of my very extraordinary guest. it was a sum of many contradictions. his figure was slight and fragile, and yet his bones and joints were large and strong. he was tall, but he stooped so much that he seemed of a low stature. his clothes were expensive, and made according to the most approved mode of the day, but they were tumbled, rumpled, unbrushed. his gestures were abrupt, and sometimes violent, occasionally even awkward, yet more frequently gentle and graceful. his complexion was delicate and almost feminine, of the purest red and white; yet he was tanned and freckled by exposure to the sun, having passed the autumn, as he said, in shooting. his features, his whole face, and particularly his head, were, in fact, unusually small; yet the last _appeared_ of a remarkable bulk, for his hair was long and bushy, and in fits of absence, and in the agonies (if i may use the word) of anxious thought, he often rubbed it fiercely with his hands, or passed his fingers quickly through his locks unconsciously, so that it was singularly wild and rough. in times when it was the mode to imitate stage-coachmen as closely as possible in costume, and when the hair was invariably cropped, like that of our soldiers, this eccentricity was very striking. his features were not symmetrical (the mouth, perhaps, excepted), yet was the effect of the whole extremely powerful. they breathed an animation, a fire, an enthusiasm, a vivid and preternatural intelligence, that i never met with in any other countenance. nor was the moral expression less beautiful than the intellectual; for there was a softness, a delicacy, a gentleness, and especially (though this will surprise many) that air of profound religious veneration that characterises the best works, and chiefly the frescoes (and into these they infused their whole souls) of the great masters of florence and of rome. i recognised the very peculiar expression in these wonderful productions long afterwards, and with a satisfaction mingled with much sorrow, for it was after the decease of him in whose countenance i had first observed it. i admired the enthusiasm of my new acquaintance, his ardour in the cause of science and his thirst for knowledge. i seemed to have found in him all those intellectual qualities which i had vainly expected to meet with in a university. but there was one physical blemish that threatened to neutralise all his excellence. "this is a fine, clever fellow!" i said to myself, "but i can never bear his society; i shall never be able to endure his voice; it would kill me. what a pity it is!" i am very sensible of imperfections, and especially of painful sounds, and the voice of the stranger was excruciating. it was intolerably shrill, harsh and discordant; of the most cruel intension. it was perpetual, and without any remission; it excoriated the ears. he continued to discourse on chemistry, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing before the fire, and sometimes pacing about the room; and when one of the innumerable clocks, that speak in various notes during the day and the night at oxford, proclaimed a quarter to seven, he said suddenly that he must go to a lecture on mineralogy, and declared enthusiastically that he expected to derive much pleasure and instruction from it. i am ashamed to own that the cruel voice made me hesitate for a moment; but it was impossible to omit so indispensable a civility--i invited him to return to tea. he gladly assented, promised that he would not be absent long, snatched his hat, hurried out of the room, and i heard his footsteps, as he ran through the silent quadrangle and afterwards along high street. an hour soon elapsed, whilst the table was cleared and the tea was made, and i again heard the footsteps of one running quickly. my guest suddenly burst into the room, threw down his cap, and as he stood shivering and chafing his hands over the fire, he declared how much he had been disappointed in the lecture. few persons attended; it was dull and languid, and he was resolved never to go to another. "i went away, indeed," he added, with an arch look, and in a shrill whisper, coming close to me as he spoke--"i went away, indeed, before the lecture was finished. i stole away, for it was so stupid, and i was so cold that my teeth chattered. the professor saw me, and appeared to be displeased. i thought i could have got out without being observed, but i struck my knee against a bench and made a noise, and he looked at me. i am determined that he shall never see me again." "what did the man talk about?" "about stones! about stones!" he answered, with a downcast look and in a melancholy tone, as if about to say something excessively profound. "about stones! stones, stones, stones!--nothing but stones!--and so drily. it was wonderfully tiresome, and stones are not interesting things in themselves!" we took tea, and soon afterwards had supper, as was usual. he discoursed after supper with as much warmth as before of the wonders of chemistry; of the encouragement that napoleon afforded to that most important science; of the french chemists and their glorious discoveries, and of the happiness of visiting paris and sharing in their fame and their experiments. the voice, however, seemed to me more cruel than ever. he spoke, likewise, of his own labours and of his apparatus, and starting up suddenly after supper, he proposed that i should go instantly with him to see the galvanic trough. i looked at my watch, and observed that it was too late; that the fire would be out, and the night was cold. he resumed his seat, saying that i might come on the morrow early, to breakfast, immediately after chapel. he continued to declaim in his rapturous strain, asserting that chemistry was, in truth, the only science that deserved to be studied. i suggested doubts. i ventured to question the pre-eminence of the science, and even to hesitate in admitting its utility. he described in glowing language some discoveries that had lately been made; but the enthusiastic chemist candidly allowed that they were rather brilliant than useful, asserting, however, that they would soon be applied to purposes of solid advantage. "is not the time of by far the larger proportion of the human species," he inquired, with his fervid manner and in his piercing tones, "wholly consumed in severe labour? and is not this devotion of our race--of the whole of our race, i may say (for those who, like ourselves, are indulged with an exemption from the hard lot are so few in comparison with the rest, that they scarcely deserve to be taken into account)--absolutely necessary to procure subsistence, so that men have no leisure for recreation or the high improvement of the mind? yet this incessant toil is still inadequate to procure an abundant supply of the common necessaries of life. some are doomed actually to want them, and many are compelled to be content with an insufficient provision. we know little of the peculiar nature of those substances which are proper for the nourishment of animals; we are ignorant of the qualities that make them fit for this end. analysis has advanced so rapidly of late that we may confidently anticipate that we shall soon discover wherein their aptitude really consists; having ascertained the cause, we shall next be able to command it, and to produce at our pleasure the desired effects. it is easy, even in our present state of ignorance, to reduce our ordinary food to carbon, or to lime; a moderate advancement in chemical science will speedily enable us, we may hope, to create, with equal facility, food from substances that appear at present to be as ill adapted to sustain us. what is the cause of the remarkable fertility of some lands, and of the hopeless sterility of others? a spadeful of the most productive soil does not to the eye differ much from the same quantity taken from the most barren. the real difference is probably very slight; by chemical agency the philosopher may work a total change, and may transmute an unfruitful region into a land of exuberant plenty. water, like the atmospheric air, is compounded of certain gases; in the progress of scientific discovery a simple and sure method of manufacturing the useful fluid, in every situation and in any quantity, may be detected. the arid deserts of africa may then be refreshed by a copious supply and may be transformed at once into rich meadows and vast fields of maize and rice. the generation of heat is a mystery, but enough of the theory of caloric has already been developed to induce us to acquiesce in the notion that it will hereafter, and perhaps at no very distant period, be possible to produce heat at will, and to warm the most ungenial climates as readily as we now raise the temperature of our apartments to whatever degree we may deem agreeable or salutary. if, however, it be too much to anticipate that we shall ever become sufficiently skilful to command such a prodigious supply of heat, we may expect, without the fear of disappointment, soon to understand its nature and the causes of combustion, so far at least, as to provide ourselves cheaply with a fund of heat that will supersede our costly and inconvenient fuel, and will suffice to warm our habitations, for culinary purposes and for the various demands of the mechanical arts. we could not determine without actual experiment whether an unknown substance were combustible; when we shall have thoroughly investigated the properties of fire, it may be that we shall be qualified to communicate to clay, to stones, and to water itself, a chemical recomposition that will render them as inflammable as wood, coals and oil; for the difference of structure is minute and invisible, and the power of feeding flame may, perhaps, be easily added to any substance, or taken away from it. what a comfort would it be to the poor at all times, and especially at this season, if we were capable of solving this problem alone, if we could furnish them with a competent supply of heat! these speculations may appear wild, and it may seem improbable that they will ever be realised to persons who have not extended their views of what is practicable by closely watching science in its course onward; but there are many mysterious powers, many irresistible agents with the existence and with some of the phenomena of which all are acquainted. what a mighty instrument would electricity be in the hands of him who knew how to wield it, in what manner to direct its omnipotent energies, and we may command an indefinite quantity of the fluid. by means of electrical kites we may draw down the lightning from heaven! what a terrible organ would the supernal shock prove, if we were able to guide it; how many of the secrets of nature would such a stupendous force unlock. the galvanic battery is a new engine; it has been used hitherto to an insignificant extent, yet has it wrought wonders already; what will not an extraordinary combination of troughs, of colossal magnitude, a well-arranged system of hundreds of metallic plates, effect? the balloon has not yet received the perfection of which it is surely capable; the art of navigating the air is in its first and most helpless infancy; the aërial mariner still swims on bladders, and has not mounted even the rude raft; if we weigh this invention, curious as it is, with some of the subjects i have mentioned, it will seem trifling, no doubt--a mere toy, a feather in comparison with the splendid anticipations of the philosophical chemist; yet it ought not altogether to be contemned. it promises prodigious facilities for locomotion, and will enable us to traverse vast tracts with ease and rapidity, and to explore unknown countries without difficulty. why are we still so ignorant of the interior of africa?--why do we not despatch intrepid aëronauts to cross it in every direction, and to survey the whole peninsula in a few weeks? the shadow of the first balloon, which a vertical sun would project precisely underneath it, as it glided silently over that hitherto unhappy country, would virtually emancipate every slave, and would annihilate slavery for ever." with such fervour did the slender, beardless stranger speculate concerning the march of physical science; his speculations were as wild as the experience of twenty-one years has shown them to be; but the zealous earnestness for the augmentation of knowledge, and the glowing philanthropy and boundless benevolence that marked them, and beamed forth in the whole deportment of that extraordinary boy, are not less astonishing than they would have been if the whole of his glorious anticipations had been prophetic; for these high qualities at least i have never found a parallel. when he had ceased to predict the coming honours of chemistry, and to promise the rich harvest of benefits it was soon to yield, i suggested that, although its results were splendid, yet for those who could not hope to make discoveries themselves, it did not afford so valuable a course of mental discipline as the moral sciences; moreover, that, if chemists asserted that their science alone deserved to be cultivated, the mathematicians made the same assertion, and with equal confidence, respecting their studies; but that i was not sufficiently advanced myself in mathematics to be able to judge how far it was well founded. he declared that he knew nothing of mathematics, and treated the notion of their paramount importance with contempt. "what do you say of metaphysics?" i continued; "is that science, too, the study of words only?" "ay, metaphysics," he said, in a solemn tone, and with a mysterious air, "that is a noble study indeed! if it were possible to make any discoveries there, they would be more valuable than anything the chemists have done, or could do; they would disclose the analysis of mind, and not of mere matter!" then, rising from his chair, he paced slowly about the room, with prodigious strides, and discoursed of souls with still greater animation and vehemence than he had displayed in treating of gases--of a future state--and especially of a former state--of pre-existence, obscured for a time through the suspension of consciousness--of personal identity, and also of ethical philosophy, in a deep and earnest tone of elevated morality, until he suddenly remarked that the fire was nearly out, and the candles were glimmering in their sockets, when he hastily apologised for remaining so long. i promised to visit the chemist in his laboratory, the alchemist in his study, the wizard in his cave, not at breakfast on that day, for it was already one, but in twelve hours--one hour after noon--and to hear some of the secrets of nature; and for that purpose he told me his name, and described the situation of his rooms. i lighted him downstairs as well as i could with the stump of a candle which had dissolved itself into a lump, and i soon heard him running through the quiet quadrangle in the still night. that sound became afterwards so familiar to my ear, that i still seem to hear shelley's hasty steps. chapter ii i trust, or i should perhaps rather say i hope, that i was as much struck by the conversation, the aspect, and the deportment of my new acquaintance, as entirely convinced of the value of the acquisition i had just made, and as deeply impressed with surprise and admiration as became a young student not insensible of excellence, to whom a character so extraordinary, and indeed almost preternatural, had been suddenly unfolded. during his animated and eloquent discourses i felt a due reverence for his zeal and talent, but the human mind is capable of a certain amount of attention only. i had listened and discussed for seven or eight hours, and my spirits were totally exhausted. i went to bed as soon as shelley had quitted my rooms, and fell instantly into a profound sleep; and i shook off with a painful effort, at the accustomed signal, the complete oblivion which then appeared to have been but momentary. many of the wholesome usages of antiquity had ceased at oxford; that of early rising, however, still lingered. as soon as i got up, i applied myself sedulously to my academical duties and my accustomed studies. the power of habitual occupation is great and engrossing, and it is possible that my mind had not yet fully recovered from the agreeable fatigue of the preceding evening, for i had entirely forgotten my engagement, nor did the thought of my young guest once cross my fancy. it was strange that a person so remarkable and attractive should have thus disappeared for several hours from my memory; but such in truth was the fact, although i am unable to account for it in a satisfactory manner. at one o'clock i put away my books and papers, and prepared myself for my daily walk; the weather was frosty, with fog, and whilst i lingered over the fire with that reluctance to venture forth into the cold air common to those who have chilled themselves by protracted sedentary pursuits, the recollection of the scenes of yesterday flashed suddenly and vividly across my mind, and i quickly repaired to a spot that i may perhaps venture to predict many of our posterity will hereafter reverently visit--to the rooms in the corner next the hall of the principal quadrangle of university college. they are on the first floor, and on the right of the entrance, but by reason of the turn in the stairs, when you reach them they will be upon your left hand. i remember the direction given at parting, and i soon found the door. it stood ajar. i tapped gently, and the discordant voice cried shrilly,-- "come in!" it was now nearly two. i began to apologise for my delay, but i was interrupted by a loud exclamation of surprise. "what! is it one? i had no notion it was so late. i thought it was about ten or eleven." "it is on the stroke of two, sir," said the scout, who was engaged in the vain attempt of setting the apartment in order. "of two!" shelley cried with increased wonder, and presently the clock struck, and the servant noticed it, retired and shut the door. i perceived at once that the young chemist took no note of time. he measured duration, not by minutes and hours, like watchmakers and their customers, but by the successive trains of ideas and sensations; consequently, if there was a virtue of which he was utterly incapable, it was that homely but pleasing and useful one--punctuality. he could not tear himself from his incessant abstractions to observe at intervals the growth and decline of the day; nor was he ever able to set apart even a small portion of his mental powers for a duty so simple as that of watching the course of the pointers on the dial. i found him cowering over the fire, his chair planted in the middle of the rug, and his feet resting upon the fender; his whole appearance was dejected. his astonishment at the unexpected lapse of time roused him. as soon as the hour of the day was ascertained he welcomed me, and seizing one of my arms with both his hands, he shook it with some force, and very cordially expressed his satisfaction at my visit. then, resuming his seat and his former posture, he gazed fixedly at the fire, and his limbs trembled and his teeth chattered with cold. i cleared the fireplace with the poker and stirred the fire, and when it blazed up, he drew back, and, looking askance towards the door, he exclaimed with a deep sigh,-- "thank god, that fellow is gone at last!" the assiduity of the scout had annoyed him, and he presently added,-- "if you had not come, he would have stayed until he had put everything in my rooms into some place where i should never have found it again!" he then complained of his health, and said that he was very unwell; but he did not appear to be affected by any disorder more serious than a slight aguish cold. i remarked the same contradiction in his rooms which i had already observed in his person and dress. they had just been papered and painted; the carpet, curtains, and furniture were quite new, and had not passed through several academical generations, after the established custom of transferring the whole of the movables to the successor on payments of thirds, that is, of two-thirds of the price last given. the general air of freshness was greatly obscured, however, by the indescribable confusion in which the various objects were mixed. notwithstanding the unwelcome exertions of the officious scout, scarcely a single article was in its proper position. books, boots, papers, shoes, philosophical instruments, clothes, pistols, linen, crockery, ammunition and phials innumerable, with money, stockings, prints, crucibles, bags and boxes were scattered on the floor and in every place, as if the young chemist, in order to analyse the mystery of creation, had endeavoured first to re-construct the primeval chaos. the tables, and especially the carpet, were already stained with large spots of various hues, which frequently proclaimed the agency of fire. an electrical machine, an air-pump, the galvanic trough, a solar microscope and large glass jars and receivers, were conspicuous amidst the mass of matter. upon the table by his side were some books lying open, several letters, a bundle of new pens and a bottle of japan ink that served as an inkstand; a piece of deal, lately part of the lid of a box, with many chips, and a handsome razor that had been used as a knife. there were bottles of soda water, sugar, pieces of lemon, and the traces of an effervescent beverage. two piles of books supported the tongs, and these upheld a small glass retort above an argand lamp. i had not been seated many minutes before the liquor in the vessel boiled over, adding fresh stains to the table, and rising in fumes with a most disagreeable odour. shelley snatched the glass quickly, and dashing it in pieces among the ashes under the grate, increased the unpleasant and penetrating effluvium. he then proceeded with much eagerness and enthusiasm to show me the various instruments, especially the electrical apparatus, turning round the handle very rapidly, so that the fierce, crackling sparks flew forth; and presently, standing upon the stool with glass feet, he begged me to work the machine until he was filled with the fluid, so that his long wild locks bristled and stood on end. afterwards he charged a powerful battery of several large jars; labouring with vast energy, and discoursing with increasing vehemence of the marvellous powers of electricity, of thunder and lightning; describing an electrical kite that he had made at home, and projecting another and an enormous one, or rather a combination of many kites, that would draw down from the sky an immense volume of electricity, the whole ammunition of a mighty thunderstorm; and this being directed to some point would there produce the most stupendous results. in these exhibitions and in such conversation the time passed away rapidly, and the hour of dinner approached. having pricked _æger_ that day, or, in other words, having caused his name to be entered as an invalid, he was not required or permitted to dine in hall, or to appear in public within the college or without the walls, until a night's rest should have restored the sick man to health. he requested me to spend the evening at his rooms; i consented, nor did i fail to attend immediately after dinner. we conversed until a late hour on miscellaneous topics. i remember that he spoke frequently of poetry, and that there was the same animation, the same glowing zeal, which had characterised his former discourses, and was so opposite to the listless languor, the monstrous indifference, if not the absolute antipathy to learning, that so strangely darkened the collegiate atmosphere. it would seem, indeed, to one who rightly considered the final cause of the institution of a university, that all the rewards, all the honours the most opulent foundation could accumulate, would be inadequate to remunerate an individual, whose thirst for knowledge was so intense, and his activity in the pursuit of it so wonderful and so unwearied. i participated in his enthusiasm, and soon forgot the shrill and unmusical voice that had at first seemed intolerable to my ear. he was, indeed, a whole university in himself to me, in respect of the stimulus and incitement which his example afforded to my love of study, and he amply atoned for the disappointment i had felt on my arrival at oxford. in one respect alone could i pretend to resemble him--in an ardent desire to gain knowledge, and, as our tastes were the same in many particulars, we immediately became, through sympathy, most intimate and altogether inseparable companions. we almost invariably passed the afternoon and evening together; at first, alternately at our respective rooms, through a certain punctiliousness, but afterwards, when we became more familiar, most frequently by far at his. sometimes one or two good and harmless men of our acquaintance were present, but we were usually alone. his rooms were preferred to mine, because there his philosophical apparatus was at hand; and at that period he was not perfectly satisfied with the condition and circumstances of his existence, unless he was able to start from his seat at any moment, and seizing the air-pump, some magnets, the electrical machine, or the bottles containing those noxious and nauseous fluids wherewith he incessantly besmeared and disfigured himself and his goods, to ascertain by actual experiment the value of some new idea that rushed into his brain. he spent much time in working by fits and starts and in an irregular manner with his instruments, and especially consumed his hours and his money in the assiduous cultivation of chemistry. we have heard that one of the most distinguished of modern discoverers was abrupt, hasty, and to appearance disorderly, in the conduct of his manipulations. the variety of the habits of great men is indeed infinite. it is impossible, therefore, to decide peremptorily as to the capabilities of individuals from their course of proceeding, yet it certainly seemed highly improbable that shelley was qualified to succeed in a science wherein a scrupulous minuteness and a mechanical accuracy are indispensable. his chemical operations seemed to an unskilful observer to promise nothing but disasters. his hands, his clothes, his books and his furniture were stained and corroded by mineral acids. more than one hole in the carpet could elucidate the ultimate phenomenon of combustion; especially a formidable aperture in the middle of the room, where the floor also had been burnt by the spontaneous ignition, caused by mixing ether with some other fluid in a crucible; and the honourable wound was speedily enlarged by rents, for the philosopher, as he hastily crossed the room in pursuit of truth, was frequently caught in it by the foot. many times a day, but always in vain, would the sedulous scout say, pointing to the scorched boards with a significant look,-- "would it not be better, sir, for us to get this place mended?" it seemed but too probable that in the rash ardour of experiment he would some day set the college on fire, or that he would blind, maim or kill himself by the explosion of combustibles. it was still more likely, indeed, that he would poison himself, for plates and glasses and every part of his tea equipage were used indiscriminately with crucibles, retorts, and recipients, to contain the most deleterious ingredients. to his infinite diversion i used always to examine every drinking vessel narrowly, and often to rinse it carefully, after that evening when we were taking tea by firelight, and my attention being attracted by the sound of something in the cup into which i was about to pour tea, i was induced to look into it. i found a seven-shilling piece partly dissolved by the _aqua regia_ in which it was immersed. although he laughed at my caution, he used to speak with horror of the consequences of having inadvertently swallowed, through a similar accident, some mineral poison--i think arsenic--at eton, which he declared had not only seriously injured his health, but that he feared he should never entirely recover from the shock it had inflicted on his constitution. it seemed improbable, notwithstanding his positive assertions, that his lively fancy exaggerated the recollection of the unpleasant and permanent taste, of the sickness and disorder of the stomach, which might arise from taking a minute portion of some poisonous substance by the like chance, for there was no vestige of a more serious and lasting injury in his youthful and healthy, although somewhat delicate aspect. i knew little of the physical sciences, and i felt, therefore, but a slight degree of interest in them. i looked upon his philosophical apparatus merely as toys and playthings, like a chess-board or a billiard table. through lack of sympathy, his zeal, which was at first so ardent, gradually cooled; and he applied himself to these pursuits, after a short time, less frequently and with less earnestness. the true value of them was often the subject of animated discussion; and i remember one evening at my own rooms, when we had sought refuge against the intense cold in the little inner apartment, or study, i referred, in the course of our debate, to a passage in xenophon's _memorabilia_, where socrates speaks in disparagement of physics. he read it several times very attentively, and more than once aloud, slowly and with emphasis, and it appeared to make a strong impression on him. notwithstanding our difference of opinion as to the importance of chemistry and on some other questions, our intimacy rapidly increased, and we soon formed the habit of passing the greater part of our time together; nor did this constant intercourse interfere with my usual studies. i never visited his rooms until one o'clock, by which hour, as i rose very early, i had not only attended the college lectures, but had read in private for several hours. i was enabled, moreover, to continue my studies afterwards in the evening, in consequence of a very remarkable peculiarity. my young and energetic friend was then overcome by extreme drowsiness, which speedily and completely vanquished him; he would sleep from two to four hours, often so soundly that his slumbers resembled a deep lethargy; he lay occasionally upon the sofa, but more commonly stretched upon the rug before a large fire, like a cat; and his little round head was exposed to such a fierce heat, that i used to wonder how he was able to bear it. sometimes i have interposed some shelter, but rarely with any permanent effect; for the sleeper usually contrived to turn himself and to roll again into the spot where the fire glowed the brightest. his torpor was generally profound, but he would sometimes discourse incoherently for a long while in his sleep. at six he would suddenly compose himself, even in the midst of a most animated narrative or of earnest discussion; and he would lie buried in entire forgetfulness, in a sweet and mighty oblivion, until ten, when he would suddenly start up, and rubbing his eyes with great violence, and passing his fingers swiftly through his long hair, would enter at once into a vehement argument, or begin to recite verses, either of his own composition or from the works of others, with a rapidity and an energy that were often quite painful. during the period of his occultation i took tea, and read or wrote without interruption. he would sometimes sleep for a shorter time, for about two hours, postponing for the like period the commencement of his retreat to the rug, and rising with tolerable punctuality at ten; and sometimes, although rarely, he was able entirely to forego the accustomed refreshment. we did not consume the whole of our time, when he was awake, in conversation; we often read apart, and more frequently together. our joint studies were occasionally interrupted by long discussions--nevertheless, i could enumerate many works, and several of them are extensive and important, which we perused completely and very carefully in this manner. at ten, when he awoke, he was always ready for his supper, which he took with a peculiar relish. after that social meal his mind was clear and penetrating, and his discourse eminently brilliant. he was unwilling to separate, but when the college clock struck two, i used to rise and retire to my room. our conversations were sometimes considerably prolonged, but they seldom terminated before that chilly hour of the early morning; nor did i feel any inconvenience from thus reducing the period of rest to scarcely five hours. a disquisition on some difficult question in the open air was not less agreeable to him than by the fireside; if the weather was fine, or rather not altogether intolerable, we used to sally forth, when we met at one. i have already pointed out several contradictions in his appearance and character. his ordinary preparation for a rural walk formed a very remarkable contrast with his mild aspect and pacific habits. he furnished himself with a pair of duelling pistols and a good store of powder and ball, and when he came to a solitary spot, he pinned a card, or fixed some other mark upon a tree or a bank, and amused himself by firing at it: he was a pretty good shot, and was much delighted at his success. he often urged me to try my hand and eye, assuring me that i was not aware of the pleasure of a good hit. one day, when he was peculiarly pressing, i took up a pistol and asked him what i should aim at? and observing a slab of wood, about as big as a hearthrug, standing against a wall, i named it as being a proper object. he said that it was much too far off; it was better to wait until we came nearer. but i answered--"i may as well fire here as anywhere," and instantly discharged my pistol. to my infinite surprise the ball struck the elm target most accurately in the very centre. shelley was delighted. he ran to the board, placed his chin close to it, gazed at the hole where the bullet was lodged, examined it attentively on all sides many times, and more than once measured the distance to the spot where i had stood. i never knew anyone so prone to admire as he was, in whom the principle of veneration was so strong. he extolled my skill, urged me repeatedly to display it again, and begged that i would give him instructions in an art in which i so much excelled. i suffered him to enjoy his wonder for a few days, and then i told him, and with difficulty persuaded him, that my success was purely accidental; for i had seldom fired a pistol before, and never with ball, but with shot only, as a schoolboy, in clandestine and bloodless expeditions against blackbirds and yellowhammers. the duelling pistols were a most discordant interruption of the repose of a quiet country walk; besides, he handled them with such inconceivable carelessness, that i had perpetually reason to apprehend that, as a trifling episode in the grand and heroic work of drilling a hole through the back of a card or the front of one of his father's franks, he would shoot himself, or me, or both of us. how often have i lamented that nature, which so rarely bestows upon the world a creature endowed with such marvellous talents, ungraciously rendered the gift less precious by implanting a fatal taste for perilous recreations, and a thoughtlessness in the pursuit of them, that often caused his existence from one day to another to seem in itself miraculous. i opposed the practice of walking armed, and i at last succeeded in inducing him to leave the pistols at home, and to forbear the use of them. i prevailed, i believe, not so much by argument or persuasion, as by secretly abstracting, when he equipped himself for the field, and it was not difficult with him, the powder-flask, the flints or some other indispensable article. one day, i remember, he was grievously discomposed and seriously offended to find, on producing his pistols, after descending rapidly into a quarry, where he proposed to take a few shots, that not only had the flints been removed, but the screws and the bits of steel at the top of the cocks which hold the flints were also wanting. he determined to return to college for them--i accompanied him. i tempted him, however, by the way, to try to define anger, and to discuss the nature of that affection of the mind, to which, as the discussion waxed warm, he grew exceedingly hostile in theory, and could not be brought to admit that it could possibly be excusable in any case. in the course of conversation, moreover, he suffered himself to be insensibly turned away from his original path and purpose. i have heard that, some years after he left oxford, he resumed the practice of pistol-shooting, and attained to a very unusual degree of skill in an accomplishment so entirely incongruous with his nature. of rural excursions he was at all times fond. he loved to walk in the woods, to stroll on the banks of the thames, but especially to wander about shotover hill. there was a pond at the foot of the hill, before ascending it and on the left of the road; it was formed by the water which had filled an old quarry. whenever he was permitted to shape his course as he would, he proceeded to the edge of this pool, although the scene had no other attractions than a certain wildness and barrenness. here he would linger until dusk, gazing in silence on the water, repeating verses aloud, or earnestly discussing themes that had no connection with surrounding objects. sometimes he would raise a stone as large as he could lift, deliberately throw it into the water as far as his strength enabled him, then he would loudly exult at the splash, and would quietly watch the decreasing agitation, until the last faint ring and almost imperceptible ripple disappeared on the still surface. "such are the effects of an impulse on the air," he would say; and he complained of our ignorance of the theory of sound--that the subject was obscure and mysterious, and many of the phenomena were contradictory and inexplicable. he asserted that the science of acoustics ought to be cultivated, and that by well-devised experiments valuable discoveries would undoubtedly be made, and he related many remarkable stories connected with the subject that he had heard or read. sometimes he would busy himself in splitting slaty stones, in selecting thin and flat pieces and in giving them a round form, and when he had collected a sufficient number, he would gravely make ducks and drakes with them, counting, with the utmost glee, the number of bounds as they flew along, skimming the surface of the pond. he was a devoted worshipper of the water-nymphs, for, whenever he found a pool, or even a small puddle, he would loiter near it, and it was no easy task to get him to quit it. he had not yet learned that art from which he afterwards derived so much pleasure--the construction of paper boats. he twisted a morsel of paper into a form that a lively fancy might consider a likeness of a boat, and, committing it to the water, he anxiously watched the fortunes of the frail bark, which, if it was not soon swamped by the faint winds and miniature waves, gradually imbibed water through its porous sides, and sank. sometimes, however, the fairy vessel performed its little voyage, and reached the opposite shore of the puny ocean in safety. it is astonishing with what keen delight he engaged in this singular pursuit. it was not easy for an uninitiated spectator to bear with tolerable patience the vast delay on the brink of a wretched pond upon a bleak common and in the face of a cutting north-east wind, on returning to dinner from a long walk at sunset on a cold winter's day; nor was it easy to be so harsh as to interfere with a harmless gratification that was evidently exquisite. it was not easy, at least, to induce the shipbuilder to desist from launching his tiny fleets, so long as any timber remained in the dock-yard. i prevailed once and once only. it was one of those bitter sundays that commonly receive the new year; the sun had set, and it had almost begun to snow. i had exhorted him long in vain, with the eloquence of a frozen and famished man, to proceed. at last i said in despair--alluding to his never-ending creations, for a paper navy that was to be set afloat simultaneously lay at his feet, and he was busily constructing more, with blue and swollen hands--"shelley, there is no use in talking to you; you are the demiurgus of plato!" he instantly caught up the whole flotilla, and, bounding homeward with mighty strides, laughed aloud--laughed like a giant as he used to say. so long as his paper lasted, he remained riveted to the spot, fascinated by this peculiar amusement. all waste paper was rapidly consumed, then the covers of letters; next, letters of little value; the most precious contributions of the most esteemed correspondent, although eyed wistfully many times and often returned to the pocket, were sure to be sent at last in pursuit of the former squadrons. of the portable volumes which were the companions of his rambles, and he seldom went out without a book, the fly-leaves were commonly wanting--he had applied them as our ancestor noah applied gopher wood. but learning was so sacred in his eyes, that he never trespassed farther upon the integrity of the copy; the work itself was always respected. it has been said that he once found himself on the north bank of the serpentine river without the materials for indulging those inclinations which the sight of water invariably inspired, for he had exhausted his supplies on the round pond in kensington gardens. not a single scrap of paper could be found, save only a bank-post bill for fifty pounds. he hesitated long, but yielded at last. he twisted it into a boat with the extreme refinement of his skill, and committed it with the utmost dexterity to fortune, watching its progress, if possible, with a still more intense anxiety than usual. fortune often favours those who frankly and fully trust her; the north-east wind gently wafted the costly skiff to the south bank, where, during the latter part of the voyage, the venturous owner had waited its arrival with patient solicitude. the story, of course, is a mythic fable, but it aptly pourtrays the dominion of a singular and most unaccountable passion over the mind of an enthusiast. but to return to oxford. shelley disliked exceedingly all college meetings, and especially one which was the most popular with others--the public dinner in the hall. he used often to absent himself, and he was greatly delighted whenever i agreed to partake with him in a slight luncheon at one, to take a long walk into the country and to return after dark to tea and supper in his rooms. on one of these expeditions we wandered farther than usual without regarding the distance or the lapse of time; but we had no difficulty in finding our way home, for the night was clear and frosty, and the moon at the full; and most glorious was the spectacle as we approached the city of colleges, and passed through the silent streets. it was near ten when we entered our college; not only was it too late for tea, but supper was ready, the cloth laid, and the table spread. a large dish of scalloped oysters had been set within the fender to be kept hot for the famished wanderers. among the innumerable contradictions in the character and deportment of the youthful poet was a strange mixture of singular grace, which manifested itself in his actions and gestures, with an occasional awkwardness almost as remarkable. as soon as we entered the room, he placed his chair as usual directly in front of the fire, and eagerly pressed forward to warm himself, for the frost was severe and he was very sensible of cold. whilst cowering over the fire and rubbing his hands, he abruptly set both his feet at once upon the edge of the fender; it immediately flew up, threw under the grate the dish, which was broken into two pieces, and the whole of the delicious mess was mingled with the cinders and ashes, that had accumulated for several hours. it was impossible that a hungry and frozen pedestrian should restrain a strong expression of indignation, or that he should forbear, notwithstanding the exasperation of cold and hunger, from smiling and forgiving the accident at seeing the whimsical air and aspect of the offender, as he held up with the shovel the long-anticipated food, deformed by ashes, coals and cinders, with a ludicrous expression of exaggerated surprise, disappointment, and contrition. it would be easy to fill many volumes with reminiscences characteristic of my young friend, and of these the most trifling would perhaps best illustrate his innumerable peculiarities. with the discerning, trifles, although they are accounted such, have their value. a familiarity with the daily habits of shelley, and the knowledge of his demeanour in private, will greatly facilitate, and they are perhaps even essential to, the full comprehension of his views and opinions. traits that unfold an infantine simplicity--the genuine simplicity of true genius--will be slighted by those who are ignorant of the qualities that constitute greatness of soul. the philosophical observer knows well that, to have shown a mind to be original and perfectly natural, is no inconsiderable step in demonstrating that it is also great. our supper had disappeared under the grate, but we were able to silence the importunity of hunger. as the supply of cheese was scanty, shelley pretended, in order to atone for his carelessness, that he never ate it; but i refused to take more than my share, and, notwithstanding his reiterated declarations that it was offensive to his palate and hurtful to his stomach, as i was inexorable, he devoured the remainder, greedily swallowing, not merely the cheese, but the rind also, after scraping it cursorily, and with a certain tenderness. a tankard of the stout brown ale of our college aided us greatly in removing the sense of cold, and in supplying the deficiency of food, so that we turned our chairs towards the fire, and began to brew our negus as cheerfully as if the bounty of the hospitable gods had not been intercepted. we reposed ourselves after the fatigue of an unusually long walk, and silence was broken by short remarks only, and at considerable intervals, respecting the beauty of moonlight scenes, and especially of that we had just enjoyed. the serenity and clearness of the night exceeded any we had before witnessed; the light was so strong it would have been easy to read or write. "how strange was it that light, proceeding from the sun, which was at such a prodigious distance, and at that time entirely out of sight, should be reflected from the moon, and that was no trifling journey, and sent back to the earth in such abundance, and with so great force!" languid expressions of admiration dropped from our lips as we stretched our stiff and wearied limbs towards the genial warmth of a blazing fire. on a sudden shelley started from his seat, seized one of the candles, and began to walk about the room on tiptoe in profound silence, often stooping low, and evidently engaged in some mysterious search. i asked him what he wanted, but he returned no answer, and continued his whimsical and secret inquisition, which he prosecuted in the same extraordinary manner in the bedroom and the little study. it had occurred to him that a dessert had possibly been sent to his rooms whilst we were absent, and had been put away. he found the object of his pursuit at last, and produced some small dishes from the study--apples, oranges, almonds and raisins and a little cake. these he set close together at my side of the table, without speaking, but with a triumphant look, yet with the air of a penitent making restitution and reparation, and then resumed his seat. the unexpected succour was very seasonable; this light fare, a few glasses of negus, warmth, and especially rest, restored our lost vigour and our spirits. we spoke of our happy life, of universities, of what they might be, of what they were. how powerfully they might stimulate the student, how much valuable instruction they might impart. we agreed that, although the least possible benefit was conferred upon us in this respect at oxford, we were deeply indebted, nevertheless, to the great and good men of former days, who founded those glorious institutions, for devising a scheme of life, which, however deflected from its original direction, still tended to study, and especially for creating establishments that called young men together from all parts of the empire, and for endowing them with a celebrity that was able to induce so many to congregate. without such an opportunity of meeting we should never have been acquainted with each other. in so large a body there must doubtless be many at that time who were equally thankful for the occasion of the like intimacy, and in former generations how many friendships, that had endured through all the various trials of a long and eventful life, had arisen here from accidental communion, as in our case. if there was little positive encouragement, there were various negative inducements to acquire learning; there were no interruptions, no secular cares; our wants were well supplied without the slightest exertion on our part, and the exact regularity of academical existence cut off that dissipation of the hours and the thoughts which so often prevails where the daily course is not pre-arranged. the necessity of early rising was beneficial. like the pythagoreans of old, we began with the gods; the salutary attendance in chapel every morning not only compelled us to quit our bed betimes, but imposed additional duties conducive to habits of industry. it was requisite not merely to rise, but to leave our rooms, to appear in public and to remain long enough to destroy the disposition to indolence which might still linger if we were permitted to remain by the fireside. to pass some minutes in society, yet in solemn silence, is like the pythagorean initiation, and we auspicate the day happily by commencing with sacred things. i scarcely ever visited shelley before one o'clock; when i met him in the morning at chapel, he used studiously to avoid all communication, and, as soon as the doors were opened, to effect a ludicrously precipitate retreat to his rooms. "the country near oxford," he continued, as we reposed after our meagre supper, "has no pretensions to peculiar beauty, but it is quiet, and pleasant, and rural, and purely agricultural after the good old fashion. it is not only unpolluted by manufactures and commerce, but it is exempt from the desecration of the modern husbandry, of a system which accounts the farmer a manufacturer of hay and corn. i delight to wander over it." he enlarged upon the pleasure of our pedestrian excursions, and added, "i can imagine few things that would annoy me more severely than to be disturbed in our tranquil course. it would be a cruel calamity to be interrupted by some untoward accident, to be compelled to quit our calm and agreeable retreat. not only would it be a sad mortification, but a real misfortune, for if i remain here i shall study more closely and with greater advantage than i could in any other situation that i can conceive. are you not of the same opinion?" "entirely." "i regret only that the period of our residence is limited to four years. i wish they would revive, for our sake, the old term of six or seven years. if we consider how much there is for us to learn," here he paused and sighed deeply through that despondency which sometimes comes over the unwearied and zealous student, "we shall allow that the longer period would still be far too short!" i assented, and we discoursed concerning the abridgement of the ancient term of residence, and the diminution of the academical year by frequent, protracted, and most inconvenient vacations. "to quit oxford," he said, "would be still more unpleasant to you than to myself, for you aim at objects that i do not seek to compass, and you cannot fail, since you are resolved to place your success beyond the reach of chance." he enumerated with extreme rapidity, and in his enthusiastic strain, some of the benefits and comforts of a college life. "then the _oak_ is such a blessing," he exclaimed, with peculiar fervour, clasping his hands, and repeating often, "the oak is such a blessing!" slowly and in a solemn tone. "the oak alone goes far towards making this place a paradise. in what other spot in the world, surely in none that i have hitherto visited, can you say confidently, it is perfectly impossible, physically impossible, that i should be disturbed? whether a man desire solitary study, or to enjoy the society of a friend or two, he is secure against interruption. it is not so in a house, not by any means; there is not the same protection in a house, even in the best-contrived house. the servant is bound to answer the door; he must appear and give some excuse; he may betray by hesitation and confusion that he utters a falsehood; he must expose himself to be questioned; he must open the door and violate your privacy in some degree; besides, there are other doors, there are windows, at least, through which a prying eye can detect some indication that betrays the mystery. how different is it here! the bore arrives; the outer door is shut; it is black and solemn, and perfectly impenetrable, as is your secret; the doors are all alike; he can distinguish mine from yours by the geographical position only. he may knock; he may call; he may kick, if he will; he may inquire of a neighbour, but he can inform him of nothing; he can only say, the door is shut, and this he knows already. he may leave his card, that you may rejoice over it, and at your escape; he may write upon it the hour when he proposes to call again, to put you upon your guard, and that he may be quite sure of seeing the back of your door once more. when the bore meets you and says, i called at your house at such a time, you are required to explain your absence, to prove an _alibi_, in short, and perhaps to undergo a rigid cross-examination; but if he tells you, 'i called at your rooms yesterday at three, and the door was shut,' you have only to say, 'did you? was it?' and there the matter ends." "were you not charmed with your oak? did it not instantly captivate you?" "my introduction to it was somewhat unpleasant and unpropitious. the morning after my arrival i was sitting at breakfast; my scout, the arimaspian, apprehending that the singleness of his eye may impeach his character for officiousness, in order to escape the reproach of seeing half as much only as other men, is always striving to prove that he sees at least twice as far as the most sharp-sighted. after many demonstrations of superabundant activity, he inquired if i wanted anything more; i answered in the negative. he had already opened the door: 'shall i sport, sir?' he asked briskly, as he stood upon the threshold. he seemed so unlike a sporting character that i was curious to learn in what sport he proposed to indulge. i answered, 'yes, by all means,' and anxiously watched him, but, to my surprise and disappointment he instantly vanished. as soon as i had finished my breakfast, i sallied forth to survey oxford. i opened one door quickly and, not suspecting that there was a second, i struck my head against it with some violence. the blow taught me to observe that every set of rooms has two doors, and i soon learned that the outer door, which is thick and solid, is called the oak, and to shut it is termed, to sport. i derived so much benefit from my oak that i soon pardoned this slight inconvenience. it is surely the tree of knowledge." "who invented the oak?" "the inventors of the science of living in rooms or chambers--the monks." "ah! they were sly fellows. none but men who were reputed to devote themselves for many hours to prayers, to religious meditations and holy abstractions, would ever have been permitted quietly to place at pleasure such a barrier between themselves and the world. we now reap the advantage of their reputation for sanctity. i shall revere my oak more than ever, since its origin is so sacred." chapter iii the sympathies of shelley were instantaneous and powerful with those who evinced in any degree the qualities, for which he was himself so remarkable--simplicity of character, unaffected manners, genuine modesty and an honest willingness to acquire knowledge, and he sprang to meet their advances with an ingenuous eagerness which was peculiar to him; but he was suddenly and violently repelled, like the needle from the negative pole of the magnet, by any indication of pedantry, presumption or affectation. so much was he disposed to take offence at such defects, and so acutely was he sensible of them, that he was sometimes unjust, through an excessive sensitiveness, in his estimate of those who had shocked him by sins, of which he was himself utterly incapable. whatever might be the attainments, and however solid the merits of the persons filling at that time the important office of instructors in the university, they were entirely destitute of the attractions of manner; their address was sometimes repulsive, and the formal, priggish tutor was too often intent upon the ordinary academical course alone to the entire exclusion of every other department of knowledge: his thoughts were wholly engrossed by it, and so narrow were his views, that he overlooked the claims of all merit, however exalted, except success in the public examinations. "they are very dull people here," shelley said to me one evening, soon after his arrival, with a long-drawn sigh, after musing a while. "a little man sent for me this morning and told me in an almost inaudible whisper that i must read. 'you must read,' he said many times in his small voice. i answered that i had no objection. he persisted; so, to satisfy him, for he did not appear to believe me, i told him i had some books in my pocket, and i began to take them out. he stared at me and said that was not exactly what he meant. 'you must read _prometheus vinctus_, and demosthenes _de corona_ and euclid.' 'must i read euclid?' i asked sorrowfully. 'yes, certainly; and when you have read the greek i have mentioned, you must begin aristotle's _ethics_, and then you may go on his other treatises. it is of the utmost importance to be well acquainted with aristotle.' this he repeated so often that i was quite tired, and at last i said, 'must i care about aristotle? what if i do not mind aristotle?' i then left him, for he seemed to be in great perplexity." notwithstanding the slight he had thus cast upon the great master of the science that has so long been the staple of oxford, he was not blind to the value of the science itself. he took the scholastic logic very kindly, seized its distinctions with his accustomed quickness, felt a keen interest in the study and patiently endured the exposition of those minute discriminations, which the tyro is apt to contemn as vain and trifling. it should seem that the ancient method of communicating the art of syllogising has been preserved, in part at least, by tradition in this university. i have sometimes met with learned foreigners, who understood the end and object of the scholastic logic, having received the traditional instruction in some of the old universities on the continent; but i never found even one of my countrymen, except oxonians, who rightly comprehended the nature of the science. i may, perhaps, add that, in proportion as the self-taught logicians had laboured in the pursuit, they had gone far astray. it is possible, nevertheless, that those who have drunk at the fountain head and have read the _organon_ of aristotle in the original, may have attained to a just comprehension by their unassisted energies; but in this age and in this country, i apprehend the number of such adventurous readers is very considerable. shelley frequently exercised his ingenuity in long discussions respecting various questions in logic, and more frequently indulged in metaphysical inquiries. we read several metaphysical works together, in whole or in part, for the first time, or after a previous perusal by one or by both of us. the examination of a chapter of locke's _essay concerning human understanding_ would induce him, at any moment, to quit every other pursuit. we read together hume's _essays_, and some productions of scotch metaphysicians of inferior ability--all with assiduous and friendly altercations, and the latter writers, at least, with small profit, unless some sparks of knowledge were struck out in the collision of debate. we read also certain popular french works that treat of man for the most part in a mixed method, metaphysically, morally and politically. hume's _essays_ were a favourite book with shelley, and he was always ready to put forward in argument the doctrines they uphold. it may seem strange that he should ever have accepted the sceptical philosophy, a system so uncongenial with a fervid and imaginative genius, which can allure the cool, cautious, abstinent reasoner alone, and would deter the enthusiastic, the fanciful and the speculative. we must bear in mind, however, that he was an eager, bold, unwearied disputant; and although the position, in which the sceptic and the materialist love to entrench themselves, offers no picturesque attractions to the eye of the poet, it is well adapted for defensive warfare, and it is not easy for an ordinary enemy to dislodge him, who occupies a post that derives strength from the weakness of the assailant. it has been insinuated that, whenever a man of real talent and generous feelings condescends to fight under these colours, he is guilty of a dissimulation, which he deems harmless, perhaps even praiseworthy, for the sake of victory in argument. it was not a little curious to observe one, whose sanguine temper led him to believe implicitly every assertion, so that it was improbable and incredible, exulting in the success of his philosophical doubts, when, like the calmest and most suspicious of analysts, he refused to admit, without strict proof, propositions that many, who are not deficient in metaphysical prudence, account obvious and self-evident. the sceptical philosophy had another charm; it partook of the new and the wonderful, inasmuch as it called into doubt, and seemed to place in jeopardy during the joyous hours of disputation, many important practical conclusions. to a soul loving excitement and change, destruction, so that it be on a grand scale, may sometimes prove hardly less inspiring than creation. the feat of the magician, who, by the touch of his wand, could cause the great pyramid to dissolve into the air and to vanish from the sight, would be as surprising as the achievement of him, who, by the same rod, could instantly raise a similar mass in any chosen spot. if the destruction of the eternal monument was only apparent, the ocular sophism would be at once harmless and ingenuous: so was it with the logomachy of the young and strenuous logician, and his intellectual activity merited praise and reward. there was another reason, moreover, why the sceptical philosophy should be welcome to shelley at that time: he was young, and it is generally acceptable to youth. it is adopted as the abiding rule of reason throughout life, by those only who are distinguished by a sterility of soul, a barrenness of invention, a total dearth of fancy and a scanty stock of learning. such, in truth, although the warmth of juvenile blood, the light burthen of few years and the precipitation of inexperience may sometimes seem to contradict the assertion, is the state of the mind at the commencement of manhood, when the vessel has as yet received only a small portion of the cargo of the accumulated wisdom of past ages, when the amount of mental operations that have actually been performed is small, and the materials upon which the imagination can work are insignificant; consequently, the inventions of the young are crude and frigid. hence the most fertile mind exactly resembles in early youth the hopeless barrenness of those who have grown old in vain as to its actual condition, and it differs only in the unseen capacity for future production. the philosopher who declares that he knows nothing, and that nothing can be known, will readily find followers among the young, for they are sensible that they possess the requisite qualifications for entering his school, and are as far advanced in the science of ignorance as their master. a stranger who should have chanced to have been present at some of shelley's disputes, or who knew him only from having read some of the short argumentative essays which he composed as voluntary exercises, would have said, "surely the soul of hume passed by transmigration into the body of that eloquent young man; or, rather, he represents one of the enthusiastic and animated materialists of the french schools, whom revolutionary violence lately intercepted at an early age in his philosophical career." there were times, however, when a visitor, who had listened to glowing discourses delivered with a more intense ardour, would have hailed a young platonist, breathing forth the ideal philosophy, and in his pursuit of the intellectual world entirely overlooking the material or noticing it only to contemn it. the tall boy, who is permitted for the first season to scare the partridges with his new fowling-piece, scorns to handle the top or the hoop of his younger brother; thus the man, whose years and studies are mature, slights the first feeble aspirations after the higher departments of knowledge, that were deemed so important during his residence at college. it seems laughable, but it is true, that our knowledge of plato was derived solely from dacier's translation of a few of the dialogues, and from an english version of the french translation: we had never attempted a single sentence in the greek. since that time, however, i believe, few of our countrymen have read the golden works of that majestic philosopher in the original language more frequently and more carefully than ourselves; and few, if any, with more profit than shelley. although the source, whence flowed our earliest taste of the divine philosophy, was scanty and turbid, the draught was not the less grateful to our lips: our zeal in some measure atoned for our poverty. shelley was never weary of reading, or of listening to me whilst i read, passages from the dialogues contained in this collection, and especially from the _phædo_; and he was vehemently excited by the striking doctrines which socrates unfolds, especially by that which teaches that all our knowledge consists of reminiscences of what we had learned in a former existence. he often rose, paced slowly about the room, shook his long, wild locks and discoursed in a solemn tone and with a mysterious air, speculating concerning our previous condition, and the nature of our life and occupations in that world, where, according to plato, we had attained to erudition, and had advanced ourselves in knowledge so far that the most studious and the most inventive, or, in other words, those who have the best memory, are able to call back a part only, and with much pain and extreme difficulty, of what was formerly familiar to us. it is hazardous, however, to speak of his earliest efforts as a platonist, lest they should be confounded with his subsequent advancement; it is not easy to describe his first introduction to the exalted wisdom of antiquity without borrowing inadvertently from the knowledge which he afterwards acquired. the cold, ungenial, foggy atmosphere of northern metaphysics was less suited to the ardent temperament of his soul than the warm, bright, vivifying climate of southern and eastern philosophy. his genius expanded under the benign influence of the latter, and he derived copious instruction from a luminous system, that is only dark through excess of brightness, and seems obscure to vulgar vision through its extreme radiance. nevertheless, in argument--and to argue on all questions was his dominant passion--he usually adopted the scheme of the sceptics, partly, perhaps, because it was more popular and is more generally understood. the disputant, who would use plato as his text-book in this age, would reduce his opponents to a small number indeed. the study of that highest department of ethics, which includes all the inferior branches and is directed towards the noblest and most important ends of jurisprudence, was always next my heart; at an early age it attracted my attention. when i first endeavoured to turn the regards of shelley towards this engaging pursuit, he strongly expressed a very decided aversion to such inquiries, deeming them worthless and illiberal. the beautiful theory of the art of right, and the honourable office of administering distributive justice, have been brought into general discredit, unhappily for the best interests of humanity, and to the vast detriment of the state, into unmerited disgrace in the modern world by the errors of practitioners. an ingenuous mind instinctively shrinks from the contemplation of legal topics, because the word law is associated with, and inevitably calls up the idea of the low chicanery of a pettifogging attorney, of the vulgar oppression and gross insolence of a bailiff, or at best, of the wearisome and unmeaning tautology that distends an act of parliament, and the dull dropsical compositions of the special pleader, the conveyancer or other draughtsman. in no country is this unhappy debasement of a most illustrious science more remarkable than in our own; no other nation is so prone to, or so patient of, abuses; in no other land are posts, in themselves honourable, so accessible to the meanest. the spirit of trade favours the degradation, and every commercial town is a well-spring of vulgarity, which sends forth hosts of practitioners devoid of the solid and elegant attainments which could sustain the credit of the science, but so strong in the artifices that insure success, as not only to monopolise the rewards due to merit, but sometimes even to climb the judgment-seat. it is not wonderful, therefore, that generous minds, until they have been taught to discriminate, and to distinguish a noble science from ignoble practices, should usually confound them together, hastily condemning the former with the latter. shelley listened with much attention to questions of natural law, and with the warm interest that he felt in all metaphysical disquisitions, after he had conquered his first prejudice against practical jurisprudence. the science of right, like other profound and extensive sciences, can only be acquired completely when the foundations have been laid at an early age. had the energies of shelley's vigorous mind taken this direction at that time, it is impossible to doubt that he would have become a distinguished jurist. besides that fondness for such inquiries which is necessary to success in any liberal pursuit, he displayed the most acute sensitiveness of injustice, however slight, and a vivid perception of inconvenience. as soon as a wrong, arising from a proposed enactment or a supposed decision, was suggested, he instantly rushed into the opposite extreme; and when a greater evil was shown to result from the contrary course which he had so hastily adopted, his intellect was roused, and he endeavoured most earnestly to ascertain the true mean that would secure the just by avoiding the unjust extremes. i have observed in young men that the propensity to plunge headlong into a net of difficulty, on being startled at an apparent want of equity in any rule that was propounded, although at first it might seem to imply a lack of caution and foresight--which are eminently the virtues of legislators and of judges--was an unerring prognostic of a natural aptitude for pursuits, wherein eminence is inconsistent with an inertness of the moral sense, and a recklessness of the violation of rights, however remote and trifling. various instances of such aptitude in shelley might be furnished, but these studies are interesting to a limited number of persons only. as the mind of shelley was apt to acquire many of the most valuable branches of liberal knowledge, so there were other portions comprised within the circle of science, for the reception of which, however active and acute, it was entirely unfit. he rejected with marvellous impatience every mathematical discipline that was offered; no problem could awaken the slightest curiosity, nor could he be made sensible of the beauty of any theorem. the method of demonstration had no charm for him. he complained of the insufferable prolixity and the vast tautology of euclid and the other ancient geometricians; and when the discoveries or modern analysts were presented, he was immediately distracted, and fell into endless musings. with respect to the oriental tongues, he coldly observed that the appearance of the characters was curious. although he perused with more than ordinary eagerness the relations of travellers in the east and the translations of the marvellous tales of oriental fancy, he was not attracted by the desire to penetrate the languages which veil these treasures. he would never deign to lend an ear or an eye for a moment to my hebrew studies, in which i had made at that time some small progress; nor could he be tempted to inquire into the value of the singular lore of the rabbins. he was able, like the many, to distinguish a violet from a sunflower and a cauliflower from a peony, but his botanical knowledge was more limited than that of the least skilful of common observers, for he was neglectful of flowers. he was incapable of apprehending the delicate distinctions of structure which form the basis of the beautiful classification of modern botanists. i was never able to impart even a glimpse of the merits of ray or linnæus, or to encourage a hope that he would ever be competent to see the visible analogies that constitute the marked, yet mutually approaching _genera_, into which the productions of nature, and especially vegetables, are divided. it may seem invidious to notice imperfections in a mind of the highest order, but the exercise of a due candour, however unwelcome, is required to satisfy those who were not acquainted with shelley, that the admiration excited by his marvellous talents and manifold virtues in all who were so fortunate as to enjoy the opportunity of examining his merits by frequent intercourse, was not the result of the blind partiality that amiable and innocent dispositions, attractive manners and a noble and generous bearing sometimes create. shelley was always unwilling to visit the remarkable specimens of architecture, the objects of art, and the various antiquities that adorn oxford; although, if he encountered them by accident, and they were pointed out to him, he admired them more sincerely and heartily than the generality of strangers, who, through compliance with fashion, ostentatiously sought them out. his favourite recreation, as i have already stated, was a free, unrestrained ramble into the country. after quitting the city and its environs by walking briskly along the highway for several miles, it was his delight to strike boldly into the fields, to cross the country daringly on foot, as is usual with sportsmen when shooting; to perform, as it were, a pedestrian steeplechase. he was strong, light and active, and in all respects well suited for such exploits, and we used frequently to traverse a considerable tract in this manner, especially when the frost had dried the land, had given complete solidity to the most treacherous paths, and had thrown a natural bridge over spots that in open weather during the winter would have been nearly impassable. by resolutely piercing through a district in this manner we often stumbled upon objects in our humble travels that created a certain surprise and interest; some of them are still fresh in my recollection. my susceptible companion was occasionally much delighted and strongly excited by incidents that would, perhaps, have seemed unimportant trifles to others. one day we had penetrated somewhat farther than usual, for the ground was in excellent order, and as the day was intensely cold, although bright and sunny, we had pushed on with uncommon speed. i do not remember the direction we took; nor can i even determine on which side of the thames our course lay. we had crossed roads and lanes, and had traversed open fields and inclosures; some tall and ancient trees were on our right hand; we skirted a little wood, and presently came to a small copse. it was guarded by an old hedge, or thicket; we were deflected, therefore, from our onward course towards the left, and we were winding round it, when the quick eye of my companion perceived a gap. he instantly dashed in with as much alacrity as if he had suddenly caught a glimpse of a pheasant that he had lately wounded in a district where such game was scarce, and he disappeared in a moment. i followed him, but with less ardour, and, passing through a narrow belt of wood and thicket, i presently found him standing motionless in one of his picturesque attitudes, riveted to the earth in speechless astonishment. he had thrown himself thus precipitately into a trim flower-garden of small dimensions, encompassed by a narrow, but close girdle of trees and underwood; it was apparently remote from all habitations, and it contrasted strongly with the bleak and bare country through which we had recently passed. had the secluded scene been bright with the gay flowers of spring, with hyacinths and tulips; had it been powdered with mealy auriculas or conspicuous for a gaudy show of all anemones and of every ranuculus; had it been profusely decorated by the innumerable roses of summer, it would be easy to understand why it was so cheerful. but we were now in the very heart of winter, and after much frost scarcely a single wretched brumal flower lingered and languished. there was no foliage save the dark leaves of evergreens, and of them there were many, especially around and on the edges of the magic circle, on which account, possibly, but chiefly perhaps through the symmetry of the numerous small _parterres_, the scrupulous neatness of the corresponding walks, the just ordonnance and disposition of certain benches, the integrity and freshness of the green trellises, and of the skeletons of some arbours, and through every leafless excellence which the dried anatomy of a flower-garden can exhibit, its past and its future wealth seemed to shine forth in its present poverty, and its potential glories adorned its actual disgrace. the sudden transition from the rugged fields to this garnished and decorated retreat was striking, and held my imagination captive a few moments. the impression, however, would probably have soon faded from my memory, had it not been fixed there by the recollection of the beings who gave animation and a permanent interest to the polished nook. we admired the trim and retired garden for some minutes in silence, and afterwards each answered in monosyllables the other's brief expressions of wonder. neither of us had advanced a single step beyond the edge of the thicket which we had entered; but i was about to precede, and to walk round the magic circle, in order fully to survey the place, when shelley startled me by turning with astonishing rapidity, and dashing through the bushes and the gap in the fence with the mysterious and whimsical agility of a kangaroo. had he caught a glimpse of a tiger crouching behind the laurels, and preparing to spring upon him, he could not have vanished more promptly or more silently. i was habituated to his abrupt movements, nevertheless his alacrity surprised me, and i tried in vain to discover what object had scared him away. i retired, therefore, to the gap, and when i reached it, i saw him already at some distance, proceeding with gigantic strides nearly in the same route by which we came. i ran after him, and when i rejoined him, he had halted upon a turnpike-road and was hesitating as to the course he ought to pursue. it was our custom to advance across the country as far as the utmost limits of our time would permit, and to go back to oxford by the first public road we found, after attaining the extreme distance to which we could venture to wander. having ascertained the route homeward, we pursued it quickly, as we were wont, but less rapidly than shelley had commenced his hasty retreat. he had perceived that the garden was attached to a gentleman's house, and he had consequently quitted it thus precipitately. i had already observed on the right a winding path that led through a plantation to certain offices, which showed that a house was about a quarter of a mile from the spot where i then stood. had i been aware that the garden was connected with a residence, i certainly should not have trespassed upon it; but, having entered unconsciously, and since the owner was too far removed to be annoyed by observing the intrusion, i was tempted to remain a short time to examine a spot which, during my brief visit, seemed so singular. the superior and highly sensitive delicacy of my companion instantly took the alarm on discovering indications of a neighbouring mansion; hence his marvellous precipitancy in withdrawing himself from the garnished retirement he had unwittingly penetrated, and we advanced some distance along the road before he had entirely overcome his modest confusion. shelley had looked on the ornate inclosure with a poet's eye, and as we hastily pursued our course towards oxford by the frozen and sounding way, whilst the day rapidly declined, he discoursed of it fancifully, and with a more glowing animation than ordinary, like one agitated by a divine fury, and by the impulse of inspiring deity. he continued, indeed, so long to enlarge upon the marvels of the enchanted grove, that i hinted the enchantress might possibly be at hand, and since he was so eloquent concerning the nest, what would have been his astonishment had he been permitted to see the bird herself. he sometimes described, with a curious fastidiousness, the qualities which a female must possess to kindle the fire of love in his bosom. the imaginative youth supposed that he was to be moved by the most absolute perfection alone. it is equally impossible to doubt the exquisite refinement of his taste, or the boundless power of the most mighty of divinities; to refuse to believe that he was a just and skilful critic of feminine beauty and grace, and of whatever is attractive, or that he was never practically as blind, at the least, as men of ordinary talent. how sadly should we disparage the triumphs of love were we to maintain that he is able to lead astray the senses of the vulgar alone! in the theory of love, however, a poet will rarely err. shelley's lively fancy had painted a goodly portraiture of the mistress of the fair garden, nor were apt words wanting to convey to me a faithful copy of the bright original. it would be a cruel injustice to an orator should a plain man attempt, after a silence of more than twenty years, to revive his glowing harangue from faded recollections. i will not seek, therefore, to pourtray the likeness of the ideal nymph of the flower-garden. "since your fairy gardener," i said, "has so completely taken possession of your imagination," and he was wonderfully excited by the unexpected scene and his own splendid decorations, "it is a pity we did not notice the situation, for i am quite sure i should not be able to return thither, to recover your eden and the eve, whom you created to till it, and i doubt whether you could guide me." he acknowledged that he was as incapable of finding it again as of leading me to that paradise to which i had compared it. "you may laugh at my enthusiasm," he continued, "but you must allow that you were not less struck by the singularity of that mysterious corner of the earth than myself. you are equally entitled, therefore, to dwell there, at least, in fancy, and to find a partner whose character will harmonise with the genius of the place." he then declared, that thenceforth it should be deemed the possession of two tutelary nymphs, not of one; and he proceeded with unabated fervour to delineate the second patroness, and to distinguish her from the first. "no!" he exclaimed, pausing in the rapid career of words, and for a while he was somewhat troubled, "the seclusion is too sweet, too holy, to be the theatre of ordinary love; the love of the sexes, however pure, still retains some taint of earthly grossness; we must not admit it within the sanctuary." he was silent for several minutes, and his anxiety visibly increased. "the love of a mother for a child is more refined; it is more disinterested, more spiritual; but," he added, after some reflection, "the very existence of the child still connects it with the passion which we have discarded," and he relapsed into his former musings. "the love a sister bears towards a sister," he exclaimed abruptly, and with an air of triumph, "is unexceptionable." this idea pleased him, and as he strode along he assigned the trim garden to two sisters, affirming, with the confidence of an inventor, that it owed its neatness to the assiduous culture of their neat hands; that it was their constant haunt; the care of it their favourite pastime, and its prosperity, next after the welfare of each other, the chief wish of both. he described their appearance, their habits, their feelings, and drew a lovely picture of their amiable and innocent attachment; of the meek and dutiful regard of the younger, which partook, in some degree, of filial reverence, but was more facile and familiar; and of the protecting, instructing, hoping fondness of the elder, that resembled maternal tenderness, but had less of reserve and more of sympathy. in no other relation could the intimacy be equally perfect; not even between brothers, for their life is less domestic: there is a separation in their pursuits, and an independence in the masculine character. the occupations of all females of the same age and rank are the same, and by night sisters cherish each other in the same quiet nest. their union wears not only the grace of delicacy, but of fragility also; for it is always liable to be suddenly destroyed by the marriage of either party, or, at least, to be interrupted and suspended for an indefinite period. he depicted so eloquently the excellence of sisterly affection, and he drew so distinctly and so minutely the image of two sisters, to whom he chose to ascribe the unusual comeliness of the spot into which we had unintentionally intruded, that the trifling incident has been impressed upon my memory, and has been intimately associated in my mind, through his creations, with his poetic character. chapter iv the prince of roman eloquence affirms that the good man alone can be a perfect orator, and truly; for without the weight of a spotless reputation it is certain that the most artful and elaborate discourse must want authority--the main ingredient in persuasion. the position is, at least, equally true of the poet, whose grand strength always lies in the ethical force of his compositions, and these are great in proportion to the efficient greatness of their moral purpose. if, therefore, we would criticise poetry correctly, and from the foundation, it behoves us to examine the morality of the bard. in no individual, perhaps, was the moral sense ever more completely developed than in shelley; in no being was the perception of right and of wrong more acute. the biographer who takes upon himself the pleasing and instructive, but difficult and delicate task of composing a faithful history of his whole life, will frequently be compelled to discuss the important questions, whether his conduct, at certain periods, was altogether such as ought to be proposed for imitation; whether he was ever misled by an ardent imagination, a glowing temperament, something of hastiness in choice and a certain constitutional impatience; whether, like less gifted mortals, he ever shared in the common portion of mortality--repentance, and to what extent? such inquiries, however, do not fall within the compass of a brief narrative of his career at the university. the unmatured mind of a boy is capable of good intentions only and of generous and kindly feelings, and these were pre-eminent in him. it will be proper to unfold the excellence of his dispositions, not for the sake of vain and empty praise, but simply to show his aptitude to receive the sweet fury of the muses. his inextinguishable thirst for knowledge, his boundless philanthropy, his fearless, it may be his almost imprudent pursuit of truth have been already exhibited. if mercy to beasts be a criterion of a good man, numerous instances of extreme tenderness would demonstrate his worth. i will mention one only. we were walking one afternoon in bagley wood; on turning a corner we suddenly came upon a boy who was driving an ass. it was very young and very weak, and was staggering beneath a most disproportionate load of faggots, and he was belabouring its lean ribs angrily and violently with a short, thick, heavy cudgel. at the sight of cruelty shelley was instantly transported far beyond the usual measure of excitement. he sprang forward and was about to interpose with energetic and indignant vehemence. i caught him by the arm and to his present annoyance held him back, and with much difficulty persuaded him to allow me to be the advocate of the dumb animal. his cheeks glowed with displeasure and his lips murmured his impatience during my brief dialogue with the young tyrant. "that is a sorry little ass, boy," i said; "it seems to have scarcely any strength." "none at all; it is good for nothing." "it cannot get on; it can hardly stand. if anybody could make it go, you would; you have taken great pains with it." "yes, i have; but it is to no purpose!" "it is of little use striking it, i think." "it is not worth beating. the stupid beast has got more wood now than it can carry; it can hardly stand, you see!" "i suppose it put it upon its back itself?" the boy was silent; i repeated the question. "no; it has not sense enough for that," he replied, with an incredulous leer. by dint of repeated blows he had split his cudgel, and the sound caused by the divided portion had alarmed shelley's humanity. i pointed to it and said, "you have split your stick; it is not good for much now." he turned it, and held the divided end in his hand. "the other end is whole, i see, but i suppose you could split that too on the ass's back, if you chose; it is not so thick." "it is not so thick, but it is full of knots. it would take a great deal of trouble to split it, and the beast is not worth that; it would do no good!" "it would do no good, certainly; and if anybody saw you, he might say that you were a savage young ruffian and that you ought to be served in the same manner yourself." the fellow looked at me in some surprise, and sank into sullen silence. he presently threw his cudgel into the wood as far as he was able, and began to amuse himself by pelting the birds with pebbles, leaving my long-eared client to proceed at its own pace, having made up his mind, perhaps, to be beaten himself, when he reached home, by a tyrant still more unreasonable than himself, on account of the inevitable default of his ass. shelley was satisfied with the result of our conversation, and i repeated to him the history of the injudicious and unfortunate interference of don quixote between the peasant, john haldudo, and his servant, andrew. although he reluctantly admitted that the acrimony of humanity might often aggravate the sufferings of the oppressed by provoking the oppressor, i always observed that the impulse of generous indignation, on witnessing the infliction of pain, was too vivid to allow him to pause and consider the probable consequences of the abrupt interposition of the knight-errantry, which would at once redress all grievances. such exquisite sensibility and a sympathy with suffering so acute and so uncontrolled may possibly be inconsistent with the calmness and forethought of the philosopher, but they accord well with the high temperature of a poet's blood. as his port had the meekness of a maiden, so the heart of the young virgin who had never crossed her father's threshold to encounter the rude world, could not be more susceptible of all the sweet domestic charities than his: in this respect shelley's disposition would happily illustrate the innocence and virginity of the muses. in most men, and especially in very young men, an excessive addiction to study tends to chill the heart and to blunt the feelings, by engrossing the attention. notwithstanding his extreme devotion to literature, and amidst his various and ardent speculations, he retained a most affectionate regard for his relations, and particularly for the females of his family; it was not without manifest joy that he received a letter from his mother or his sisters. a child of genius is seldom duly appreciated by the world during his life, least of all by his own kindred. the parents of a man of talent may claim the honour of having given him birth, yet they commonly enjoy but little of his society. whilst we hang with delight over the immortal pages, we are apt to suppose that the gifted author was fondly cherished; that a possession so uncommon and so precious was highly prized; that his contemporaries anxiously watched his going out and eagerly looked for his coming in; for we should ourselves have borne him tenderly in our hands, that he might not dash his foot against a stone. surely such an one was given in charge to angels, we cry. on the contrary, nature appears most unaccountably to slight a gift that she gave grudgingly, as if it were of small value, and easily replaced. an unusual number of books, greek or latin classics, each inscribed with the name of the donor, which had been presented to him, according to custom, on quitting eton, attested that shelley had been popular among his schoolfellows. many of them were then at oxford, and they frequently called at his rooms. although he spoke of them with regard, he generally avoided their society, for it interfered with his beloved study, and interrupted the pursuits to which he ardently and entirely devoted himself. in the nine centuries that elapsed from the time of our great founder, alfred, to our days, there never was a student who more richly merited the favour and assistance of a learned body, or whose fruitful mind would have repaid with a larger harvest the labour of careful and judicious cultivation. and such cultivation he was well entitled to receive. nor did his scholar-like virtues merit neglect, still less to be betrayed, like the young nobles of falisci, by a traitorous schoolmaster to an enemy less generous than camillus. no student ever read more assiduously. he was to be found book in hand at all hours, reading in season and out of season, at table, in bed and especially during a walk; not only in the quiet country and in retired paths; not only at oxford in the public walks and high street, but in the most crowded thoroughfares of london. nor was he less absorbed by the volume that was open before him in cheapside, in cranbourne alley or in bond street, than in a lonely lane, or a secluded library. sometimes a vulgar fellow would attempt to insult or annoy the eccentric student in passing. shelley always avoided the malignant interruption by stepping aside with his vast and quiet agility. sometimes i have observed, as an agreeable contrast to these wretched men, that persons of the humblest station have paused and gazed with respectful wonder as he advanced, almost unconscious of the throng, stooping low, with bent knees and outstretched neck, poring earnestly over the volume, which he extended before him; for they knew this, although the simple people knew but little, that an ardent scholar is worthy of deference, and that the man of learning is necessarily the friend of humanity, and especially of the many. i never beheld eyes that devoured the pages more voraciously than his. i am convinced that two-thirds of the period of the day and night were often employed in reading. it is no exaggeration to affirm, that out of the twenty-four hours he frequently read sixteen. at oxford his diligence in this respect was exemplary, but it greatly increased afterwards, and i sometimes thought that he carried it to a pernicious excess. i am sure, at least, that i was unable to keep pace with him. on the evening of a wet day, when we had read with scarcely any intermission from an early hour in the morning, i have urged him to lay aside his book. it required some extravagance to rouse him to join heartily in conversation; to tempt him to avoid the chimney-piece on which commonly he had laid the open volume. "if i were to read as long as you read, shelley, my hair and my teeth would be strewed about on the floor, and my eyes would slip down my cheeks into my waistcoat pockets, or, at least, i should become so weary and nervous that i should not know whether it were so or not." he began to scrape the carpet with his feet, as if teeth were actually lying upon it, and he looked fixedly at my face, and his lively fancy represented the empty sockets. his imagination was excited, and the spell that bound him to his books was broken, and, creeping close to the fire, and, as it were, under the fireplace, he commenced a most animated discourse. few were aware of the extent, and still fewer, i apprehend, of the profundity of his reading. in his short life and without ostentation he had in truth read more greek than many an aged pedant, who with pompous parade prides himself upon this study alone. although he had not entered critically into the minute niceties of the noblest of languages, he was thoroughly conversant with the valuable matter it contains. a pocket edition of plato, of plutarch, of euripides, without interpretation or notes, or of the septuagint, was his ordinary companion; and he read the text straightforward for hours, if not as readily as an english author, at least with as much facility as french, italian or spanish. "upon my soul, shelley, your style of going through a greek book is something quite beautiful!" was the wondering exclamation of one who was himself no mean student. as his love of intellectual pursuits was vehement, and the vigour of his genius almost celestial, so were the purity and sanctity of his life most conspicuous. his food was plain and simple as that of a hermit, with a certain anticipation, even at this time, of a vegetable diet, respecting which he afterwards became an enthusiast in theory, and in practice an irregular votary. with his usual fondness for moving the abstruse and difficult questions of the highest theology, he loved to inquire whether man can justify, on the ground of reason alone, the practice of taking the life of the inferior animals, except in the necessary defence of his life and of his means of life, the fruits of that field which he has tilled, from violence and spoliation. "not only have considerable sects," he would say, "denied the right altogether, but those among the tender-hearted and imaginative people of antiquity, who accounted it lawful to kill and eat, appear to have doubted whether they might take away life merely for the use of man alone. they slew their cattle, not simply for human guests, like the less scrupulous butchers of modern times, but only as a sacrifice, for the honour and in the name of the deity; or, rather, of those subordinate divinities, to whom, as they believed, the supreme being had assigned the creation and conservation of the visible material world. as an incident to these pious offerings, they partook of the residue of the victims, of which, without such sanction and sanctification, they would not have presumed to taste. so reverent was the caution of humane and prudent antiquity!" bread became his chief sustenance when his regimen attained to that austerity which afterwards distinguished it. he could have lived on bread alone without repining. when he was walking in london with an acquaintance, he would suddenly run into a baker's shop, purchase a supply, and breaking a loaf he would offer half of it to his companion. "do you know," he said to me one day, with much surprise, "that such an one does not like bread? did you ever know a person who disliked bread?" and he told me that a friend had refused such an offer. i explained to him that the individual in question probably had no objection to bread in a moderate quantity at a proper time and with the usual adjuncts, and was only unwilling to devour two or three pounds of dry bread in the streets, and at an early hour. shelley had no such scruple; his pockets were generally well-stored with bread. a circle upon the carpet, clearly defined by an ample verge of crumbs, often marked the place where he had long sat at his studies, his face nearly in contact with his book, greedily devouring bread at intervals amidst his profound abstractions. for the most part he took no condiments; sometimes, however, he ate with his bread the common raisins which are used in making puddings, and these he would buy at little mean shops. he was walking one day in london with a respectable solicitor who occasionally transacted business for him. with his accustomed precipitation he suddenly vanished and as suddenly reappeared: he had entered the shop of a little grocer in an obscure quarter, and had returned with some plums, which he held close under the attorney's nose, and the man of fact was as much astonished at the offer as his client, the man of fancy, at the refusal. the common fruit of stalls, and oranges and apples were always welcome to shelley; he would crunch the latter as heartily as a schoolboy. vegetables, and especially salads, and pies and puddings were acceptable. his beverage consisted of copious and frequent draughts of cold water, but tea was ever grateful, cup after cup, and coffee. wine was taken with singular moderation, commonly diluted largely with water, and for a long period he would abstain from it altogether. he avoided the use of spirits almost invariably, and even in the most minute portions. like all persons of simple tastes, he retained his sweet tooth. he would greedily eat cakes, gingerbread and sugar; honey, preserved or stewed fruit with bread, were his favourite delicacies. these he thankfully and joyfully received from others, but he rarely sought for them or provided them for himself. the restraint and protracted duration of a convivial meal were intolerable; he was seldom able to keep his seat during the brief period assigned to an ordinary family dinner. these particulars may seem trifling, if indeed anything can be little that has reference to a character truly great; but they prove how much he was ashamed that his soul was in body, and illustrate the virgin abstinence of a mind equally favoured by the muses, the graces and philosophy. it is true, however, that his application at oxford, although exemplary, was not so unremitting as it afterwards became; nor was his diet, although singularly temperate, so meagre. however, his mode of living already offered a foretaste of the studious seclusion and absolute renunciation of every luxurious indulgence which ennobled him a few years later. had a parent desired that his children should be exactly trained to an ascetic life and should be taught by an eminent example to scorn delights and to live laborious days, that they should behold a pattern of native innocence and genuine simplicity of manners, he would have consigned them to his house as to a temple or to some primitive and still unsophisticated monastery. it is an invidious thing to compose a perpetual panegyric, yet it is difficult to speak of shelley, and impossible to speak justly, without often praising him. it is difficult also to divest myself of later recollections; to forget for a while what he became in days subsequent, and to remember only what he then was, when we were fellow-collegians. it is difficult, moreover, to view him with the mind which i then bore--with a young mind, to lay aside the seriousness of old age; for twenty years of assiduous study have induced, if not in the body, at least within, something of premature old age. it now seems an incredible thing, and altogether inconceivable, when i consider the gravity of shelley and his invincible repugnance to the comic, that the monkey tricks of the schoolboy could have still lingered, but it is certain that some slight vestiges still remained. the metaphysician of eighteen actually attempted once or twice to electrify the son of his scout, a boy like a sheep, by name james, who roared aloud with ludicrous and stupid terror, whenever shelley affected to bring by stealth any part of his philosophical apparatus near to him. as shelley's health and strength were visibly augmented, if by accident he was obliged to accept a more generous diet than ordinary, and as his mind sometimes appeared to be exhausted by never-ending toil, i often blamed his abstinence and his perpetual application. it is the office of a university, of a public institution for education, not only to apply the spur to the sluggish, but also to rein in the young steed, that, being too mettlesome, hastens with undue speed towards the goal. "it is a very odd thing, but every woman can live with my lord and do just what she pleases with him, except my lady!" such was the shrewd remark, which a long familiarity taught an old and attached servant to utter respecting his master, a noble poet. we may wonder in like manner, and deeply lament, that the most docile, the most facile, the most pliant, the most confident creature that ever was led through any of the various paths on earth, that a tractable youth, who was conducted at pleasure by anybody that approached him--it might be occasionally by persons delegated by no legitimate authority--was never guided for a moment by those upon whom, fully and without reservation, that most solemn and sacred obligation had been imposed, strengthened, morever, by every public and private, official and personal, moral, political and religious tie, which the civil polity of a long succession of ages could accumulate. had the university been in fact, as in name, a kind nursing-mother to the most gifted of her sons, to one, who seemed, to those that knew him best,-- heaven's exile straying from the orb of light; had that most awful responsibility, the right institution of those, to whom are to be consigned the government of the country and the conservation of whatever good human society has elaborated and excogitated, duly weighed upon the consciences of his instructors, they would have gained his entire confidence by frank kindness, they would have repressed his too eager impatience to master the sum of knowledge, they would have mitigated the rigorous austerity of his course of living, and they would have remitted the extreme tension of his soul by reconciling him to liberal mirth; convincing him that, if life be not wholly a jest, there are at least many comic scenes occasionally interspersed in the great drama. nor is the last benefit of trifling importance, for, as an unseemly and excessive gravity is usually the sign of a dull fellow, so is the prevalence of this defect the characteristic of an unlearned and illiberal age. shelley was actually offended, and indeed more indignant than would appear to be consistent with the singular mildness of his nature, at a coarse and awkward jest, especially if it were immodest or uncleanly; in the latter case his anger was unbounded, and his uneasiness pre-eminent. he was, however, sometimes vehemently delighted by exquisite and delicate sallies, particularly with a fanciful, and perhaps somewhat fantastical facetiousness--possibly the more because he was himself utterly incapable of pleasantry. in every free state, in all countries that enjoy republican institutions, the view which each citizen takes of politics is an essential ingredient in the estimate of his ethical character. the wisdom of a very young man is but foolishness. nevertheless, if we would rightly comprehend the moral and intellectual constitution of the youthful poet, it will be expedient to take into account the manner in which he was affected towards the grand political questions, at a period when the whole of the civilised world was agitated by a fierce storm of excitement, that, happily for the peace and well-being of society, is of rare occurrence. chapter v "above all things, liberty!" the political creed of shelley may be comprised in a few words; it was, in truth, that of most men, and in a peculiar manner of young men, during the freshness and early springs of revolutions. he held that not only is the greatest possible amount of civil liberty to be preferred to all other blessings, but that this advantage is all-sufficient, and comprehends within itself every other desirable object. the former position is as unquestionably true as the latter is undoubtedly false. it is no small praise, however, to a very young man, to say that on a subject so remote from the comprehension of youth his opinions were at least half right. twenty years ago the young men at our universities were satisfied with upholding the political doctrines of which they approved by private discussions. they did not venture to form clubs of brothers and to move resolutions, except a small number of enthusiasts of doubtful sanity, who alone sought to usurp by crude and premature efforts the offices of a matured understanding and of manly experience. although our fellow-collegians were willing to learn before they took upon themselves the heavy and thankless charge of instructing others, there was no lack of beardless politicians amongst us. of these, some were more strenuous supporters of the popular cause in our little circles than others; but all were abundantly liberal. a brutus or a gracchus would have found many to surpass him, and few, indeed, to fall short in theoretical devotion to the interests of equal freedom. i can scarcely recollect a single exception amongst my numerous acquaintances. all, i think were worthy of the best ages of greece or of rome; all were true, loyal citizens, brave and free. how, indeed, could it be otherwise? liberty is the morning-star of youth; and those who enjoy the inappreciable blessing of a classical education, are taught betimes to lisp its praises. they are nurtured in the writings of its votaries, and they even learn their native tongue, as it were, at secondhand, and reflected in the glorious pages of the authors, who in the ancient languages and in strains of a noble eloquence, that will never fail to astonish succeeding generations, proclaim unceasingly, with every variety of powerful and energetic phrase, "above all things, liberty!" the praises of liberty were the favourite topic of our earliest verses, whether they flowed with natural ease, or were elaborated painfully out of the resources of art; and the tyrant was set up as an object of scorn, to be pelted with the first ink of our themes. how, then, can an educated youth be other than free? shelley was entirely devoted to the lovely theory of freedom; but he was also eminently averse at that time from engaging in the far less beautiful practices, wherein are found the actual and operative energies of liberty. i was maintaining against him one day at my rooms the superiority of the ethical sciences over the physical. in the course of the debate he cried with shrill vehemence--for as his aspect presented to the eye much of the elegance of the peacock, so, in like manner, he cruelly lacerated the ear with its discordant tones--"you talk of the pre-eminence of moral philosophy? do you comprehend politics under that name? and will you tell me, as others do, and as plato, i believe, teaches, that of this philosophy the political department is the highest and the most important?" without expecting an answer, he continued: "a certain nobleman" (and he named him) "advised me to turn my thoughts towards politics immediately. 'you cannot direct your attention that way too early in this country,' said the duke. 'they are the proper career for a young man of ability and of your station in life. that course is the most advantageous, because it is a monopoly. a little success in that line goes far, since the number of competitors is limited; and of those who are admitted to the contest, the greater part are altogether devoid of talent or too indolent to exert themselves. so many are excluded, that, of the few who are permitted to enter, it is difficult to find any that are not utterly unfit for the ordinary service of the state. it is not so in the church, it is not so at the bar; there all may offer themselves. the number of rivals in those professions is far greater, and they are, besides, of a more formidable kind. in letters, your chance of success is still worse. there, none can win gold and all may try to gain reputation; it is a struggle for glory--the competition is infinite, there are no bounds--that is a spacious field indeed, a sea without shores!' the duke talked thus to me many times and strongly urged me to give myself up to politics without delay, but he did not persuade me. with how unconquerable an aversion do i shrink from political articles in newspapers and reviews? i have heard people talk politics by the hour, and how i hated it and them! i went with my father several times to the house of commons, and what creatures did i see there! what faces! what an expression of countenance! what wretched beings!" here he clasped his hands, and raised his voice to a painful pitch, with fervid dislike. "good god! what men did we meet about the house, in the lobbies and passages; and my father was so civil to all of them, to animals that i regarded with unmitigated disgust! a friend of mine, an eton man, told me that his father once invited some corporation to dine at his house, and that he was present. when dinner was over, and the gentlemen nearly drunk, they started up, he said, and swore they would all kiss his sisters. his father laughed and did not forbid them, and the wretches would have done it; but his sisters heard of the infamous proposal, and ran upstairs, and locked themselves in their bedrooms. i asked him if he would not have knocked them down if they had attempted such an outrage in his presence. it seems to me that a man of spirit ought to have killed them if they had effected their purpose." the sceptical philosopher sat for several minutes in silence, his cheeks glowing with intense indignation. "never did a more finished gentleman than shelley step across a drawing-room!" lord byron exclaimed; and on reading the remark in mr moore's _memoirs_ i was struck forcibly by its justice, and wondered for a moment that, since it was so obvious, it had never been made before. perhaps this excellence was blended so intimately with his entire nature, and it seemed to constitute a part of his identity, and being essential and necessary was therefore never noticed. i observed his eminence in this respect before i had sat beside him many minutes at our first meeting in the hall of university college. since that day i have had the happiness to associate with some of the best specimens of gentlemen; but with all due deference for those admirable persons (may my candour and my preference be pardoned), i can affirm that shelley was almost the only example i have yet found that was never wanting, even in the most minute particular, of the infinite and various observances of pure, entire and perfect gentility. trifling, indeed, and unimportant, were the aberrations of some whom i could name; but in him, during a long and most unusual familiarity, i discovered no flaw, no tarnish; the metal was sterling, and the polish absolute. i have also seen him, although rarely, "stepping across a drawing-room," and then his deportment, as lord byron testifies, was unexceptionable. such attendances, however, were pain and grief to him, and his inward discomfort was not hard to be discerned. an acute observer, whose experience of life was infinite, and who had been long and largely conversant with the best society in each of the principal capitals of europe, had met shelley, of whom he was a sincere admirer, several times in public. he remarked one evening, at a large party where shelley was present, his extreme discomfort, and added, "it is but too plain that there is something radically wrong in the constitution of our assemblies, since such a man finds not pleasure, nor even ease, in them." his speculations concerning the cause were ingenious, and would possibly be not altogether devoid of interest; but they are wholly unconnected with the object of these scanty reminiscences. whilst shelley was still a boy, clubs were few in number, of small dimensions, and generally confined to some specific class of persons. the universal and populous clubs of the present day were almost unknown. his reputation has increased so much of late, that the honour of including his name in the list of members, were such a distinction happily attainable, would now perhaps be sought by many of these societies; but it is not less certain, that, for a period of nearly twenty years, he would have been black-balled by almost every club in london. nor would such a fate be peculiar to him. when a great man has attained to a certain eminence, his patronage is courted by those who were wont carefully to shun him, whilst he was quietly and steadily pursuing the path that would inevitably lead to advancement. it would be easy to multiply instances, if proofs were needed, and this remarkable peculiarity of our social existence is an additional and irrefragable argument that the constitution of refined society is radically vicious, since it flatters timid, insipid mediocrity, and is opposed to the bold, fearless originality, and to that novelty which invariably characterise true genius. the first dawnings of talent are instantly hailed and warmly welcomed, as soon as some singularity unequivocally attests its existence amongst nations where hypocrisy and intolerance are less absolute. if all men were required to name the greatest disappointment they had respectively experienced, the catalogue would be very various; accordingly as the expectations of each had been elevated respecting the pleasure that would attend the gratification of some favourite wish, would the reality in almost every case have fallen short of the anticipation. the variety would be infinite as to the nature of the first disappointment; but if the same irresistible authority could command that another and another should be added to the list, it is probable that there would be less dissimilarity in the returns of the disappointments which were deemed second and the next in the importance to the greatest, and perhaps, in numerous instances, the third would coincide. many individuals, having exhausted their principal private and peculiar grievances in the first and second examples, would assign the third place to some public and general matter. the youth who has formed his conceptions of the power, effects and aspect of eloquence from the specimens furnished by the orators of greece and rome, receives as rude a shock on his first visit to the house of commons as can possibly be inflicted on his juvenile expectations, where the subject is entirely unconnected with the interests of the individual. a prodigious number of persons would, doubtless, inscribe nearly at the top of the list of disappointments the deplorable and inconceivable inferiority of the actual to the imaginary debate. it is not wonderful, therefore, that the sensitive, the susceptible, the fastidious shelley, whose lively fancy was easily wound up to a degree of excitement incomprehensible to calmer and more phlegmatic temperaments, felt keenly a mortification that can wound even the most obtuse intellects, and expressed with contemptuous acrimony his dissatisfaction at the cheat which his warm imagination had put upon him. had he resolved to enter the career of politics, it is possible that habit would have reconciled him to many things which at first seemed to be repugnant to his nature. it is possible that his unwearied industry, his remarkable talents and vast energy would have led him to renown in that line as well as in another; but it is most probable that his parliamentary success would have been but moderate. opportunities of advancement were offered to him, and he rejected them, in the opinion of some of his friends unwisely and improperly; but, perhaps, he only refused gifts that were unfit for him: he struck out a path for himself, and, by boldly following his own course, greatly as it deviated from that prescribed to him, he became incomparably more illustrious than he would have been had he steadily pursued the beaten track. his memory will be green when the herd of everyday politicians are forgotten. ordinary rules may guide ordinary men, but the orbit of the child of genius is essentially eccentric. although the mind of shelley had certainly a strong bias towards democracy, and he embraced with an ardent and youthful fondness the theory of political equality, his feelings and behaviour were in many respects highly aristocratical. the ideal republic, wherein his fancy loved to expatiate, was adorned by all the graces which plato, xenophon and cicero have thrown around the memory of ancient liberty; the unbleached web of transatlantic freedom, and the inconsiderate vehemence of such of our domestic patriots as would demonstrate their devotion to the good cause, by treating with irreverence whatever is most venerable, were equally repugnant to his sensitive and reverential spirit. as a politician shelley was in theory wholly a republican, but in practice, so far only as it is possible to be one with due regard for the sacred rights of a scholar and a gentleman; and these being in his eyes always more inviolable than any scheme of polity or civil institution, although he was upon paper and in discourse a sturdy commonwealth-man, the living, moving, acting individual had much of the senatorial and conservative, and was in the main eminently patrician. the rare assiduity of the young poet in the acquisition of general knowledge has been already described; he had, moreover, diligently studied the mechanism of his art before he came to oxford. he composed latin verses with singular facility. on visiting him soon after his arrival at the accustomed hour of one, we were writing the usual exercise, which we presented, i believe, once a week--a latin translation of a paper in the _spectator_. he soon finished it, and as he held it before the fire to dry, i offered to take it from him. he said it was not worth looking at; but as i persisted, through a certain scholastic curiosity to examine the latinity of my new acquaintance, he gave it to me. the latin was sufficiently correct, but the version was paraphrastic, which i observed. he assented, and said that it would pass muster, and he felt no interest in such efforts and no desire to excel in them. i also noticed many portions of heroic verses, and even several entire verses, and these i pointed out as defects in a prose composition. he smiled archly, and asked, in his piercing whisper, "do you think they will observe them? i inserted them intentionally to try their ears! i once showed up a theme at eton to old keate, in which there were a great many verses; but he observed them, scanned them, and asked why i had introduced them? i answered that i did not know they were there. this was partly true and partly false; but he believed me, and immediately applied to me the line in which ovid says of himself-- 'et quod tentabam dicere, versus erat.'" shelley then spoke of the facility with which he could compose latin verses; and, taking the paper out of my hand, he began to put the entire translation into verse. he would sometimes open at hazard a prose writer, as livy or sallust, and, by changing the position of the words and occasionally substituting others, he would translate several sentences from prose to verse--to heroic, or more commonly elegiac, verse, for he was peculiarly charmed with the graceful and easy flow of the latter--with surprising rapidity and readiness. he was fond of displaying this accomplishment during his residence at oxford, but he forgot to bring it away with him when he quitted the university; or perhaps he left it behind him designedly, as being suitable to academic groves only and to the banks of the isis. in ovid the facility of versification in his native tongue was possibly in some measure innate, although the extensive and various learning of that poet demonstrate that the power of application was not wanting in him; but such a command over a dead language can only be acquired through severe study. there is much in the poetry of shelley that seems to encourage the belief, that the inspiration of the muses was seldom duly hailed by the pious diligence of the recipient. it is true that his compositions were too often unfinished, but his example cannot encourage indolence in the youthful writer, for his carelessness is usually apparent only. he had really applied himself as strenuously to conquer all the other difficulties of his art, as he patiently laboured to penetrate the mysteries of metre in the state wherein it exists entire and can alone be attained--in one of the classical languages. the poet takes his name from the highest effort of his art--creation; and, being himself a maker, he must, of necessity, feel a strong sympathy with the exercise of the creative energies. shelley was exceedingly deficient in mechanical ingenuity; and he was also wanting in spontaneous curiosity respecting the operations of artificers. the wonderful dexterity of well-practised hands, the long tradition of innumerable ages, and the vast accumulation of technical wisdom that are manifested in the various handicrafts, have always been interesting to me, and i have ever loved to watch the artist at his work. i have often induced shelley to take part in such observations, and although he never threw himself in the way of professors of the manual erudition of the workshop, his vivid delight in witnessing the marvels of the plastic hand, whenever they were brought before his eyes, was very striking; and the rude workman was often gratified to find that his merit in one narrow field was, at once and intuitively, so fully appreciated by the young scholar. the instances are innumerable that would attest an unusual sympathy with the arts of construction even in their most simple stages. i led him one summer's evening into a brickfield. it had never occurred to him to ask himself how a brick is formed; the secret was revealed in a moment. he was charmed with the simple contrivance, and astonished at the rapidity, facility and exactness with which it was put in use by so many busy hands. an ordinary observer would have smiled and passed on, but the son of fancy confessed his delight with an energy which roused the attention even of the ragged throng, that seemed to exist only that they might pass successive lumps of clay through a wooden frame. i was surprised at the contrast between the general indifference of shelley for the mechanical arts and his intense admiration of a particular application of one of them the first time i noticed the latter peculiarity. during our residence at oxford i repaired to his rooms one morning at the accustomed hour, and i found a tailor with him. he had expected to receive a new coat on the preceding evening; it was not sent home and he was mortified. i know not why, for he was commonly altogether indifferent about dress, and scarcely appeared to distinguish one coat from another. he was now standing erect in the middle of the room in his new blue coat, with all its glittering buttons, and, to atone for the delay, the tailor was loudly extolling the beauty of the cloth and the felicity of the fit; his eloquence had not been thrown away upon his customer, for never was man more easily persuaded than the master of persuasion. the man of thimbles applied to me to vouch his eulogies. i briefly assented to them. he withdrew, after some bows, and shelley, snatching his hat, cried with shrill impatience,-- "let us go!" "do you mean to walk in the fields in your new coat?" i asked. "yes, certainly," he answered, and we sallied forth. we sauntered for a moderate space through lanes and by-ways, until we reached a spot near to a farmhouse, where the frequent trampling of much cattle had rendered the road almost impassable, and deep with black mud; but by crossing the corner of a stack-yard, from one gate to another, we could tread upon clean straw, and could wholly avoid the impure and impracticable slough. we had nearly effected the brief and commodious transit--i was stretching forth my hand to open the gate that led us back into the lane--when a lean, brindled and most ill-favoured mastiff, that had stolen upon us softly over the straw unheard and without barking, seized shelley suddenly by the skirts. i instantly kicked the animal in the ribs with so much force that i felt for some days after the influence of his gaunt bones on my toe. the blow caused him to flinch towards the left, and shelley, turning round quickly, planted a kick in his throat, which sent him sprawling, and made him retire hastily among the stacks, and we then entered the lane. the fury of the mastiff, and the rapid turn, had torn the skirts of the new blue coat across the back, just about that part of the human loins which our tailors, for some wise but inscrutable purpose, are wont to adorn with two buttons. they were entirely severed from the body, except a narrow strip of cloth on the left side, and this shelley presently rent asunder. i never saw him so angry either before or since. he vowed that he would bring his pistols and shoot the dog, and that he would proceed at law against the owner. the fidelity of the dog towards his master is very beautiful in theory, and there is much to admire and to revere in this ancient and venerable alliance; but, in practice, the most unexceptionable dog is a nuisance to all mankind, except his master, at all times, and very often to him also, and a fierce surly dog is the enemy of the whole human race. the farmyards in many parts of england are happily free from a pest that is formidable to everybody but thieves by profession; in other districts savage dogs abound, and in none so much, according to my experience, as in the vicinity of oxford. the neighbourhood of a still more famous city--of rome--is likewise infested by dogs, more lowering, more ferocious and incomparably more powerful. shelley was proceeding home with rapid strides, bearing the skirts of his new coat on his left arm, to procure his pistols that he might wreak his vengeance upon the offending dog. i disliked the race, but i did not desire to take an ignoble revenge upon the miserable individual. "let us try to fancy, shelley," i said to him, as he was posting away in indignant silence, "that we have been at oxford, and have come back again, and that you have just laid the beast low--and what then?" he was silent for some time, but i soon perceived, from the relaxation of his pace, that his anger had relaxed also. at last he stopped short, and taking the skirts from his arm, spread them upon the hedge, stood gazing at them with a mournful aspect, sighed deeply and, after a few moments, continued his march. "would it not be better to take the skirts with us?" i inquired. "no," he answered despondingly; "let them remain as a spectacle for men and gods!" we returned to oxford, and made our way by back streets to our college. as we entered the gates the officious scout remarked with astonishment shelley's strange spencer, and asked for the skirts, that he might instantly carry the wreck to the tailor. shelley answered, with his peculiarly pensive air, "they are upon the hedge." the scout looked up at the clock, at shelley and through the gate into the street, as it were at the same moment and with one eager glance, and would have run blindly in quest of them, but i drew the skirts from my pocket and unfolded them, and he followed us to shelley's rooms. we were sitting there in the evening at tea, when the tailor, who had praised the coat so warmly in the morning, brought it back as fresh as ever, and apparently uninjured. it had been fine-drawn. he showed how skilfully the wound had been healed, and he commended at some length the artist who had effected the cure. shelley was astonished and delighted. had the tailor consumed the new blue coat in one of his crucibles, and suddenly raised it, by magical incantation, a fresh and purple phoenix from the ashes, his admiration could hardly have been more vivid. it might be, in this instance, that his joy at the unexpected restoration of a coat, for which, although he was utterly indifferent to dress, he had, through some unaccountable caprice, conceived a fondness, gave force to his sympathy with art; but i have remarked in innumerable cases, where no personal motive could exist, that he was animated by all the ardour of a maker in witnessing the display of the creative energies. nor was the young poet less interested by imitation, especially the imitation of action, than by the creative arts. our theatrical representations have long been degraded by a most pernicious monopoly, by vast abuses and enormous corruptions, and by the prevalence of bad taste. far from feeling a desire to visit the theatres, shelley would have esteemed it a cruel infliction to have been compelled to witness performances that less fastidious critics have deemed intolerable. he found delight, however, in reading the best of our english dramas, particularly the masterpieces of shakespeare, and he was never weary of studying the more perfect compositions of the attic tragedians. the lineaments of individual character may frequently be traced more certainly and more distinctly in trifles than in more important affairs; for in the former the deportment, even of the boldest and more ingenuous, is more entirely emancipated from every restraint. i recollect many minute traits that display the inborn sympathy of a brother practitioner in the mimetic arts. one silly tale, because, in truth, it is the most trivial of all, will best illustrate the conformation of his mind; its childishness, therefore, will be pardoned. a young man of studious habits and of considerable talent occasionally derived a whimsical amusement, during his residence at cambridge, from entering the public-houses in the neighbouring villages, whilst the fen-farmers and other rustics were smoking and drinking, and from repeating a short passage of a play, or a portion of an oration, which described the death of a distinguished person, the fatal result of a mighty battle, or other important events, in a forcible manner. he selected a passage of which the language was nearly on a level with vulgar comprehension, or he adapted one by somewhat mitigating its elevation; and, although his appearance did not bespeak histrionic gifts, he was able to utter it impressively and, what was most effective, not theatrically, but simply and with the air of a man who was in earnest; and if he were interrupted or questioned, he could slightly modify the discourse, without materially changing the sense, to give it a further appearance of reality; and so staid and sober was the gravity of his demeanour as to render it impossible for the clowns to solve the wonder by supposing that he was mad. during his declamation the orator feasted inwardly on the stupid astonishment of his petrified audience, and he further regaled himself afterwards by imagining the strange conjectures that would commence at his departure. shelley was much interested by the account i gave him of this curious fact, from the relation of two persons, who had witnessed the performance. he asked innumerable questions, which i was in general quite unable to answer; and he spoke of it as something altogether miraculous, that anyone should be able to recite extraordinary events in such a manner as to gain credence. as he insisted much upon the difficulty of the exploit, i told him that i thought he greatly over-estimated it, i was disposed to believe that it was in truth easy; that faith and a certain gravity were alone needed. i had been struck by the story, when i first heard it; and i had often thought of the practicability of imitating the deception, and although i had never proceeded so far myself, i had once or twice found it convenient to attempt something similar. at these words shelley drew his chair close to mine, and listened with profound silence and intense curiosity. i was walking one afternoon in the summer on the western side of that short street leading from long acre to covent garden, wherein the passenger is earnestly invited, as a personal favour to the demandant, to proceed straightway to highgate or to kentish town, and which is called, i think, james street. i was about to enter covent garden, when an irish labourer, whom i met, bearing an empty hod, accosted me somewhat roughly, and asked why i had run against him. i told him briefly that he was mistaken. whether somebody had actually pushed the man, or he sought only to quarrel--and although he doubtless attended a weekly row regularly, and the week was already drawing to a close, he was unable to wait until sunday for a broken head--i know not; but he discoursed for some time with the vehemence of a man who considers himself injured or insulted, and he concluded, being emboldened by my long silence, with a cordial invitation just to push him again. several persons, not very unlike in costume, had gathered round him, and appeared to regard him with sympathy. when he paused, i addressed to him slowly and quietly, and it should seem with great gravity, these words, as nearly as i can recollect them:-- "i have put my hand into the hamper; i have looked upon the sacred barley; i have eaten out of the drum! i have drunk and was well pleased! i have said _konx ompax_, and it is finished!" "have you, sir?" inquired the astonished irishman, and his ragged friends instantly pressed round him with "where is the hamper, paddy?" "what barley?" and the like. and ladies from his own country--that is to say, the basket-women, suddenly began to interrogate him, "now, i say, pat, where have you been drinking? what have you had?" i turned therefore to the right, leaving the astounded neophyte, whom i had thus planted, to expound the mystic words of initiation as he could to his inquisitive companions. as i walked slowly under the piazzas, and through the streets and courts, towards the west, i marvelled at the ingenuity of orpheus--if he were indeed the inventor of the eleusinian mysteries--that he was able to devise words that, imperfectly as i had repeated them, and in the tattered fragment that has reached us, were able to soothe people so savage and barbarous as those to whom i had addressed them, and which, as the apologists for those venerable rites affirm, were manifestly well adapted to incite persons, who hear them for the first time, however rude they may be, to ask questions. words, that can awaken curiosity, even in the sluggish intellect of a wild man, and can thus open the inlet of knowledge! * * * * * "_konx ompax_, and it is finished!" exclaimed shelley, crowing with enthusiastic delight at my whimsical adventure. a thousand times, as he strode about the house, and in his rambles out of doors, would he stop and repeat aloud the mystic words of initiation, but always with an energy of manner, and a vehemence of tone and of gesture that would have prevented the ready acceptance, which a calm, passionless delivery had once procured for them. how often would he throw down his book, clasp his hands, and starting from his seat, cry suddenly, with a thrilling voice, "i have said _konx ompax_, and it is finished!" chapter vi as our attention is most commonly attracted by those departments of knowledge which are striking and remarkable, rather than by those which are really useful, so, in estimating the character of an individual, we are prone to admire extraordinary intellectual powers and uncommon energies of thought, and to overlook that excellence which is, in truth, the most precious--his moral value. was the subject of biography distinguished by a vast erudition? was he conspicuous for an original genius? for a warm and fruitful fancy? such are the implied questions which we seek to resolve by consulting the memoirs of his life. we may sometimes desire to be informed whether he was a man of nice honour and conspicuous integrity; but how rarely do we feel any curiosity with respect to that quality which is, perhaps, the most important to his fellows--how seldom do we desire to measure his benevolence! it would be impossible faithfully to describe the course of a single day in the ordinary life of shelley without showing incidentally and unintentionally, that his nature was eminently benevolent--and many minute traits, pregnant with proof, have been already scattered by the way; but it would be an injustice to his memory to forbear to illustrate expressly, but briefly, in leave-taking, the ardent, devoted, and unwearied love he bore his kind. a personal intercourse could alone enable the observer to discern in him a soul ready winged for flight and scarcely detained by the fetters of body: that happiness was, if possible, still more indispensable to open the view of the unbounded expanse of cloudless philanthropy--pure, disinterested, and unvaried--the aspect of which often filled with mute wonder the minds of simple people, unable to estimate a penetrating genius, a docile sagacity, a tenacious memory, or, indeed, any of the various ornaments of the soul. whenever the intimate friends of shelley speak of him in general terms, they speedily and unconsciously fall into the language of panegyric--a style of discourse that is barren of instruction, wholly devoid of interest, and justly suspected by the prudent stranger. it becomes them, therefore, on discovering the error they have committed, humbly to entreat the forgiveness of the charitable for human infirmity, oppressed and weighed down by the fulness of the subject--carefully to abstain in future from every vague expression of commendation, and faithfully to relate a plain, honest tale of unadorned facts. a regard for children, singular and touching, is an unerring and most engaging indication of a benevolent mind. that this characteristic was not wanting in shelley might be demonstrated by numerous examples which crowd upon the recollection, each of them bearing the strongly impressed stamp of individuality; for genius renders every surrounding circumstance significant and important. in one of our rambles we were traversing the bare, squalid, ugly, corn-yielding country, that lies, if i remember rightly, to the south-west of oxford. the hollow road ascended a hill, and near the summit shelley observed a female child leaning against the bank on the right; it was of a mean, dull and unattractive aspect, and older than its stunted growth denoted. the morning, as well as the preceding night, had been rainy; it had cleared up at noon with a certain ungenial sunshine, and the afternoon was distinguished by that intense cold which sometimes, in the winter season, terminates such days. the little girl was oppressed by cold, by hunger and by a vague feeling of abandonment. it was not easy to draw from her blue lips an intelligible history of her condition. love, however, is at once credulous and apprehensive; and shelley immediately decided that she had been deserted, and with his wonted precipitation (for in the career of humanity his active spirit knew no pause), he proposed different schemes for the permanent relief of the poor foundling, and he hastily inquired which of them was the most expedient. i answered that it was desirable, in the first place, to try to procure some food, for of this the want was manifestly the most urgent. i then climbed the hill to reconnoitre, and observed a cottage close at hand, on the left of the road. with considerable difficulty--with a gentle violence indeed--shelley induced the child to accompany him thither. after much delay, we procured from the people of the place, who resembled the dull, uncouth and perhaps sullen rustics of that district, some warm milk. it was a strange spectacle to watch the young poet, whilst, with the enthusiastic and intensely earnest manner that characterises the legitimate brethren of the celestial art--the heaven-born and fiercely inspired sons of genuine poesy--holding the wooden bowl in one hand and the wooden spoon in the other, and kneeling on his left knee, that he might more certainly attain to her mouth. he urged and encouraged the torpid and timid child to eat. the hot milk was agreeable to the girl, and its effects were salutary; but she was obviously uneasy at the detention. her uneasiness increased, and ultimately prevailed. we returned with her to the place where we had found her, shelley bearing the bowl of milk in his hand. here we saw some people anxiously looking for the child--a man and, i think, four women, strangers of the poorest class, of a mean but not disreputable appearance. as soon as the girl perceived them she was content, and taking the bowl from shelley, she finished the milk without his help. meanwhile, one of the women explained the apparent desertion with a multitude of rapid words. they had come from a distance, and to spare the weary child the fatigue of walking farther, the day being at that time sunny, they left her to await their return. those unforeseen delays, which harass all, and especially the poor, in transacting business, had detained them much longer than they had anticipated. such, in a few words, is the story which was related in many, and which the little girl, who, it was said, was somewhat deficient in understanding as well as in stature, was unable to explain. so humble was the condition of these poor wayfaring folks that they did not presume to offer thanks in words; but they often turned back, and with mute wonder gazed at shelley who, totally unconscious that he had done anything to excite surprise, returned with huge strides to the cottage to restore the bowl and to pay for the milk. as the needy travellers pursued their toilsome and possibly fruitless journey, they had at least the satisfaction to reflect that all above them were not desolated by a dreary apathy, but that some hearts were warm with that angelic benevolence towards inferiors in which still higher natures, as we are taught, largely participate. shelley would often pause, halting suddenly in his swift course, to admire the children of the country people; and after gazing on a sweet and intelligent countenance, he would exhibit, in the language and with an aspect of acute anguish, his intense feeling of the future sorrows and sufferings--of all the manifold evils of life which too often distort, by a mean and most disagreeable expression, the innocent, happy and engaging lineaments of youth. he sometimes stopped to observe the softness and simplicity that the face and gestures of a gentle girl displayed, and he would surpass her gentleness by his own. we were strolling once in the neighbourhood of oxford when shelley was attracted by a little girl. he turned aside, and stood and observed her in silence. she was about six years of age, small and slight, bare-headed, bare-legged, and her apparel variegated and tattered. she was busily employed in collecting empty snail-shells, so much occupied, indeed, that some moments elapsed before she turned her face towards us. when she did so, we perceived that she was evidently a young gipsy; and shelley was forcibly struck by the vivid intelligence of her wild and swarthy countenance, and especially by the sharp glance of her fierce black eyes. "how much intellect is here!" he exclaimed; "in how humble a vessel, and what an unworthy occupation for a person who once knew perfectly the whole circle of the sciences; who has forgotten them all, it is true, but who could certainly recollect them, although most probably she will never do so, will never recall a single principle of all of them!" as he spoke he turned aside a bramble with his foot and discovered a large shell which the alert child instantly caught up and added to her store. at the same moment a small stone was thrown from the other side of the road; it fell in the hedge near us. we turned round and saw on the top of a high bank a boy, some three years older than the girl, and in as rude a guise. he was looking at us over a low hedge, with a smile, but plainly not without suspicion. we might be two kidnappers, he seemed to think; he was in charge of his little sister, and did not choose to have her stolen before his face. he gave the signal, therefore, and she obeyed it, and had almost joined him before we missed her from our side. they both disappeared, and we continued our walk. shelley was charmed with the intelligence of the two children of nature, and with their marvellous wildness. he talked much about them, and compared them to birds and to the two wild leverets, which that wild mother, the hare, produces. we sauntered about, and, half an hour afterwards, on turning a corner, we suddenly met the two children again full in the face. the meeting was unlooked for, and the air of the boy showed that it was unpleasant to him. he had a large bundle of dry sticks under his arm; these he gently dropped and stood motionless with an apprehensive smile--a deprecatory smile. we were perhaps the lords of the soil, and his patience was prepared, for patience was his lot--an inalienable inheritance long entailed upon his line--to hear a severe reproof with heavy threats, possibly even to receive blows with a stick gathered by himself not altogether unwittingly for his own back, or to find mercy and forbearance. shelley's demeanour soon convinced him that he had nothing to fear. he laid a hand on the round, matted, knotted, bare and black head of each, viewed their moving, mercurial countenances with renewed pleasure and admiration, and, shaking his long locks, suddenly strode away. "that little ragged fellow knows as much as the wisest philosopher," he presently cried, clapping the wings of his soul and crowing aloud with shrill triumph at the felicitous union of the true with the ridiculous, "but he will not communicate any portion of his knowledge. it is not from churlishness, however, for of that his nature is plainly incapable; but the sophisticated urchin will persist in thinking he has forgotten all that he knows so well. i was about to ask him myself to communicate some of the doctrines plato unfolds in his _dialogues_; but i felt that it would do no good; the rogue would have laughed at me, and so would his little sister. i wonder you did not propose to them some mathematical questions: just a few interrogations in your geometry; for that being so plain and certain, if it be once thoroughly understood, can never be forgotten!" a day or two afterwards (or it might be on the morrow), as we were rambling in the favourite region at the foot of shotover hill, a gipsy's tent by the roadside caught shelley's eye. men and women were seated on the ground in front of it, watching a pot suspended over a smoky fire of sticks. he cast a passing glance at the ragged group, but immediately stopped on recognising the children, who remembered us and ran laughing into the tent. shelley laughed also and waved his hand, and the little girl returned the salutation. there were many striking contrasts in the character and behaviour of shelley, and one of the most remarkable was a mixture or alternation of awkwardness with agility, of the clumsy with the graceful. he would stumble in stepping across the floor of a drawing-room; he would trip himself up on a smooth-shaven grass-plot, and he would tumble in the most inconceivable manner in ascending the commodious, facile, and well-carpeted staircase of an elegant mansion, so as to bruise his nose or his lip on the upper steps, or to tread upon his hands, and even occasionally to disturb the composure of a well-bred footman; on the contrary, he would often glide without collision through a crowded assembly, thread with unerring dexterity a most intricate path, or securely and rapidly tread the most arduous and uncertain ways. as soon as he saw the children enter the tent he darted after them with his peculiar agility, followed them into their low, narrow and fragile tenement, penetrated to the bottom of the tent without removing his hat or striking against the woven edifice. he placed a hand on each round, rough head, spoke a few kind words to the skulking children, and then returned not less precipitously, and with as much ease and accuracy as if he had been a dweller in tents from the hour when he first drew air and milk to that day, as if he had been the descendant, not of a gentle house, but of a long line of gipsies. his visit roused the jealousy of a stunted, feeble dog, which followed him, and barked with helpless fury; he did not heed it nor, perhaps, hear it. the company of gipsies were astonished at the first visit that had ever been made by a member of either university to their humble dwelling; but, as its object was evidently benevolent, they did not stir or interfere, but greeted him on his return with a silent and unobserved salutation. he seized my arm, and we prosecuted our speculations as we walked briskly to our college. the marvellous gentleness of his demeanour could conciliate the least sociable natures, and it had secretly touched the wild things which he had thus briefly noticed. we were wandering through the roads and lanes at a short distance from the tent soon afterwards, and were pursuing our way in silence. i turned round at a sudden sound--the young gipsy had stolen upon us unperceived, and with a long bramble had struck shelley across the skirts of his coat. he had dropped his rod, and was returning softly to the hedge. certain misguided persons, who, unhappily for themselves, were incapable of understanding the true character of shelley, have published many false and injurious calumnies respecting him--some for hire, others drawing largely out of the inborn vulgarity of their own minds, or from the necessary malignity of ignorance--but no one ever ventured to say that he was not a good judge of an orange. at this time, in his nineteenth year, although temperate, he was less abstemious in his diet than he afterwards became, and he was frequently provided with some fine samples. as soon as he understood the rude but friendly welcome to the heaths and lanes, he drew an orange from his pocket and rolled it after the retreating gipsy along the grass by the side of the wide road. the boy started with surprise as the golden fruit passed him, quickly caught it up and joyfully bore it away, bending reverently over it and carrying it with both his hands, as if, together with almost the size, it had also the weight of a cannon-ball. his passionate fondness of the platonic philosophy seemed to sharpen his natural affection for children, and his sympathy with their innocence. every true platonist, he used to say, must be a lover of children, for they are our masters and instructors in philosophy. the mind of a new-born infant, so far from being, as locke affirms, a sheet of blank paper, is a pocket edition containing every dialogue, a complete elzevir plato, if we can fancy such a pleasant volume, and moreover a perfect encyclopedia, comprehending not only the newest discoveries, but all those still more valuable and wonderful inventions that will hereafter be made. one sunday we had been reading plato together so diligently that the usual hour of exercise passed away unperceived. we sallied forth hastily to take the air for half an hour before dinner. in the middle of magdalen bridge we met a woman with a child in her arms. shelley was more attentive at that instant to our conduct in a life that was past or to come than to a decorous regulation of the present, according to the established usages of society in that fleeting moment of eternal duration styled the nineteenth century. with abrupt dexterity he caught hold of the child. the mother, who might well fear that it was about to be thrown over the parapet of the bridge into the sedgy waters below, held it fast by its long train. "will your baby tell us anything about pre-existence, madam?" he asked, in a piercing voice and with a wistful look. the mother made no answer, but, perceiving that shelley's object was not murderous but altogether harmless, she dismissed her apprehension and relaxed her hold. "will your baby tell us anything about pre-existence, madam?" he repeated, with unabated earnestness. "he cannot speak, sir," said the mother, seriously. "worse and worse," cried shelley, with an air of deep disappointment, shaking his long hair most pathetically about his young face; "but surely the babe can speak if he will, for he is only a few weeks old. he may fancy, perhaps, that he cannot, but it is only a silly whim. he cannot have forgotten entirely the use of speech in so short a time. the thing is absolutely impossible!" "it is not for me to dispute with you, gentlemen," the woman meekly replied, her eye glancing at our academical garb, "but i can safely declare that i never heard him speak, nor any child, indeed, of his age." it was a fine, placid boy: so far from being disturbed by the interruption, he looked up and smiled. shelley pressed his fat cheeks with his fingers; we commended his healthy appearance and his equanimity, and the mother was permitted to proceed, probably to her satisfaction, for she would doubtless prefer a less speculative nurse. shelley sighed deeply as we walked on. "how provokingly close are those new-born babes!" he ejaculated; "but it is not the less certain, notwithstanding the cunning attempts to conceal the truth, that all knowledge is reminiscence. the doctrine is far more ancient than the times of plato, and as old as the venerable allegory that the muses are the daughters of memory; not one of the nine was ever said to be the child of invention!" in consequence of this theory, upon which his active imagination loved to dwell, and which he was delighted to maintain in argument with the few persons qualified to dispute with him on the higher metaphysics, his fondness for children--a fondness innate in generous minds--was augmented and elevated, and the gentle instinct expanded into a profound and philosophical sentiment. the platonists have been illustrious in all ages on account of the strength and permanence of their attachments. in shelley the parental affections were developed at an early period to an unusual extent. it was manifest, therefore, that his heart was formed by nature and by cultivation to derive the most exquisite gratification from the society of his own progeny, or the most poignant anguish from a natural or unnatural bereavement. to strike him here was the cruel admonition which a cursory glance would at once convey to him who might seek where to wound him most severely with a single blow, should he ever provoke the vengeance of an enemy to the active and fearless spirit of liberal investigation and to all solid learning--of a foe to the human race. with respect to the theory of the pre-existence of the soul, it is not wonderful that an ardent votary of the intellectual should love to uphold it in strenuous and protracted disputation, as it places the immortality of the soul in an impregnable castle, and not only secures it an existence independent of the body, as it were, by usage and prescription, but moreover, raising it out of the dirt on tall stilts, elevates it far above the mud of matter. it is not wonderful that a subtle sophist, who esteemed above all riches and terrene honours victory in well-fought debate, should be willing to maintain a dogma that is not only of difficult eversion by those who, struggling as mere metaphysicians, use no other weapon than unassisted reason, but which one of the most illustrious fathers of the church--a man of amazing powers and stupendous erudition, armed with the prodigious resources of the christian theology, the renowned origen--was unable to dismiss; retaining it as not dissonant from his informed reason, and as affording a larger scope for justice in the moral government of the universe. in addition to his extreme fondness for children, another and a not less unequivocal characteristic of a truly philanthropic mind was eminently and still more remarkably conspicuous in shelley--his admiration of men of learning and genius. in truth the devotion, the reverence, the religion with which he was kindled towards all the masters of intellect, cannot be described, and must be utterly inconceivable to minds less deeply enamoured with the love of wisdom. the irreverent many cannot comprehend the awe, the careless apathetic worldling cannot imagine the enthusiasm, nor can the tongue that attempts only to speak of things visible to the bodily eye, express the mighty motion that inwardly agitated him when he approached, for the first time, a volume which he believed to be replete with the recondite and mystic philosophy of antiquity; his cheeks glowed, his eyes became bright, his whole frame trembled, and his entire attention was immediately swallowed up in the depths of contemplation. the rapid and vigorous conversion of his soul to intellect can only be compared with the instantaneous ignition and combustion which dazzle the sight, when a bundle of dry reeds or other inflammable substance is thrown upon a fire already rich with accumulated heat. the company of persons of merit was delightful to him, and he often spoke with a peculiar warmth of the satisfaction he hoped to derive from the society of the most distinguished literary and scientific characters of the day in england, and the other countries of europe, when his own attainments would justify him in seeking their acquaintance. he was never weary of recounting the rewards and favours that authors had formerly received; and he would detail in pathetic language, and with a touching earnestness, the instances of that poverty and neglect which an iron age assigned as the fitting portion of solid erudition and undoubted talents. he would contrast the niggard praise and the paltry payments that the cold and wealthy moderns reluctantly dole out, with the ample and heartfelt commendation and the noble remuneration which were freely offered by the more generous but less opulent ancients. he spoke with an animation of gesture and an elevation of voice of him who undertook a long journey, that he might once see the historian livy; and he recounted the rich legacies which were bequeathed to cicero and pliny the younger by testators venerating their abilities and attainments--his zeal, enthusiastic in the cause of letters, giving an interest and a novelty to the most trite and familiar instances. his disposition being wholly munificent, gentle and friendly, how generous a patron would he have proved had he ever been in the actual possession of even moderate wealth! out of a scanty and somewhat precarious income, inadequate to allow the indulgence of the most ordinary superfluities, and diminished by various casual but unavoidable incumbrances, he was able, by restricting himself to a diet more simple than the fare of the most austere anchorite, and by refusing himself horses and the other gratifications that appear properly to belong to his station, and of which he was in truth very fond, to bestow upon men of letters, whose merits were of too high an order to be rightly estimated by their own generation, donations large indeed, if we consider from how narrow a source they flowed. but to speak of this, his signal and truly admirable bounty, save only in the most distant manner and the most general terms, would be a flagrant violation of that unequalled delicacy with which it was extended to undeserved indigence, accompanied by well-founded and most commendable pride. to allude to any particular instance, however obscurely and indistinctly, would be unpardonable; but it would be scarcely less blameable to dismiss the consideration of the character of the benevolent young poet without some imperfect testimony of this rare excellence. that he gave freely, when the needy scholar asked or in silent, hopeless poverty seemed to ask his aid, will be demonstrated most clearly by relating shortly one example of his generosity, where the applicant had no pretensions to literary renown, and no claim whatever, except perhaps honest penury. it is delightful to attempt to delineate from various points of view a creature of infinite moral beauty, but one instance must suffice; an ample volume might be composed of such tales, but one may be selected because it contains a large admixture of that ingredient which is essential to the conversion of almsgiving into the genuine virtue of charity--self-denial. on returning to town after the long vacation at the end of october, i found shelley at one of the hotels in covent garden. having some business in hand he was passing a few days there alone. we had taken some mutton chops hastily at a dark place in one of the minute courts of the city at an early hour, and we went forth to walk; for to walk at all times, and especially in the evening, was his supreme delight. the aspect of the fields to the north of somers town, between that beggarly suburb and kentish town, has been totally changed of late. although this district could never be accounted pretty, nor deserving a high place even amongst suburban scenes, yet the air, or often the wind, seemed pure and fresh to captives emerging from the smoke of london. there were certain old elms, much very green grass, quiet cattle feeding and groups of noisy children playing with something of the freedom of the village green. there was, oh blessed thing! an entire absence of carriages and of blood-horses; of the dust and dress and affectation and fashion of the parks; there were, moreover, old and quaint edifices and objects which gave character to the scene. whenever shelley was imprisoned in london--for to a poet a close and crowded city must be a dreary gaol--his steps would take that direction, unless his residence was too remote, or he was accompanied by one who chose to guide his walk. on this occasion i was led thither, as indeed i had anticipated. the weather was fine, but the autumn was already advanced; we had not sauntered long in these fields when the dusky evening closed in, and the darkness gradually thickened. "how black those trees are," said shelley, stopping short and pointing to a row of elms. "it is so dark the trees might well be houses and the turf pavement--the eye would sustain no loss. it is useless, therefore, to remain here; let us return." he proposed tea at his hotel, i assented; and hastily buttoning his coat he seized my arm and set off at his great pace, striding with bent knees over the fields and through the narrow streets. we were crossing the new road, when he said shortly, "i must call for a moment, but it will not be out of the way at all," and then dragged me suddenly towards the left. i inquired whither we were bound, and, i believe, i suggested the postponement of the intended call till the morrow. he answered, it was not at all out of our way. i was hurried along rapidly towards the left. we soon fell into an animated discussion respecting the nature of the virtue of the romans, which in some measure beguiled the weary way. whilst he was talking with much vehemence and a total disregard of the people who thronged the streets, he suddenly wheeled about and pushed me through a narrow door; to my infinite surprise i found myself in a pawnbroker's shop. it was in the neighbourhood of newgate street, for he had no idea whatever, in practice, either of time or space, nor did he in any degree regard method in the conduct of business. there were several women in the shop in brown and grey cloaks, with squalling children. some of them were attempting to persuade the children to be quiet, or at least to scream with moderation; the others were enlarging upon and pointing out the beauties of certain coarse and dirty sheets that lay before them to a man on the other side of the counter. i bore this substitute for our proposed tea some minutes with tolerable patience, but as the call did not promise to terminate speedily, i said to shelley, in a whisper, "is not this almost as bad as the roman virtue?" upon this he approached the pawnbroker; it was long before he could obtain a hearing, and he did not find civility. the man was unwilling to part with a valuable pledge so soon, or perhaps he hoped to retain it eventually; or it might be that the obliquity of his nature disqualified him for respectful behaviour. a pawnbroker is frequently an important witness in criminal proceedings. it has happened to me, therefore, afterwards to see many specimens of this kind of banker. they sometimes appeared not less respectable than other tradesmen, and sometimes i have been forcibly reminded of the first i ever met with, by an equally ill-conditioned fellow. i was so little pleased with the introduction that i stood aloof in the shop, and did not hear what passed between him and shelley. on our way to covent garden i expressed my surprise and dissatisfaction at our strange visit, and i learned that when he came to london before, in the course of the summer, some old man had related to him a tale of distress--of a calamity which could only be alleviated by the timely application of ten pounds; five of them he drew at once from his pocket, and to raise the other five he had pawned his beautiful solar microscope! he related this act of beneficence simply and briefly, as if it were a matter of course, and such indeed it was to him. i was ashamed at my impatience, and we strode along in silence. it was past ten when we reached the hotel. some excellent tea and a liberal supply of hot muffins in the coffee-room, now quiet and solitary, were the more grateful after the wearisome delay and vast deviation. shelley often turned his head and cast eager glances towards the door, and whenever the waiter replenished our tea-pot or approached our box he was interrogated whether anyone had yet called. at last the desired summons was brought. shelley drew forth some banknotes, hurried to the bar, and returned as hastily, bearing in triumph under his arm a mahogany box, followed by the officious waiter, with whose assistance he placed it upon the bench by his side. he viewed it often with evident satisfaction, and sometimes patted it affectionately in the course of calm conversation. the solar microscope was always a favourite plaything or instrument of scientific inquiry. whenever he entered a house his first care was to choose some window of a southern aspect, and, if permission could be obtained by prayer or by purchase, straightway to cut a hole through the shutter to receive it. his regard for his solar microscope was as lasting as it was strong; for he retained it several years after this adventure, and long after he had parted with all the rest of his philosophical apparatus. such is the story of the microscope, and no rightly judging person who hears it will require the further accumulation of proofs of a benevolent heart; nor can i, perhaps, better close this sketch than with that impression of the pure and genial beauty of shelley's nature which this simple anecdote will bequeath. chapter vii the theory of civil liberty has ever seemed lovely to the eyes of a young man enamoured of moral and intellectual beauty. shelley's devotion to freedom, therefore, was ardent and sincere. he would have submitted with cheerful alacrity to the greatest sacrifices, had they been demanded of him, to advance the sacred cause of liberty; and he would have gallantly encountered every peril in the fearless resistance to active oppression. nevertheless, in ordinary times, although a generous and unhesitating patriot, he was little inclined to consume the pleasant season of youth amidst the intrigues and clamours of elections, and in the dull and selfish cabals of parties. his fancy viewed from a lofty eminence the grand scheme of an ideal republic; and he could not descend to the humble task of setting out the boundaries of neighbouring rights, and to the uninviting duties of actual administration. he was still less disposed to interest himself in the politics of the day because he observed the pernicious effects of party zeal in a field where it ought not to enter. it is no slight evil, but a heavy price paid for popular institutions, that society should be divided into hostile clans to serve the selfish purposes of a few political adventurers; and surely to introduce politics within the calm precincts of a university ought to be deemed a capital offence--a felony without benefit of clergy. the undue admission (to borrow the language of universities for a moment) is not less fatal to its existence as an institution designed for the advancement of learning, than the reception of the wooden horse within the walls of troy was to the safety of that renowned city. what does it import the interpreters of pindar and thucydides, the expositors of plato and aristotle, if a few interested persons, for the sake of some lucrative posts, affect to believe that it is a matter of vital importance to the state to concede certain privileges to the roman catholics; whilst others, for the same reason, pretend with tears in their eyes that the concessions would be dangerous and indeed destructive, and shudder with feigned horror at the harmless proposal? such pretexts may be advantageous and perhaps even honourable to the ingenious persons who use them for the purposes of immediate advancement; but of what concernment are they to apollo and the muses? how could the catholic question augment the calamities of priam, or diminish the misfortunes of the ill-fated house of labdacus? or which of the doubts of the ancient philosophers would the most satisfactory solution of it remove? why must the modest student come forth and dance upon the tightrope, with the mountebanks, since he is to receive no part of the reward, and would not emulate the glory of those meritorious artists? yet did this most inapplicable question mainly contribute to poison the harmless and studious felicity which we enjoyed at oxford. during the whole period of our residence there the university was cruelly disfigured by bitter feuds, arising out of the late election of its chancellor; in an especial manner was our own most venerable college deformed by them, and by angry and senseless disappointment. lord grenville had just been chosen. there could be no more comparison between his scholarship and his various qualifications for the honourable and useless office, and the claims of his unsuccessful opponent, than between the attainments of the best man of the year and those of the huge porter, who with a stern and solemn civility kept the gates of university college--the arts of mulled-wine and egg-hot being, in the latter case, alone excepted. the vanquished competitor, however, most unfortunately for its honour and character, was a member of our college; and in proportion as the intrinsic merits of our rulers were small, had the vehemence and violence of electioneering been great, that, through the abuse of the patronage of the church, they might attain to those dignities as the rewards of the activity of partisans, which they could never hope to reach through the legitimate road of superior learning and talents. their vexation at failing was the more sharp and abiding, because the only objection that vulgar bigotry could urge against the victor was his disposition to make concessions to the roman catholics; and every dull lampoon about popes and cardinals and the scarlet lady had accordingly been worn threadbare in vain. since the learned and liberal had conquered, learning and liberality were peculiarly odious with us at that epoch. the studious scholar, particularly if he were of an inquiring disposition, and of a bold and free temper, was suspected and disliked; he was one of the enemy's troops. the inert and the subservient were the loyal soldiers of the legitimate army of the faith. the despised and scattered nation of scholars is commonly unfortunate; but a more severe calamity has seldom befallen the remnant of true israelites than to be led captive by such a generation! youth is happy, because it is blithe and healthful and exempt from care; but it is doubly and trebly happy, since it is honest and fearless, honourable and disinterested. in the whole body of undergraduates, scarcely one was friendly to the holder of the loaves and the promiser of the fishes--lord eldon. all were eager--all, one and all--in behalf of the scholar and the liberal statesman; and plain and loud was the avowal of their sentiments. a sullen demeanour towards the young rebels displayed the annoyance arising from the want of success and from our lack of sympathy, and it would have demonstrated to the least observant that, where the muses dwell, the quarrels and intrigues of political parties ought not to come. by his family and his connections, as well as by disposition, shelley was attached to the successful side; and although it was manifest that he was a youth of an admirable temper, of rare talents and unwearied industry, and likely, therefore, to shed a lustre upon his college and the university itself, yet, as he was eminently delighted at that wherewith his superiors were offended, he was regarded from the beginning with a jealous eye. a young man of spirit will despise the mean spite of sordid minds; nevertheless the persecution which a generous soul can contemn, through frequent repetition too often becomes a severe annoyance in the long course of life, and shelley frequently and most pathetically lamented the political divisions which then harassed the university, and were a more fertile source of manifold ills in the wider field of active life. for this reason did he appear to cling more closely to our sweet, studious seclusion; and from this cause, perhaps, principally arose his disinclination--i may say, indeed, his intense antipathy--for the political career that had been proposed to him. a lurking suspicion would sometimes betray itself that he was to be forced into that path, and impressed into the civil service of the state, to become, as it were, a conscript legislator. a newspaper never found its way to his rooms the whole period of his residence at oxford; but when waiting in a bookseller's shop or at an inn he would sometimes, although rarely, permit his eye to be attracted by a murder or a storm. having perused the tale of wonder or of horror, if it chanced to stray to a political article, after reading a few lines he invariably threw it aside to a great distance; and he started from his seat his face flushing, and strode about muttering broken sentences, the purport of which was always the same: his extreme dissatisfaction at the want of candour and fairness, and the monstrous disingenuousness which politicians manifest in speaking of the characters and measures of their rivals. strangers, who caught imperfectly the sense of his indistinct murmurs, were often astonished at the vehemence of his mysterious displeasure. once i remember a bookseller, the master of a very small shop in a little country town, but apparently a sufficiently intelligent man, could not refrain from expressing his surprise that anyone should be offended with proceedings that seemed to him as much in the ordinary course of trade, and as necessary to its due exercise, as the red ligature of the bundle of quills, or the thin and pale brown wrapper which enclosed the quire of letter paper we had just purchased of him. a man of talents and learning, who refused to enlist under the banners of any party and did not deign to inform himself of the politics of the day, or to take the least part or interest in them, would be a noble and a novel spectacle; but so many persons hope to profit by dissensions, that the merits of such a steady lover of peace would not be duly appreciated, either by the little provincial bookseller or the other inhabitants of our turbulent country. the ordinary lectures in our college were of much shorter duration, and decidedly less difficult and less instructive than the lessons we had received in the higher classes of a public school; nor were our written exercises more stimulating than the oral. certain compositions were required at stated periods; but, however excellent they might be, they were never commended; however deficient, they were never censured; and, being altogether unnoticed, there was no reason to suppose that they were ever read. the university at large was not less remiss than each college in particular; the only incitement proposed was an examination at the end of four years. the young collegian might study in private, as diligently as he would, at oxford as in every other place; and if he chose to submit his pretensions to the examiners, his name was set down in the first, the second or the third class--if i mistake not, there were three divisions--according to his advancement. this list was printed precisely at the moment when he quitted the university for ever; a new generation of strangers might read the names of the unknown proficients, if they would. it was notorious, moreover, that, merely to obtain the academical degrees, every new-comer, who had passed through a tolerable grammar-school, brought with him a stock of learning, of which the residuum that had not evaporated during four years of dissipation and idleness, would be more than sufficient. the languid course of chartered laziness was ill suited to the ardent activity and glowing zeal of shelley. since those persons, who were hired at an enormous charge by his own family and by the state to find due and beneficial employment for him, thought fit to neglect this, their most sacred duty, he began forthwith to set himself to work. he read diligently--i should rather say he devoured greedily, with the voracious appetite of a famished man--the authors that roused his curiosity; he discoursed and discussed with energy; he wrote, he began to print and he designed soon to publish various works. he begins betimes who begins to instruct mankind at eighteen. the judicious will probably be of opinion that in eighteen years man can scarcely learn how to learn; and that for eighteen more years he ought to be content to learn; and if, at the end of the second period, he still thinks that he can impart anything worthy of attention, it is, at least, early enough to begin to teach. the fault, however, if it were a fault, was to be imputed to the times, and not to the individual, as the numerous precocious effusions of the day attest. shelley was quick to conceive, and not less quick to execute. when i called one morning at one, i found him busily occupied with some proofs, which he continued to correct and re-correct with anxious care. as he was wholly absorbed in this occupation, i selected a book from the floor, where there was always a good store, and read in silence for at least an hour. my thoughts being as completely abstracted as those of my companion, he startled me by suddenly throwing a paper with some force on the middle of the table, and saying, in a penetrating whisper, as he sprang eagerly from his chair, "i am going to publish some poems." in answer to my inquiries, he put the proofs into my hands. i read them twice attentively, for the poems were very short; and i told him there were some good lines, some bright thoughts, but there were likewise many irregularities and incongruities. i added that correctness was important in all compositions, but it constituted the essence of short ones; and that it surely would be imprudent to bring his little book out so hastily; and then i pointed out the errors and defects. he listened in silence with much attention, and did not dispute what i said, except that he remarked faintly that it would not be known that he was the author, and therefore the publication could not do him any harm. i answered that, although it might not be disadvantageous to be the unknown author of an unread work, it certainly could not be beneficial. he made no reply; and we immediately went out, and strolled about the public walks. we dined and returned to his rooms, where we conversed on different subjects. he did not mention his poems, but they occupied his thoughts; for he did not fall asleep as usual. whilst we were at tea, he said abruptly, "i think you disparage my poems. tell me what you dislike in them, for i have forgotten." i took the proofs from the place where i had left them, and looking over them, repeated the former objections, and suggested others. he acquiesced; and, after a pause, asked, might they be altered? i assented. "i will alter them." "it will be better to re-write them; a short poem should be of the first impression." some time afterwards he anxiously inquired, "but in their present form you do not think they ought to be published?" i had been looking over the proofs again, and i answered, "only as burlesque poetry;" and i read a part, changing it a little here and there. he laughed at the parody, and begged i would repeat it. i took a pen and altered it; and he then read it aloud several times in a ridiculous tone, and was amused by it. his mirth consoled him for the condemnation of his verses, and the intention of publishing them was abandoned. the proofs lay in his rooms for some days, and we occasionally amused ourselves during an idle moment by making them more and more ridiculous; by striking out the more sober passages; by inserting whimsical conceits, and especially by giving them what we called a dithyrambic character, which was effected by cutting some lines out, and joining the different parts together that would agree in construction, but were the most discordant in sense. although shelley was of a grave disposition, he had a certain sly relish for a practical joke, so that it were ingenuous and abstruse and of a literary nature. he would often exult in the successful forgeries of chatterton and ireland; and he was especially delighted with a trick that had lately been played at oxford by a certain noble viceroy, at that time an undergraduate, respecting the fairness of which the university was divided in opinion, all the undergraduates accounting it most just, and all the graduates, and especially the bachelors, extremely iniquitous, and indeed popish and jesuitical. a reward is offered annually for the best english essay on a subject proposed: the competitors send their anonymous essays, each being distinguished by a motto; when the grave arbitrators have selected the most worthy, they burn the vanquished essays, and open the sealed paper endorsed with a corresponding motto, and containing the name of the victor. on the late famous contention, all the ceremonies had been duly performed, but the sealed paper presented the name of an undergraduate, who was not qualified to be a candidate, and all the less meritorious discourses of the bachelors had been burnt, together with their sealed papers--so there was to be no bachelor's prize that year. when we had conferred a competent absurdity upon the proofs, we amused ourselves by proposing, but without the intention of executing our project, divers ludicrous titles for the work. sometimes we thought of publishing it in the name of some one of the chief living poets, or possibly of one of the graver authorities of the day; and we regaled ourselves by describing his wrathful renunciations, and his astonishment at finding himself immortalised, without his knowledge and against his will: the inability to die could not be more disagreeable even to tithonus himself; but how were we to handcuff our ungrateful favourite, that he might not tear off the unfading laurel which we were to place upon his brow? i hit upon a title at last, to which the pre-eminence was given, and we inscribed it upon the cover. a mad washerwoman, named peg nicholson, had attempted to stab the king, george the third, with a carving-knife; the story has long been forgotten, but it was then fresh in the recollection of every one; it was proposed that we should ascribe the poems to her. the poor woman was still living, and in green vigour within the walls of bedlam; but since her existence must be uncomfortable, there could be no harm in putting her to death, and in creating a nephew and administrator to be the editor of his aunt's poetical works. the idea gave an object and purpose to our burlesque--to ridicule the strange mixture of sentimentality with the murderous fury of the revolutionists, that was so prevalent in the compositions of the day; and the proofs were altered again to adapt them to this new scheme, but still without any notion of publication. when the bookseller called to ask for the proof, shelley told him that he had changed his mind, and showed them to him. the man was so much pleased with the whimsical conceit that he asked to be permitted to publish the book on his own account; promising inviolable secrecy, and as many copies _gratis_ as might be required: after some hesitation, permission was granted, upon the plighted honour of the trade. in a few days, or rather in a few hours, a noble quarto appeared; it consisted of a small number of pages, it is true, but they were of the largest size, of the thickest, the whitest and the smoothest drawing paper; a large, clear and handsome type had impressed a few lines with ink of a rich, glossy black, amidst ample margins. the poor maniac laundress was gravely styled "the late mrs margaret nicholson, widow;" and the sonorous name of fitzvictor had been culled for her inconsolable nephew and administrator. to add to his dignity, the waggish printer had picked up some huge text types of so unusual a form that even an antiquary could not spell the words at the first glance. the effect was certainly striking; shelley had torn open the large square bundle before the printer's boy quitted the room, and holding out a copy with both his hands, he ran about in an ecstasy of delight, gazing at the superb title-page. the first poem was a long one, condemning war in the lump--puling trash, that might have been written by a quaker, and could only have been published in sober sadness by a society instituted for the diffusion of that kind of knowledge which they deemed useful--useful for some end which they have not been pleased to reveal, and which unassisted reason is wholly unable to discover. the ms. had been confided to shelley by some rhymester of the day, and it was put forth in this shape to astonish a weak mind; but principally to captivate the admirers of philosophical poetry by the manifest incongruity of disallowing all war, even the most just, and then turning sharp round, and recommending the dagger of the assassin as the best cure for all evils, and the sure passport to a lady's favour. our book of useful knowledge--the philosopher's own book--contained sundry odes and other pieces, professing an ardent attachment to freedom, and proposing to stab all who were less enthusiastic than the supposed authoress. the work, however, was altered a little, i believe, before the final impression; but i never read it afterwards, for, when an author once sees his book in print, his task is ended, and he may fairly leave the perusal of it to posterity. i have one copy, if not more, somewhere or other, but not at hand. there were some verses, i remember, with a good deal about sucking in them; to these i objected, as unsuitable to the gravity of a university, but shelley declared they would be the most impressive of all. there was a poem concerning a young woman, one charlotte somebody, who attempted to assassinate robespierre, or some such person; and there was to have been a rapturous monologue to the dagger of brutus. the composition of such a piece was no mean effort of the muse. it was completed at last, but not in time; as the dagger itself has probably fallen a prey to rust, so the more pointed and polished monologue, it is to be feared, has also perished through a more culpable neglect. a few copies were sent, as a special favour, to trusty and sagacious friends at a distance, whose gravity would not permit them to suspect a hoax. they read and admired, being charmed with the wild notes of liberty. some, indeed, presumed to censure mildly certain passages as having been thrown off in too bold a vein. nor was a certain success wanting--the remaining copies were rapidly sold in oxford at the aristocratical price of half-a-crown for half-a-dozen pages. we used to meet gownsmen in high street reading the goodly volume as they walked--pensive, with a grave and sage delight--some of them, perhaps, more pensive because it seemed to portend the instant overthrow of all royalty from a king to a court card. what a strange delusion to admire our stuff--the concentrated essence of nonsense! it was indeed a kind of fashion to be seen reading it in public, as a mark of a nice discernment, of a delicate and fastidious taste in poetry, and the very criterion of a choice spirit. nobody suspected, or could suspect, who was the author. the thing passed off as the genuine production of the would-be regicide. it is marvellous, in truth, how little talent of any kind there was in our famous university in those days; there was no great encouragement, however, to display intellectual gifts. the acceptance, as a serious poem, of a work so evidently designed for a burlesque upon the prevailing notion of the day, that revolutionary ruffians were the most fit recipients of the gentlest passions, was a foretaste of the prodigious success that, a few years later, attended a still more whimsical paradox. poets had sung already that human ties put love at once to flight; that at the sight of civil obligations he spreads his light wings in a moment and makes default. the position was soon greatly extended, and we were taught by a noble poet that even the slightest recognition of the law of nations was fatal to the tender passion. the very captain of a privateer was pronounced incapable of a pure and ardent attachment; the feeble control of letters of marque could effectually check the course of affection; a complete union of souls could only be accomplished under the black flag. your true lover must necessarily be an enemy of the whole human race--a mere and absolute pirate. it is true that the tales of the love-sick buccaneers were adorned with no ordinary talent, but the theory is not less extraordinary on that account. the operation of peg nicholson was bland and innoxious. the next work that shelley printed was highly deleterious, and was destined to shed a baneful influence over his future progress. in itself it was more harmless than the former, but it was turned to a deadly poison by the unprovoked malice of fortune. we had read together attentively several of the metaphysical works that were most in vogue at that time, as locke _concerning human understanding_, and hume's _essays_, particularly the latter, of which we had made a very careful analysis, as was customary with those who read the _ethics_ and the other treatises of aristotle for their degree. shelley had the custody of these papers, which were chiefly in his handwriting, although they were the joint production of both in our common daily studies. from these, and from a small part of them only, he made up a little book, and had it printed, i believe, in the country, certainly not at oxford. his motive was this. he not only read greedily all the controversial writings on subjects interesting to him which he could procure, and disputed vehemently in conversation with his friends, but he had several correspondents with whom he kept up the ball of doubt in letters; of these he received many, so that the arrival of the postman was always an anxious moment with him. this practice he had learned of a physician, from whom he had taken instructions in chemistry, and of whose character and talents he often spoke with profound veneration. it was, indeed, the usual course with men of learning formerly, as their biographies and many volumes of such epistles testify. the physician was an old man, and a man of the old school. he confined his epistolary discussions to matters of science, and so did his disciple for some time; but when metaphysics usurped the place in his affections that chemistry had before held, the latter gradually fell into discepations, respecting existences still more subtle than gases and the electric fluid. the transition, however, from physics to metaphysics was gradual. is the electric fluid material? he would ask his correspondent; is light--is the vital principle in vegetables--in brutes--is the human soul? his individual character had proved an obstacle to his inquiries, even whilst they were strictly physical. a refuted or irritated chemist had suddenly concluded a long correspondence by telling his youthful opponent that he would write to his master, and have him well flogged. the discipline of a public school, however salutary in other respects, was not favourable to free and fair discussions, and shelley began to address inquiries anonymously, or rather, that he might receive an answer, as philalethes, and the like; but, even at eton, the postmen do not ordinarily speak greek. to prevent miscarriages, therefore it was necessary to adopt a more familiar name, as john short or thomas long. when he came to oxford, he retained and extended his former practice without quitting the convenient disguise of an assumed name. his object in printing the short abstract of some of the doctrines of hume was to facilitate his epistolary disquisitions. it was a small pill, but it worked powerfully. the mode of operation was this: he enclosed a copy in a letter and sent it by the post, stating, with modesty and simplicity, that he had met accidentally with that little tract, which appeared unhappily to be quite unanswerable. unless the fish was too sluggish to take the bait, an answer of refutation was forwarded to an appointed address in london, and then, in a vigorous reply, he would fall upon the unwary disputant and break his bones. the strenuous attack sometimes provoked a rejoinder more carefully prepared, and an animated and protracted debate ensued. the party cited, having put in his answer, was fairly in court, and he might get out of it as he could. the chief difficulty seemed to be to induce the person addressed to acknowledge the jurisdiction, and to plead; and this, shelley supposed, would be removed by sending, in the first instance, a printed syllabus instead of written arguments. an accident greatly facilitated his object. we had been talking some time before about geometrical demonstration; he was repeating its praises, which he had lately read in some mathematical work, and speaking of its absolute certainty and perfect truth. i said that this superiority partly arose from the confidence of mathematicians, who were naturally a confident race, and were seldom acquainted with any other science than their own; that they always put a good face upon the matter, detailing their arguments dogmatically and doggedly, as if there was no room for doubt, and concluded, when weary of talking in their positive strain, with q.e.d.: in which three letters there was so powerful a charm, that there was no instance of anyone having ever disputed any argument or proposition to which they were subscribed. he was diverted by this remark, and often repeated it, saying, if you ask a friend to dinner, and only put q.e.d. at the end of the invitation, he cannot refuse to come; and he sometimes wrote these letters at the end of a common note, in order, as he said, to attain to a mathematical certainty. the potent characters were not forgotten when he printed his little syllabus; and their efficacy in rousing his antagonists was quite astonishing. it is certain that the three obnoxious letters had a fertilising effect, and raised crops of controversy; but it would be unjust to deny that an honest zeal stimulated divers worthy men to assert the truth against an unknown assailant. the praise of good intention must be conceded; but it is impossible to accord that of powerful execution also to his antagonists; this curious correspondence fully testified the deplorable condition of education at that time. a youth of eighteen was able to confute men who had numbered thrice as many years; to vanquish them on their own ground, although he gallantly fought at a disadvantage by taking the wrong side. his little pamphlet was never offered for sale; it was not addressed to an ordinary reader, but to the metaphysician alone, and it was so short, that it was only designed to point out the line of argument. it was, in truth, a general issue, a compendious denial of every allegation, in order to put the whole case in proof; it was a formal mode of saying you affirm so and so, then prove it, and thus was it understood by his more candid and intelligent correspondents. as it was shorter, so was it plainer, and, perhaps in order to provoke discussion, a little bolder, than hume's _essays_--a book which occupies a conspicuous place in the library of every student. the doctrine, if it deserves the name, was precisely similar; the necessary and inevitable consequence of locke's philosophy, and of the theory that all knowledge is from without. i will not admit your conclusions, his opponent might answer; then you must deny those of hume; i deny them; but you must deny those of locke also, and we will go back together to plato. such was the usual course of argument. sometimes, however, he rested on mere denial, holding his adversary to strict proof, and deriving strength from his weakness. the young platonist argued thus negatively through the love of argument, and because he found a noble joy in the fierce shocks of contending minds. he loved truth, and sought it everywhere and at all hazards frankly and boldly, like a man who deserved to find it; but he also loved dearly victory in debate, and warm debate for its own sake. never was there a more unexceptionable disputant; he was eager beyond the most ardent, but never angry and never personal; he was the only arguer i ever knew who drew every argument from the nature of the thing, and who could never be provoked to descend to personal contentions. he was fully inspired, indeed, with the whole spirit of the true logician; the more obvious and indisputable the proposition which his opponent undertook to maintain, the more complete was the triumph of his art if he could refute and prevent him. to one who was acquainted with the history of our university, with its ancient reputation as the most famous school of logic, it seemed that the genius of the place, after an absence of several generations, had deigned to return at last; the visit, however, as it soon appeared, was ill-timed. the schoolman of old, who occasionally laboured with technical subtleties to prevent the admission of the first principles of belief, could not have been justly charged with the intention of promoting scepticism; his was the age of minute and astute disceptation, it is true, but it was also the epoch of the most firm, resolute and extensive faith. i have seen a dexterous fencing-master, after warning his pupil to hold his weapon fast, by a few turns of his wrist throw it suddenly on the ground and under his feet; but it cannot be pretended that he neglected to teach the art of self-defence, because he apparently deprived his scholar of that which is essential to the end proposed. to be disarmed is a step in the science of arms, and whoever has undergone it has already put his foot within the threshold; so it is likewise with refutation. in describing briefly the nature of shelley's epistolary contention, the recollection of his youth, his zeal, his activity, and particularly of many individual peculiarities, may have tempted me to speak sometimes with a certain levity, notwithstanding the solemn importance of the topics respecting which they were frequently maintained. the impression that they were conducted on his part, or considered by him, with frivolity or any unseemly lightness, would, however, be most erroneous; his whole frame of mind was grave, earnest and anxious, and his deportment was reverential, with an edification reaching beyond the age--an age wanting in reverence, an unlearned age, a young age, for the young lack learning. hume permits no object of respect to remain; locke approaches the most awful speculations with the same indifference as if he were about to handle the properties of triangles; the small deference rendered to the most holy things by the able theologian paley is not the least remarkable of his characteristics. wiser and better men displayed anciently, together with a more profound erudition, a superior and touching solemnity; the meek seriousness of shelley was redolent of those good old times before mankind had been despoiled of a main ingredient in the composition of happiness--a well-directed veneration. whether such disputations were decorous or profitable may be perhaps doubtful; there can be no doubt, however, since the sweet gentleness of shelley was easily and instantly swayed by the mild influences of friendly admonition, that, had even the least dignified of his elders suggested the propriety of pursuing his metaphysical inquiries with less ardour, his obedience would have been prompt and perfect. not only had all salutary studies been long neglected in oxford at that time, and all wholesome discipline was decayed, but the splendid endowments of the university were grossly abused. the resident authorities of the college were too often men of the lowest origin, of mean and sordid souls, destitute of every literary attainment, except that brief and narrow course of reading by which the first degree was attained: the vulgar sons of vulgar fathers, without liberality, and wanting the manners and the sympathies of gentlemen. a total neglect of all learning, an unseemly turbulence, the most monstrous irregularities, open and habitual drunkenness, vice and violence, were tolerated or encouraged with the basest sycophancy, that the prospect of perpetual licentiousness might fill the colleges with young men of fortune; whenever the rarely exercised power of coercion was extorted, it demonstrated the utter incapacity of our unworthy rulers by coarseness, ignorance and injustice. if a few gentlemen were admitted to fellowships, they were always absent; they were not persons of literary pretensions, or distinguished by scholarship, and they had no more share in the government of the college than the overgrown guardsmen, who, in long white gaiters, bravely protect the precious life of the sovereign against such assailants as the tenth muse, our good friend mrs nicholson. as the term was drawing to a close, and a great part of the books we were reading together still remained unfinished, we had agreed to increase our exertions, and to meet at an early hour. it was a fine spring morning on lady day, in the year , when i went to shelley's rooms; he was absent, but before i had collected our books he rushed in. he was terribly agitated. i anxiously inquired what had happened. "i am expelled," he said, as soon as he had recovered himself a little. "i am expelled! i was sent for suddenly a few minutes ago; i went to the common room, where i found our master and two or three of the fellows. the master produced a copy of the little syllabus, and asked me if i were the author of it. he spoke in a rude, abrupt and insolent tone. i begged to be informed for what purpose he put the question. no answer was given; but the master loudly and angrily repeated, 'are you the author of this book?' 'if i can judge from your manner,' i said, 'you are resolved to punish me if i should acknowledge that it is my work. if you can prove that it is, produce your evidence; it is neither just nor lawful to interrogate me in such a case and for such a purpose. such proceedings would become a court of inquisitors, but not free men in a free country.' 'do you choose to deny that this is your composition?' the master reiterated in the same rude and angry voice." shelley complained much of his violent and ungentlemanlike deportment, saying, "i have experienced tyranny and injustice before, and i well know what vulgar violence is; but i never met with such unworthy treatment. i told him calmly and firmly, that i was determined not to answer any questions respecting the publication on the table. he immediately repeated his demand. i persisted in my refusal, and he said furiously, 'then you are expelled, and i desire you will quit the college early to-morrow morning at the latest.' one of the fellows took up two papers and handed one of them to me; here it is." he produced a regular sentence of expulsion, drawn up in due form, under the seal of the college. shelley was full of spirit and courage, frank and fearless; but he was likewise shy, unpresuming and eminently sensitive. i have been with him in many trying situations of his after-life, but i never saw him so deeply shocked and so cruelly agitated as on this occasion. a nice sense of honour shrinks from the most distant touch of disgrace, even from the insults of those men whose contumely can bring no shame. he sat on the sofa, repeating with convulsive vehemence the words "expelled, expelled!" his head shaking with emotion, and his whole frame quivering. the atrocious injustice and its cruel consequences roused the indignation and moved the compassion of a friend who then stood by shelley. he has given the following account of his interference:-- "so monstrous and so illegal did the outrage seem, that i held it to be impossible that any man, or any body of men, would dare to adhere to it; but, whatever the issue might be, it was a duty to endeavour to the utmost to assist him. i at once stepped forward, therefore, as the advocate of shelley: such an advocate, perhaps, with respect to judgment, as might be expected at the age of eighteen, but certainly not inferior to the most practised defenders in good will and devotion. i wrote a short note to the masters and fellows, in which, as far as i can remember a very hasty composition after a long interval, i briefly expressed my sorrow at the treatment my friend had experienced, and my hope that they would reconsider their sentence since, by the same course of proceeding, myself, or any other person, might be subjected to the same penalty, and to the imputation of equal guilt. the note was despatched; the conclave was still sitting, and in an instant the porter came to summon me to attend, bearing in his countenance a promise of the reception which i was about to find. the angry and troubled air of men assembled to commit injustice according to established forms was then new to me, but a native instinct told me, as soon as i had entered the room, that it was an affair of party; that whatever could conciliate the favour of patrons was to be done without scruple, and whatever could tend to impede preferment was to be brushed away without remorse. the glowing master produced my poor note. i acknowledged it, and he forthwith put into my hand, not less abruptly, the little syllabus. 'did you write this?' he asked, as fiercely as if i alone stood between him and the rich see of durham. i attempted, submissively, to point out to him the extreme unfairness of the question, the injustice of punishing shelley for refusing to answer it; that if it were urged upon me i must offer the like refusal, as i had no doubt every man in college would, every gentleman, indeed, in the university, which, if such a course were adopted with all, and there could not be any reason why it should be used with one and not with the rest, would thus be stripped of every member. i soon perceived that arguments were thrown away upon a man possessing no more intellect or erudition, and far less renown, than that famous ram, since translated to the stars, through grasping whose tail less firmly than was expedient, the sister of phryxus formerly found a watery grave, and gave her name to the broad hellespont. "the other persons present took no part in the conversation; they presumed not to speak, scarcely to breathe, but looked mute subserviency. the few resident fellows, indeed, were but so many incarnations of the spirit of the master, whatever that spirit might be. when i was silent, the master told me to retire, and to consider whether i was resolved to persist in my refusal. the proposal was fair enough. the next day or the next week, i might have given my final answer--a deliberate answer; having in the meantime consulted with older and more experienced persons, as to what course was best for myself and for others. i had scarcely passed the door, however, when i was recalled. the master again showed me the book, and hastily demanded whether i admitted or denied that i was the author of it. i answered that i was fully sensible of the many and great inconveniences of being dismissed with disgrace from the university, and i specified some of them, and expressed a humble hope that they would not impose such a mark of discredit upon me without any cause. i lamented that it was impossible either to admit or to deny the publication--no man of spirit could submit to do so--and that a sense of duty compelled me respectfully to refuse to answer the question which had been proposed. 'then you are expelled,' said the master, angrily, in a loud, great voice. a formal sentence, duly signed and sealed, was instantly put into my hand: in what interval the instrument had been drawn up i cannot imagine. the alleged offence was contumacious refusal to disavow the imputed publication. my eye glanced over it, and observing the word _contumaciously_, i said calmly that i did not think that term was justified by my behaviour. before i had concluded the remark, the master, lifting up the little syllabus, and then dashing it on the table and looking sternly at me, said, 'am i to understand, sir, that you adopt the principles contained in this work?' or some such words; for like one red with the suffusion of college port and college ale, the intense heat of anger seemed to deprive him of the power of articulation, by reason of a rude provincial dialect and thickness of utterance, his speech being at all times indistinct. 'the last question is still more improper than the former,' i replied, for i felt that the imputation was an insult; 'and since, by your own act, you have renounced all authority over me, our communication is at an end.' 'i command you to quit my college to-morrow at an early hour.' i bowed and withdrew. i thank god i have never seen that man since; he is gone to his bed, and there let him sleep. whilst he lived, he ate freely of the scholar's bread and drank from his cup, and he was sustained, throughout the whole term of his existence, wholly and most nobly, by those sacred funds that were consecrated by our pious forefathers to the advancement of learning. if the vengeance of the all-patient and long-contemned gods can ever be roused, it will surely be by some such sacrilege! the favour which he showed to scholars and his gratitude have been made manifest. if he were still alive, he would doubtless be as little desirous that his zeal should now be remembered as those bigots who had been most active in burning archbishop cranmer could have been to publish their officiousness during the reign of elizabeth." busy rumour has ascribed, on what foundation i know not, since an active and searching inquiry has not hitherto been made, the infamy of having denounced shelley to the pert, meddling tutor of a college of inferior note, a man of an insalubrious and inauspicious aspect. any paltry fellow can whisper a secret accusation; but a certain courage, as well as malignity, is required by him who undertakes to give evidence openly against another; to provoke thereby the displeasure of the accused, of his family and friends, and to submit his own veracity and his motives to public scrutiny. hence the illegal and inquisitorial mode of proceeding by interrogation, instead of the lawful and recognised course by the production of witnesses. the disposal of ecclesiastical preferment has long been so reprehensible, the practice of desecrating institutions that every good man desires to esteem most holy is so inveterate, that it is needless to add that the secret accuser was rapidly enriched with the most splendid benefices, and finally became a dignitary of the church. the modest prelate did not seek publicity in the charitable and dignified act of deserving; it is not probable, therefore, that he is anxious at present to invite an examination of the precise nature of his deserts. the next morning at eight o'clock shelley and his friend set out together for london on the top of a coach; and with his final departure from the university these reminiscences of his life at oxford terminate. the narrative of the injurious effects of this cruel, precipitate, unjust and illegal expulsion upon the entire course of his subsequent life would not be wanting in interest or instruction, when the scene was changed from the quiet seclusion of academic groves and gardens, and the calm valley of our silvery isis, to the stormy ocean of that vast and shoreless world, to the utmost violence of which he was, at an early age, suddenly and unnaturally abandoned. the end edinburgh colston and coy, limited printers transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. the following misprints have been corrected: "surrrounding" corrected to "surrounding" (page ) "gometricians" corrected to "geometricians" (page ) credit transcribed from the burns & oates edition by david price, email ccx @coventry.ac.uk shelley: an essay the church, which was once the mother of poets no less than of saints, during the last two centuries has relinquished to aliens the chief glories of poetry, if the chief glories of holiness she has preserved for her own. the palm and the laurel, dominic and dante, sanctity and song, grew together in her soil: she has retained the palm, but forgone the laurel. poetry in its widest sense, { } and when not professedly irreligious, has been too much and too long among many catholics either misprised or distrusted; too much and too generally the feeling has been that it is at best superfluous, at worst pernicious, most often dangerous. once poetry was, as she should be, the lesser sister and helpmate of the church; the minister to the mind, as the church to the soul. but poetry sinned, poetry fell; and, in place of lovingly reclaiming her, catholicism cast her from the door to follow the feet of her pagan seducer. the separation has been ill for poetry; it has not been well for religion. fathers of the church (we would say), pastors of the church, pious laics of the church: you are taking from its walls the panoply of aquinas--take also from its walls the psaltery of alighieri. unroll the precedents of the church's past; recall to your minds that francis of assisi was among the precursors of dante; that sworn to poverty he forswore not beauty, but discerned through the lamp beauty the light god; that he was even more a poet in his miracles than in his melody; that poetry clung round the cowls of his order. follow his footsteps; you who have blessings for men, have you no blessing for the birds? recall to your memory that, in their minor kind, the love poems of dante shed no less honour on catholicism than did the great religious poem which is itself pivoted on love; that in singing of heaven he sang of beatrice--this supporting angel was still carven on his harp even when he stirred its strings in paradise. what you theoretically know, vividly realise: that with many the religion of beauty must always be a passion and a power, that it is only evil when divorced from the worship of the primal beauty. poetry is the preacher to men of the earthly as you of the heavenly fairness; of that earthly fairness which god has fashioned to his own image and likeness. you proclaim the day which the lord has made, and poetry exults and rejoices in it. you praise the creator for his works, and she shows you that they are very good. beware how you misprise this potent ally, for hers is the art of giotto and dante: beware how you misprise this insidious foe, for hers is the art of modern france and of byron. her value, if you know it not, god knows, and know the enemies of god. if you have no room for her beneath the wings of the holy one, there is place for her beneath the webs of the evil one: whom you discard, he embraces; whom you cast down from an honourable seat, he will advance to a haughty throne; the brows you dislaurel of a just respect, he will bind with baleful splendours; the stone which you builders reject, he will make his head of the corner. may she not prophesy in the temple? then there is ready for her the tripod of delphi. eye her not askance if she seldom sing directly of religion: the bird gives glory to god though it sings only of its innocent loves. suspicion creates its own cause; distrust begets reason for distrust. this beautiful, wild, feline poetry, wild because left to range the wilds, restore to the hearth of your charity, shelter under the rafter of your faith; discipline her to the sweet restraints of your household, feed her with the meat from your table, soften her with the amity of your children; tame her, fondle her, cherish her--you will no longer then need to flee her. suffer her to wanton, suffer her to play, so she play round the foot of the cross! there is a change of late years: the wanderer is being called to her father's house, but we would have the call yet louder, we would have the proffered welcome more unstinted. there are still stray remnants of the old intolerant distrust. it is still possible for even a french historian of the church to enumerate among the articles cast upon savonarola's famous pile, _poesies erotiques, tant des anciens que des modernes, livres impies ou corrupteurs, ovide, tibulle, properce, pour ne nommer que les plus connus, dante, petrarque, boccace, tous ces auteurs italiens qui deja souillaient les ames et ruinaient les moeurs, en creant ou perfectionnant la langue_. { } blameworthy carelessness at the least, which can class the _vita nuova_ with the _ars amandi_ and the _decameron_! and among many english catholics the spirit of poetry is still often received with a restricted puritanical greeting, rather than with the traditionally catholic joyous openness. we ask, therefore, for a larger interest, not in purely catholic poetry, but in poetry generally, poetry in its widest sense. with few exceptions, whatsoever in our best poets is great and good to the non- catholic, is great and good also to the catholic; and though faber threw his edition of shelley into the fire and never regretted the act; though, moreover, shelley is so little read among us that we can still tolerate in our churches the religious parody which faber should have thrown after his three-volumed shelley; { }--in spite of this, we are not disposed to number among such exceptions that straying spirit of light. * * * * * we have among us at the present day no lineal descendant, in the poetical order, of shelley; and any such offspring of the aboundingly spontaneous shelley is hardly possible, still less likely, on account of the defect by which (we think) contemporary poetry in general, as compared with the poetry of the early nineteenth century, is mildewed. that defect is the predominance of art over inspiration, of body over soul. we do not say the _defect_ of inspiration. the warrior is there, but he is hampered by his armour. writers of high aim in all branches of literature, even when they are not--as mr. swinburne, for instance, is--lavish in expression, are generally over-deliberate in expression. mr. henry james, delineating a fictitious writer clearly intended to be the ideal of an artist, makes him regret that he has sometimes allowed himself to take the second-best word instead of searching for the best. theoretically, of course, one ought always to try for the best word. but practically, the habit of excessive care in word-selection frequently results in loss of spontaneity; and, still worse, the habit of always taking the best word too easily becomes the habit of always taking the most ornate word, the word most removed from ordinary speech. in consequence of this, poetic diction has become latterly a kaleidoscope, and one's chief curiosity is as to the precise combinations into which the pieces will be shifted. there is, in fact, a certain band of words, the praetorian cohorts of poetry, whose prescriptive aid is invoked by every aspirant to the poetical purple, and without whose prescriptive aid none dares aspire to the poetical purple; against these it is time some banner should be raised. perhaps it is almost impossible for a contemporary writer quite to evade the services of the free-lances whom one encounters under so many standards. { } but it is at any rate curious to note that the literary revolution against the despotic diction of pope seems issuing, like political revolutions, in a despotism of its own making. this, then, we cannot but think, distinguishes the literary period of shelley from our own. it distinguishes even the unquestionable treasures and masterpieces of to-day from similar treasures and masterpieces of the precedent day; even _the lotus-eaters_ from _kubla-khan_; even rossetti's ballads from _christabel_. it is present in the restraint of matthew arnold no less than in the exuberance of swinburne, and affects our writers who aim at simplicity no less than those who seek richness. indeed, nothing is so artificial as our simplicity. it is the simplicity of the french stage _ingenue_. we are self-conscious to the finger-tips; and this inherent quality, entailing on our poetry the inevitable loss of spontaneity, ensures that whatever poets, of whatever excellence, may be born to us from the shelleian stock, its founder's spirit can take among us no reincarnation. an age that is ceasing to produce child-like children cannot produce a shelley. for both as poet and man he was essentially a child. yet, just as in the effete french society before the revolution the queen played at arcadia, the king played at being a mechanic, everyone played at simplicity and universal philanthropy, leaving for most durable outcome of their philanthropy the guillotine, as the most durable outcome of ours may be execution by electricity;--so in our own society the talk of benevolence and the cult of childhood are the very fashion of the hour. we, of this self-conscious, incredulous generation, sentimentalise our children, analyse our children, think we are endowed with a special capacity to sympathise and identify ourselves with children; we play at being children. and the result is that we are not more child-like, but our children are less child-like. it is so tiring to stoop to the child, so much easier to lift the child up to you. know you what it is to be a child? it is to be something very different from the man of to-day. it is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters of baptism; it is to believe in love, to believe in loveliness, to believe in belief; it is to be so little that the elves can reach to whisper in your ear; it is to turn pumpkins into coaches, and mice into horses, lowness into loftiness, and nothing into everything, for each child has its fairy godmother in its own soul; it is to live in a nutshell and to count yourself the king of infinite space; it is to see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour; it is to know not as yet that you are under sentence of life, nor petition that it be commuted into death. when we become conscious in dreaming that we dream, the dream is on the point of breaking; when we become conscious in living that we live, the ill dream is but just beginning. now if shelley was but too conscious of the dream, in other respects dryden's false and famous line might have been applied to him with very much less than it's usual untruth. { } to the last, in a degree uncommon even among poets, he retained the idiosyncrasy of childhood, expanded and matured without differentiation. to the last he was the enchanted child. this was, as is well known, patent in his life. it is as really, though perhaps less obviously, manifest in his poetry, the sincere effluence of his life. and it may not, therefore, be amiss to consider whether it was conditioned by anything beyond his congenital nature. for our part, we believe it to have been equally largely the outcome of his early and long isolation. men given to retirement and abstract study are notoriously liable to contract a certain degree of childlikeness: and if this be the case when we segregate a man, how much more when we segregate a child! it is when they are taken into the solution of school-life that children, by the reciprocal interchange of influence with their fellows, undergo the series of reactions which converts them from children into boys and from boys into men. the intermediate stage must be traversed to reach the final one. now shelley never could have been a man, for he never was a boy. and the reason lay in the persecution which overclouded his school-days. of that persecution's effect upon him, he has left us, in _the revolt of islam_, a picture which to many or most people very probably seems a poetical exaggeration; partly because shelley appears to have escaped physical brutality, partly because adults are inclined to smile tenderly at childish sorrows which are not caused by physical suffering. that he escaped for the most part bodily violence is nothing to the purpose. it is the petty malignant annoyance recurring hour by hour, day by day, month by month, until its accumulation becomes an agony; it is this which is the most terrible weapon that boys have against their fellow boy, who is powerless to shun it because, unlike the man, he has virtually no privacy. his is the torture which the ancients used, when they anointed their victim with honey and exposed him naked to the restless fever of the flies. he is a little st. sebastian, sinking under the incessant flight of shafts which skilfully avoid the vital parts. we do not, therefore, suspect shelley of exaggeration: he was, no doubt, in terrible misery. those who think otherwise must forget their own past. most people, we suppose, _must_ forget what they were like when they were children: otherwise they would know that the griefs of their childhood were passionate abandonment, _dechirants_ (to use a characteristically favourite phrase of modern french literature) as the griefs of their maturity. children's griefs are little, certainly; but so is the child, so is its endurance, so is its field of vision, while its nervous impressionability is keener than ours. grief is a matter of relativity; the sorrow should be estimated by its proportion to the sorrower; a gash is as painful to one as an amputation to another. pour a puddle into a thimble, or an atlantic into etna; both thimble and mountain overflow. adult fools, would not the angels smile at our griefs, were not angels too wise to smile at them? so beset, the child fled into the tower of his own soul, and raised the drawbridge. he threw out a reserve, encysted in which he grew to maturity unaffected by the intercourses that modify the maturity of others into the thing we call a man. the encysted child developed until it reached years of virility, until those later oxford days in which hogg encountered it; then, bursting at once from its cyst and the university, it swam into a world not illegitimately perplexed by such a whim of the gods. it was, of course, only the completeness and duration of this seclusion--lasting from the gate of boyhood to the threshold of youth--which was peculiar to shelley. most poets, probably, like most saints, are prepared for their mission by an initial segregation, as the seed is buried to germinate: before they can utter the oracle of poetry, they must first be divided from the body of men. it is the severed head that makes the seraph. shelley's life frequently exhibits in him the magnified child. it is seen in his fondness for apparently futile amusements, such as the sailing of paper boats. this was, in the truest sense of the word, child- like; not, as it is frequently called and considered, childish. that is to say, it was not a mindless triviality, but the genuine child's power of investing little things with imaginative interest; the same power, though differently devoted, which produced much of his poetry. very possibly in the paper boat he saw the magic bark of laon and cythna, or that thinnest boat in which the mother of the months is borne by ebbing night into her western cave. in fact, if you mark how favourite an idea, under varying forms, is this in his verse, you will perceive that all the charmed boats which glide down the stream of his poetry are but glorified resurrections of the little paper argosies which trembled down the isis. and the child appeared no less often in shelley the philosopher than in shelley the idler. it is seen in his repellent no less than in his amiable weaknesses; in the unteachable folly of a love that made its goal its starting-point, and firmly expected spiritual rest from each new divinity, though it had found none from the divinities antecedent. for we are clear that this was no mere straying of sensual appetite, but a straying, strange and deplorable, of the spirit; that (contrary to what mr. coventry patmore has said) he left a woman not because he was tired of her arms, but because he was tired of her soul. when he found mary shelley wanting, he seems to have fallen into the mistake of wordsworth, who complained in a charming piece of unreasonableness that his wife's love, which had been a fountain, was now only a well: such change, and at the very door of my fond heart, hath made me poor. wordsworth probably learned, what shelley was incapable of learning, that love can never permanently be a fountain. a living poet, in an article { } which you almost fear to breathe upon lest you should flutter some of the frail pastel-like bloom, has said the thing: "love itself has tidal moments, lapses and flows due to the metrical rule of the interior heart." elementary reason should proclaim this true. love is an affection, its display an emotion: love is the air, its display is the wind. an affection may be constant; an emotion can no more be constant than the wind can constantly blow. all, therefore, that a man can reasonably ask of his wife is that her love should be indeed a well. a well; but a bethesda-well, into which from time to time the angel of tenderness descends to trouble the waters for the healing of the beloved. such a love shelley's second wife appears unquestionably to have given him. nay, she was content that he should veer while she remained true; she companioned him intellectually, shared his views, entered into his aspirations, and yet--yet, even at the date of _epipsychidion_ the foolish child, her husband, assigned her the part of moon to emilia viviani's sun, and lamented that he was barred from final, certain, irreversible happiness by a cold and callous society. yet few poets were so mated before, and no poet was so mated afterwards, until browning stooped and picked up a fair-coined soul that lay rusting in a pool of tears. in truth, his very unhappiness and discontent with life, in so far as it was not the inevitable penalty of the ethical anarch, can only be ascribed to this same child-like irrationality--though in such a form it is irrationality hardly peculiar to shelley. pity, if you will, his spiritual ruins and the neglected early training which was largely their cause; but the pity due to his outward circumstances has been strangely exaggerated. the obloquy from which he suffered he deliberately and wantonly courted. for the rest, his lot was one that many a young poet might envy. he had faithful friends, a faithful wife, an income small but assured. poverty never dictated to his pen; the designs on his bright imagination were never etched by the sharp fumes of necessity. if, as has chanced to others--as chanced, for example, to mangan--outcast from home, health and hope, with a charred past and a bleared future, an anchorite without detachment and self-cloistered without self-sufficingness, deposed from a world which he had not abdicated, pierced with thorns which formed no crown, a poet hopeless of the bays and a martyr hopeless of the palm, a land cursed against the dews of love, an exile banned and proscribed even from the innocent arms of childhood--he were burning helpless at the stake of his unquenchable heart, then he might have been inconsolable, then might he have cast the gorge at life, then have cowered in the darkening chamber of his being, tapestried with mouldering hopes, and hearkened to the winds that swept across the illimitable wastes of death. but no such hapless lot was shelley's as that of his own contemporaries--keats, half chewed in the jaws of london and spit dying on to italy; de quincey, who, if he escaped, escaped rent and maimed from those cruel jaws; coleridge, whom they dully mumbled for the major portion of his life. shelley had competence, poetry, love; yet he wailed that he could lie down like a tired child and weep away his life of care. is it ever so with you, sad brother; is it ever so with me? and is there no drinking of pearls except they be dissolved in biting tears? "which of us has his desire, or having it is satisfied?" it is true that he shared the fate of nearly all the great poets contemporary with him, in being unappreciated. like them, he suffered from critics who were for ever shearing the wild tresses of poetry between rusty rules, who could never see a literary bough project beyond the trim level of its day but they must lop it with a crooked criticism, who kept indomitably planting in the defile of fame the "established canons" that had been spiked by poet after poet. but we decline to believe that a singer of shelley's calibre could be seriously grieved by want of vogue. not that we suppose him to have found consolation in that senseless superstition, "the applause of posterity." posterity! posterity which goes to rome, weeps large-sized tears, carves beautiful inscriptions over the tomb of keats; and the worm must wriggle her curtsey to it all, since the dead boy, wherever he be, has quite other gear to tend. never a bone less dry for all the tears! a poet must to some extent be a chameleon and feed on air. but it need not be the musty breath of the multitude. he can find his needful support in the judgement of those whose judgement he knows valuable, and such support shelley had: la gloire ne compte pas toujours les voix; elle les pese quelquefois. yet if this might be needful to him as support, neither this, nor the applause of the present, nor the applause of posterity, could have been needful to him as motive: the one all-sufficing motive for a great poet's singing is that expressed by keats: i was taught in paradise to ease my breast of melodies. precisely so. the overcharged breast can find no ease but in suckling the baby-song. no enmity of outward circumstances, therefore, but his own nature, was responsible for shelley's doom. a being with so much about it of child-like unreasonableness, and yet withal so much of the beautiful attraction luminous in a child's sweet unreasonableness, would seem fore-fated by its very essence to the transience of the bubble and the rainbow, of all things filmy and fair. did some shadow of this destiny bear part in his sadness? certain it is that, by a curious chance, he himself in _julian and maddalo_ jestingly foretold the manner of his end. "o ho! you talk as in years past," said maddalo (byron) to julian (shelley); "if you can't swim, beware of providence." did no unearthly _dixisti_ sound in his ears as he wrote it? but a brief while, and shelley, who could not swim, was weltering on the waters of lerici. we know not how this may affect others, but over us it is a coincidence which has long tyrannised with an absorbing inveteracy of impression (strengthened rather than diminished by the contrast between the levity of the utterance and its fatal fulfilment)--thus to behold, heralding itself in warning mockery through the very lips of its predestined victim, the doom upon whose breath his locks were lifting along the coasts of campania. the death which he had prophesied came upon him, and spezzia enrolled another name among the mournful marcelli of our tongue; venetian glasses which foamed and burst before the poisoned wine of life had risen to their brims. * * * * * coming to shelley's poetry, we peep over the wild mask of revolutionary metaphysics, and we see the winsome face of the child. perhaps none of his poems is more purely and typically shelleian than _the cloud_, and it is interesting to note how essentially it springs from the faculty of make-believe. the same thing is conspicuous, though less purely conspicuous, throughout his singing; it is the child's faculty of make- believe raised to the nth power. he is still at play, save only that his play is such as manhood stops to watch, and his playthings are those which the gods give their children. the universe is his box of toys. he dabbles his fingers in the day-fall. he is gold-dusty with tumbling amidst the stars. he makes bright mischief with the moon. the meteors nuzzle their noses in his hand. he teases into growling the kennelled thunder, and laughs at the shaking of its fiery chain. he dances in and out of the gates of heaven: its floor is littered with his broken fancies. he runs wild over the fields of ether. he chases the rolling world. he gets between the feet of the horses of the sun. he stands in the lap of patient nature and twines her loosened tresses after a hundred wilful fashions, to see how she will look nicest in his song. this it was which, in spite of his essentially modern character as a singer, qualified shelley to be the poet of _prometheus unbound_, for it made him, in the truest sense of the word, a mythological poet. this child-like quality assimilated him to the child-like peoples among whom mythologies have their rise. those nature myths which, according to many, are the basis of all mythology, are likewise the very basis of shelley's poetry. the lark that is the gossip of heaven, the winds that pluck the grey from the beards of the billows, the clouds that are snorted from the sea's broad nostril, all the elemental spirits of nature, take from his verse perpetual incarnation and reincarnation, pass in a thousand glorious transmigrations through the radiant forms of his imagery. thus, but not in the wordsworthian sense, he is a veritable poet of nature. for with nature the wordsworthians will admit no tampering: they exact the direct interpretative reproduction of her; that the poet should follow her as a mistress, not use her as a handmaid. to such following of nature, shelley felt no call. he saw in her not a picture set for his copying, but a palette set for his brush; not a habitation prepared for his inhabiting, but a coliseum whence he might quarry stones for his own palaces. even in his descriptive passages the dream-character of his scenery is notorious; it is not the clear, recognisable scenery of wordsworth, but a landscape that hovers athwart the heat and haze arising from his crackling fantasies. the materials for such visionary edens have evidently been accumulated from direct experience, but they are recomposed by him into such scenes as never had mortal eye beheld. "don't you wish you had?" as turner said. the one justification for classing shelley with the lake poet is that he loved nature with a love even more passionate, though perhaps less profound. wordsworth's _nightingale and stockdove_ sums up the contrast between the two, as though it had been written for such a purpose. shelley is the "creature of ebullient heart," who sings as if the god of wine had helped him to a valentine. wordsworth's is the --love with quiet blending, slow to begin and never ending, the "serious faith and inward glee." but if shelley, instead of culling nature, crossed with its pollen the blossoms of his own soul, that babylonian garden is his marvellous and best apology. for astounding figurative opulence he yields only to shakespeare, and even to shakespeare not in absolute fecundity but in images. the sources of his figurative wealth are specialised, sources of shakespeare's are universal. it would have been as conscious an effort for him to speak without figure as it is for most men to speak with figure. suspended in the dripping well of his imagination the commonest object becomes encrusted with imagery. herein again he deviates from the true nature poet, the normal wordsworth type of nature poet: imagery was to him not a mere means of expression, not even a mere means of adornment; it was a delight for its own sake. and herein we find the trail by which we would classify him. he belongs to a school of which not impossibly he may hardly have read a line--the metaphysical school. to a large extent he _is_ what the metaphysical school should have been. that school was a certain kind of poetry trying for a range. shelley is the range found. crashaw and shelley sprang from the same seed; but in the one case the seed was choked with thorns, in the other case it fell on good ground. the metaphysical school was in its direct results an abortive movement, though indirectly much came of it--for dryden came of it. dryden, to a greater extent than is (we imagine) generally perceived, was cowley systematised; and cowley, who sank into the arms of dryden, rose from the lap of donne. but the movement was so abortive that few will thank us for connecting with it the name of shelley. this is because to most people the metaphysical school means donne, whereas it ought to mean crashaw. we judge the direction of a development by its highest form, though that form may have been produced but once, and produced imperfectly. now the highest product of the metaphysical school was crashaw, and crashaw was a shelley _manque_; he never reached the promised land, but he had fervid visions of it. the metaphysical school, like shelley, loved imagery for its own sake: and how beautiful a thing the frank toying with imagery may be, let _the skylark_ and _the cloud_ witness. it is only evil when the poet, on the straight way to a fixed object, lags continually from the path to play. this is commendable neither in poet nor errand-boy. the metaphysical school failed, not because it toyed with imagery, but because it toyed with it frostily. to sport with the tangles of neaera's hair may be trivial idleness or caressing tenderness, exactly as your relation to neaera is that of heartless gallantry or of love. so you may toy with imagery in mere intellectual ingenuity, and then you might as well go write acrostics: or you may toy with it in raptures, and then you may write a _sensitive plant_. in fact, the metaphysical poets when they went astray cannot be said to have done anything so dainty as is implied by _toying_ with imagery. they cut it into shapes with a pair of scissors. from all such danger shelley was saved by his passionate spontaneity. no trappings are too splendid for the swift steeds of sunrise. his sword-hilt may be rough with jewels, but it is the hilt of an excalibur. his thoughts scorch through all the folds of expression. his cloth of gold bursts at the flexures, and shows the naked poetry. * * * * * it is this gift of not merely embodying but apprehending everything in figure which co-operates towards creating his rarest characteristics, so almost preternaturally developed in no other poet, namely, his well-known power to condense the most hydrogenic abstraction. science can now educe threads of such exquisite tenuity that only the feet of the tiniest infant-spiders can ascend them; but up the filmiest insubstantiality shelley runs with agile ease. to him, in truth, nothing is abstract. the dustiest abstractions start, and tremble under his feet, and blossom in purple and red. the coldest moon of an idea rises haloed through his vaporous imagination. the dimmest-sparked chip of a conception blazes and scintillates in the subtile oxygen of his mind. the most wrinkled aeson of an abstruseness leaps rosy out of his bubbling genius. in a more intensified signification than it is probable that shakespeare dreamed of, shelley gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name. here afresh he touches the metaphysical school, whose very title was drawn from this habitual pursuit of abstractions, and who failed in that pursuit from the one cause omnipresent with them, because in all their poetic smithy they had left never a place for a forge. they laid their fancies chill on the anvil. crashaw, indeed, partially anticipated shelley's success, and yet further did a later poet, so much further that we find it difficult to understand why a generation that worships shelley should be reviving gray, yet almost forget the name of collins. the generality of readers, when they know him at all, usually know him by his _ode on the passions_. in this, despite its beauty, there is still a _soupcon_ of formalism, a lingering trace of powder from the eighteenth century periwig, dimming the bright locks of poetry. only the literary student reads that little masterpiece, the _ode to evening_, which sometimes heralds the shelleian strain, while other passages are the sole things in the language comparable to the miniatures of _il penseroso_. crashaw, collins, shelley--three ricochets of the one pebble, three jets from three bounds of the one pegasus! collins's pity, "with eyes of dewy light," is near of kin to shelley's sleep, "the filmy-eyed"; and the "shadowy tribes of mind" are the lineal progenitors of "thought's crowned powers." this, however, is personification, wherein both collins and shelley build on spenser: the dizzying achievement to which the modern poet carried personification accounts for but a moiety, if a large moiety, of his vivifying power over abstractions. take the passage (already alluded to) in that glorious chorus telling how the hours come from the temples high of man's ear and eye roofed over sculpture and poesy, * * * * * from those skiey towers where thought's crowned powers sit watching your dance, ye happy hours! our feet now, every palm, are sandalled with calm, and the dew of our wings is a rain of balm; and beyond our eyes the human love lies which makes all it gazes on paradise. any partial explanation will break in our hands before it reaches the root of such a power. the root, we take it, is this. he had an instinctive perception (immense in range and fertility, astonishing for its delicate intuition) of the underlying analogies the secret subterranean passages, between matter and soul; the chromatic scales, whereat we dimly guess, by which the almighty modulates through all the keys of creation. because, the more we consider it, the more likely does it appear that nature is but an imperfect actress, whose constant changes of dress never change her manner and method, who is the same in all her parts. to shelley's ethereal vision the most rarified mental or spiritual music traced its beautiful corresponding forms on the sand of outward things. he stood thus at the very junction-lines of the visible and invisible, and could shift the points as he willed. his thoughts became a mounted infantry, passing with baffling swiftness from horse to foot or foot to horse. he could express as he listed the material and the immaterial in terms of each other. never has a poet in the past rivalled him as regards this gift, and hardly will any poet rival him as regards it in the future: men are like first to see the promised doom lay its hand on the tree of heaven and shake down the golden leaves. { } the finest specimens of this faculty are probably to be sought in that shelleian treasury, _prometheus unbound_. it is unquestionably the greatest and most prodigal exhibition of shelley's powers, this amazing lyric world, where immortal clarities sigh past in the perfumes of the blossoms, populate the breathings of the breeze, throng and twinkle in the leaves that twirl upon the bough; where the very grass is all a-rustle with lovely spirit-things, and a weeping mist of music fills the air. the final scenes especially are such a bacchic reel and rout and revelry of beauty as leaves one staggered and giddy; poetry is spilt like wine, music runs to drunken waste. the choruses sweep down the wind, tirelessly, flight after flight, till the breathless soul almost cries for respite from the unrolling splendours. yet these scenes, so wonderful from a purely poetical standpoint that no one could wish them away, are (to our humble thinking) nevertheless the artistic error of the poem. abstractedly, the development of shelley's idea required that he should show the earthly paradise which was to follow the fall of zeus. but dramatically with that fall the action ceases, and the drama should have ceased with it. a final chorus, or choral series, of rejoicings (such as does ultimately end the drama where prometheus appears on the scene) would have been legitimate enough. instead, however, the bewildered reader finds the drama unfolding itself through scene after scene which leaves the action precisely where it found it, because there is no longer an action to advance. it is as if the choral _finale_ of an opera were prolonged through two acts. we have, nevertheless, called _prometheus_ shelley's greatest poem because it is the most comprehensive storehouse of his power. were we asked to name the most _perfect_ among his longer efforts, we should name the poem in which he lamented keats: under the shed petals of his lovely fancy giving the slain bird a silken burial. seldom is the death of a poet mourned in true poetry. not often is the singer coffined in laurel- wood. among the very few exceptions to such a rule, the greatest is _adonais_. in the english language only _lycidas_ competes with it; and when we prefer _adonais_ to _lycidas_, we are following the precedent set in the case of cicero: _adonais_ is the longer. as regards command over abstraction, it is no less characteristically shelleian than _prometheus_. it is throughout a series of abstractions vitalised with daring exquisiteness, from morning who sought: her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound, wet with the tears which should adorn the ground, and who dimmed the aerial eyes that kindle day, to the dreams that were the flock of the dead shepherd, the dreams whom near the living streams of his young spirit he fed; and whom he taught the love that was its music; of whom one sees, as she hangs mourning over him, upon the silken fringe of his faint eyes, like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies a tear some dream has loosened from his brain! lost angel of a ruined paradise! she knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain she faded like a cloud which hath outwept its rain. in the solar spectrum, beyond the extreme red and extreme violet rays, are whole series of colours, demonstrable, but imperceptible to gross human vision. such writing as this we have quoted renders visible the invisibilities of imaginative colour. one thing prevents _adonais_ from being ideally perfect: its lack of christian hope. yet we remember well the writer of a popular memoir on keats proposing as "the best consolation for the mind pained by this sad record" shelley's inexpressibly sad exposition of pantheistic immortality: he is a portion of the loveliness which once he made more lovely, _etc_. what desolation can it be that discerns comfort in this hope, whose wan countenance is as the countenance of a despair? what deepest depth of agony is it that finds consolation in this immortality: an immortality which thrusts you into death, the maw of nature, that your dissolved elements may circulate through her veins? yet such, the poet tells me, is my sole balm for the hurts of life. i am as the vocal breath floating from an organ. i too shall fade on the winds, a cadence soon forgotten. so i dissolve and die, and am lost in the ears of men: the particles of my being twine in newer melodies, and from my one death arise a hundred lives. why, through the thin partition of this consolation pantheism can hear the groans of its neighbour, pessimism. better almost the black resignation which the fatalist draws from his own hopelessness, from the fierce kisses of misery that hiss against his tears. with some gleams, it is true, of more than mock solace, _adonais_ is lighted; but they are obtained by implicitly assuming the personal immortality which the poem explicitly denies; as when, for instance, to greet the dead youth, the inheritors of unfulfilled renown rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought far in the unapparent. and again the final stanza of the poem: the breath whose might i have invoked in song descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven far from the shore, far from the trembling throng whose sails were never to the tempest riven; the massy earth, the sphered skies are given: i am borne darkly, fearfully afar; whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven, the soul of adonais like a star beacons from the abode where the eternal are. the soul of adonais?--adonais, who is but a portion of the loveliness which once he made more lovely. after all, to finish where we began, perhaps the poems on which the lover of shelley leans most lovingly, which he has oftenest in his mind, which best represent shelley to him and which he instinctively reverts to when shelley's name is mentioned are some of the shorter poems and detached lyrics. here shelley forgets for a while all that ever makes his verse turbid; forgets that he is anything but a poet, forgets sometimes that he is anything but a child; lies back in his skiff, and looks at the clouds. he plays truant from earth, slips through the wicket of fancy into heaven's meadow, and goes gathering stars. here we have that absolute virgin-gold of song which is the scarcest among human products, and for which we can go to but three poets--coleridge, shelley, chopin, { } and perhaps we should add keats. _christabel_ and _kubla-khan_; _the skylark_, _the cloud_, and _the sensitive plant_ (in its first two parts). _the eve of saint agnes_ and _the nightingale_; certain of the nocturnes;--these things make very quintessentialised loveliness. it is attar of poetry. remark, as a thing worth remarking, that, although shelley's diction is at other times singularly rich, it ceases in these poems to be rich, or to obtrude itself at all; it is imperceptible; his muse has become a veritable echo, whose body has dissolved from about her voice. indeed, when his diction is richest, nevertheless the poetry so dominates the expression that we feel the latter only as an atmosphere until we are satiated with the former; then we discover with surprise to how imperial a vesture we had been blinded by gazing on the face of his song. a lesson, this, deserving to be conned by a generation so opposite in tendency as our own: a lesson that in poetry, as in the kingdom of god, we should not take thought too greatly wherewith we shall be clothed, but seek first { } the spirit, and all these things will be added unto us. on the marvellous music of shelley's verse we need not dwell, except to note that he avoids that metronomic beat of rhythm which edgar poe introduced into modern lyric measures, as pope introduced it into the rhyming heroics of his day. our varied metres are becoming as painfully over-polished as pope's one metre. shelley could at need sacrifice smoothness to fitness. he could write an anapaest that would send mr. swinburne into strong shudders (e.g., "stream did glide") when he instinctively felt that by so forgoing the more obvious music of melody he would better secure the higher music of harmony. if we have to add that in other ways he was far from escaping the defects of his merits, and would sometimes have to acknowledge that his nilotic flood too often overflowed its banks, what is this but saying that he died young? * * * * * it may be thought that in our casual comments on shelley's life we have been blind to its evil side. that, however, is not the case. we see clearly that he committed grave sins, and one cruel crime; but we remember also that he was an atheist from his boyhood; we reflect how gross must have been the moral neglect in the training of a child who _could_ be an atheist from his boyhood: and we decline to judge so unhappy a being by the rules which we should apply to a catholic. it seems to us that shelley was struggling--blindly, weakly, stumblingly, but still struggling--towards higher things. his pantheism is an indication of it. pantheism is a half-way house, and marks ascent or descent according to the direction from which it is approached. now shelley came to it from absolute atheism; therefore in his case it meant rise. again, his poetry alone would lead us to the same conclusion, for we do not believe that a truly corrupted spirit can write consistently ethereal poetry. we should believe in nothing, if we believed that, for it would be the consecration of a lie. poetry is a thermometer: by taking its average height you can estimate the normal temperature of its writer's mind. the devil can do many things. but the devil cannot write poetry. he may mar a poet, but he cannot make a poet. among all the temptations wherewith he tempted st. anthony, though we have often seen it stated that he howled, we have never seen it stated that he sang. shelley's anarchic principles were as a rule held by him with some misdirected view to truth. he disbelieved in kings. and is it not a mere fact--regret it if you will--that in all european countries, except two, monarchs are a mere survival, the obsolete buttons on the coat-tails of rule, which serve no purpose but to be continually coming off? it is a miserable thing to note how every little balkan state, having obtained liberty (save the mark!) by act of congress, straightway proceeds to secure the service of a professional king. these gentlemen are plentiful in europe. they are the "noble chairmen" who lend their names for a consideration to any enterprising company which may be speculating in liberty. when we see these things, we revert to the old lines in which persius tells how you cannot turn dama into a freeman by twirling him round your finger and calling him marcus dama. again, shelley desired a religion of humanity, and that meant, to him, a religion for humanity, a religion which, unlike the spectral christianity about him, should permeate and regulate the whole organisation of men. and the feeling is one with which a catholic must sympathise, in an age when--if we may say so without irreverence--the almighty has been made a constitutional deity, with certain state-grants of worship, but no influence over political affairs. in these matters his aims were generous, if his methods were perniciously mistaken. in his theory of free love alone, borrowed like the rest from the revolution, his aim was as mischievous as his method. at the same time he was at least logical. his theory was repulsive, but comprehensible. whereas from our present _via media_--facilitation of divorce--can only result the era when the young lady in reduced circumstances will no longer turn governess but will be open to engagement as wife at a reasonable stipend. we spoke of the purity of shelley's poetry. we know of but three passages to which exception can be taken. one is happily hidden under a heap of shelleian rubbish. another is offensive, because it presents his theory of free love in its most odious form. the third is very much a matter, we think, for the individual conscience. compare with this the genuinely corrupt byron, through the cracks and fissures of whose heaving versification steam up perpetually the sulphurous vapours from his central iniquity. we cannot credit that any christian ever had his faith shaken through reading shelley, unless his faith were shaken before he read shelley. is any safely havened bark likely to slip its cable, and make for a flag planted on the very reef where the planter himself was wrecked? * * * * * why indeed (one is tempted to ask in concluding) should it be that the poets who have written for us the poetry richest in skiey grain, most free from admixture with the duller things of earth--the shelleys, the coleridges, the keats--are the very poets whose lives are among the saddest records in literature? is it that (by some subtile mystery of analogy) sorrow, passion, and fantasy are indissolubly connected, like water, fire, and cloud; that as from sun and dew are born the vapours, so from fire and tears ascend the "visions of aerial joy"; that the harvest waves richest over the battlefields of the soul; that the heart, like the earth, smells sweetest after rain; that the spell on which depend such necromantic castles is some spirit of pain charm-poisoned at their base? { } such a poet, it may be, mists with sighs the window of his life until the tears run down it; then some air of searching poetry, like an air of searching frost, turns it to a crystal wonder. the god of golden song is the god, too, of the golden sun; so peradventure song-light is like sunlight, and darkens the countenance of the soul. perhaps the rays are to the stars what thorns are to the flowers; and so the poet, after wandering over heaven, returns with bleeding feet. less tragic in its merely temporal aspect than the life of keats or coleridge, the life of shelley in its moral aspect is, perhaps, more tragical than that of either; his dying seems a myth, a figure of his living; the material shipwreck a figure of the immaterial. enchanted child, born into a world unchildlike; spoiled darling of nature, playmate of her elemental daughters; "pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift," laired amidst the burning fastnesses of his own fervid mind; bold foot along the verges of precipitous dream; light leaper from crag to crag of inaccessible fancies; towering genius, whose soul rose like a ladder between heaven and earth with the angels of song ascending and descending it;--he is shrunken into the little vessel of death, and sealed with the unshatterable seal of doom, and cast down deep below the rolling tides of time. mighty meat for little guests, when the heart of shelley was laid in the cemetery of caius cestius! beauty, music, sweetness, tears--the mouth of the worm has fed of them all. into that sacred bridal-gloom of death where he holds his nuptials with eternity let not our rash speculations follow him. let us hope rather that as, amidst material nature, where our dull eyes see only ruin, the finer eye of science has discovered life in putridity and vigour in decay,--seeing dissolution even and disintegration, which in the mouth of man symbolise disorder, to be in the works of god undeviating order, and the manner of our corruption to be no less wonderful than the manner of our health,--so, amidst the supernatural universe, some tender undreamed surprise of life in doom awaited that wild nature, which, worn by warfare with itself, its maker, and all the world, now sleeps, and never palates more the dug, the beggar's nurse, and caesar's. footnotes { } that is to say, taken as the general animating spirit of the fine arts. { } the abbe bareille was not, of course, responsible for savonarola's taste, only for thus endorsing it. { } we mean, of course, the hymn, "i rise from dreams of time." { } we are a little surprised at the fact, because so many victorian poets are, or have been, prose-writers as well. now, according to our theory, the practice of prose should maintain fresh and comprehensive a poet's diction, should save him from falling into the hands of an exclusive coterie of poetic words. it should react upon his metrical vocabulary to its beneficial expansion, by taking him outside his aristocratic circle of language, and keeping him in touch with the great commonalty, the proletariat of speech. for it is with words as with men: constant intermarriage within the limits of a patrician clan begets effete refinement; and to reinvigorate the stock, its veins must be replenished from hardy plebeian blood. { } wordsworth's adaptation of it, however, is true. men are not "children of a larger growth," but the child _is_ father of the man, since the parent is only partially reproduced in his offspring. { } _the rhythm of life_, by alice meynell. { } "and the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig-tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind" (rev. vi, ). { } such analogies between master in sister-arts are often interesting. in some respects, is not brahms the browning of music? { } seek _first_, not seek _only_. { } we hope that we need not refer the reader, for the methods of magic architecture, to ariosto and that atlas among enchanters, beckford. generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) the radicalism of shelley and its sources by daniel j. macdonald, ph. d. a dissertation _submitted to the faculty of philosophy of the catholic university of america in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of doctor of philosophy_ washington, d. c. june, contents page introduction--nature of radicalism chapter i--early influences lack of sympathetic home training--eton--disappointment in love--oxford, conditions there bad--meets cynic hogg--both publish _the necessity of atheism_, and are expelled--marries harriet westbrook--begins correspondence with godwin--visits dublin to aid catholic emancipation--conditions of people of england--caleb williams--queen mab. chapter ii--views on marriage and love parting from harriet--views on marriage--influence of godwin, of lawrence's _the empire of the naires_--abuses of marriage in different countries--the _naires_ a possible source of _rosalind and helen_--flight with mary godwin--brown's _wieland_--_the revolt of islam_--the _missionary_ an important source of the revolt--platonism and his view of love--_epipsychidion_--mary wollstonecraft's _vindication of the rights of women_--louvet's _memoirs_. chapter iii--politics godwin's _political justice_--every kind of obedience wrong-- views on kingcraft--on violence and punishment of death--reform through education--principle of justice--laws--ownership of property--luxuries--vegetarianism--leigh hunt--proposal for putting reform to a vote--_prometheus unbound_--masque of anarchy--philosophical view of reform--the perfectibility of man. chapter iv--religion and philosophy his views on christianity--not an atheist--agnostic--sources of views on belief, locke, spinoza, drummond--god not a creator-- pantheism--god, love, and beauty identical--immortality of the soul--idealism--necessity--freedom of the will--good and evil, their origin--virtue equivalent to happiness--disbelief in the doctrine of hell. chapter v--radicalism in contemporary poetry wordsworth--the lyrical ballads--the prelude and excursion-- coleridge. chapter vi--conclusion weakness of the radical, of shelley--strength of the radical, of shelley. bibliography biography the radicalism of shelley and its sources[ ] by daniel j. mcdonald, ph.d. introduction the following study of the development of the religious and political views of shelley is made with the view to help one in forming a true estimate of his work and character. that there is a real difficulty in estimating correctly the life and works of shelley no one acquainted with the varied judgments passed upon him will deny. professor trent claims that there is not a more perplexing and irritating subject for study than shelley.[ ] by some our poet is regarded as an angel, a model of perfection; by others he is looked upon as "a rare prodigy of crime and pollution whose look even might infect." mr. swinburne calls him "the master singer of our modern poets," but neither wordsworth nor keats could appreciate his poetry. w. m. rossetti, in an article on shelley in the ninth edition of the encyclopedia britannica, writes as follows: "in his own day an alien in the world of mind and invention, and in our day scarcely yet a denizen of it, he appears destined to become in the long vista of years an informing presence in the innermost shrine of human thought." matthew arnold, on the other hand, in one of his last essays, writes: "but let no one suppose that a want of humor and a self-delusion such as shelley's have no effect upon a man's poetry. the man shelley, in very truth, is not entirely sane, and shelley's poetry is not entirely sane either." views so entirely different, coming as they do from such eminent critics are surely perplexing. nevertheless, there seems to be a light which can illuminate this difficulty, render intelligible his life and works, and help us to form a just estimate of them. this light is a comprehension of the influence which inspired him in all he did and all he wrote--in a word, a comprehension of his radicalism. a great deal of the difficulty connected with the study of shelley arises from ignorance concerning radicalism itself. i shall therefore begin by giving a short description of its nature and function. to many, radicalism is suggestive only of revolution and destruction. in their eyes it is the spouse of disorder and the mother of tyranny. its devotees are wild-eyed fanatics, and in its train are found social outcasts and the scum of humanity. to others, radicalism presents a totally different aspect. these admit that it has been unfortunate in the quality of many of its adherents, but at the same time they claim that it has proven itself the mainspring of progress in every sphere of human activity. it is depicted as the cause of all the reforms achieved in society. without it old ideas and principles would always prevail, and stagnation would result. "conservative politicians," says leslie stephen, "owe more than they know to the thinkers (radicals) who keep alive a faith which renders the world tolerable and puts arbitrary rulers under some moral stress of responsibility."[ ] although radicalism is a disposition found in every period of history, still the word itself is of comparatively recent origin. it first came into vogue about the year , when fox and horne tooke joined forces to bring about a "radical reform." in this epithet one finds the idea of going to the roots of a question, which was characteristic of eighteenth century philosophy. then the expression seems to have disappeared for a time. in july, , a writer in the _edinburgh review_ says: "it cannot be doubted that there is at the moment ... a very general desire for a more 'radical' reform than would be effected by a mere change of ministry."[ ] it was not until , however, that the adjective "radical" began to be used substantively. on august , , cartwright wrote to t. northmore: "the crisis, in my judgment, is very favorable for effecting an union with the _radicals_, of the better among the whigs, and i am meditating on means to promote it." in bentham wrote a pamphlet entitled _radicalism not dangerous_, and in this work he uses the word "radicalists" instead of "radicals." for a long time the word "radical" was a term of reproach. sir fowell buxton, speaking of the radicals, says he was persuaded that their object was "the subversion of religion and of the constitution." since that time a radical has come to mean any root-and-branch reformer; and radicalism itself may be defined as a tendency to abolish existing institutions or principles. as soon as either of these seems to have outlived its usefulness, radicalism will clamor for its suppression. discontent, then, is a source of radicalism. this, however, is of a dual nature--discontent with conditions and discontent with institutions or principles. many conservatives indulge in the former, only radicals in the latter. again radicalism is not a mere "tearing up by the roots," as the word is commonly interpreted, but is rather, as philips brooks writes, "a getting down to the root of things and planting institutions anew on just principles. an enlightened radicalism has regard for righteousness and good government, and will resist all enslavement to old forms and traditions, and will set them aside unless it shall appear that any of these have a radically just and defensible reason for their existence and continuance." radicalism thrives where conditions are favorable to a change in ideals. it aims to establish new institutions or to propagate new principles, and this presupposes new ideals. as the habits of a man tend to correspond to his ideals, so too the institutions of a nation conform in a broad way to its ideals. in england during the middle ages the institutions of the country were strongly influenced by the religious ideal; later on, when the nation's ideal became national glory, they assumed a political character; and now they reflect the dominant influence which the economic ideal has exerted during the past century. the ideals of a people than are bound to undergo changes, and these are sometimes, though not always, for a nation's good. they are developed in the main by an increase in knowledge and by industrial change. institutions, however, do not keep pace with this advance in ideals; and as a consequence discontent results and radicalism is born. moreover, institutions are never an adequate expression of the ideal. "men are never as good as the goodness they know. institutions reveal the same truth. the margin between what society knows and what it is" makes radicalism possible. in his introduction to _the revolt of islam_, shelley expresses the same thought: "the french revolution may be considered as one of those manifestations of a general state of feeling among civilized mankind produced by a defect of correspondence between the knowledge existing in society and the improvement or gradual abolition of political institutions." the greater that this defect of correspondence becomes, the more intense will be the radicalism that inevitably ensues. radicals want a change. the extent of this change differentiates them fairly well among themselves. some would completely sweep away every existing institution. thus shelley thought the great victory would be won if he could exterminate kings and priests at a blow. let the axe strike at the root, the poison-tree will fall[ ] others would be content with changes of a far less radical character. burke, in his early life, was the most moderate of these. at a time when the british constitution was sorely in need of reform he said concerning it: "never will i cut it in pieces and put it in the kettle of any magician in order to boil it with the puddle of their compounds into youth and vigor; on the contrary, i will drive away such pretenders; i will nurse its venerable age and with lenient arts extend a parent's breath." between these two extremes many different degrees of radicalism obtain. in his _ecce, convertimur ad gentes_, arnold writes: "for twenty years i have felt convinced that for the progress of our civilization here in england three things were above all necessary: a reduction of those immense inequalities of condition and property among us of which our land system is the cause, a genuine municipal system, and public schools for the middle class." a just appreciation of the radicalism of shelley's poetry is impossible without a knowledge of the function of radicalism, and so it must be considered a little more in detail. an attempt to abolish an institution is sure to encounter the opposition of those whose interests are bound up with that institution. the good that it has accomplished in the past is sufficient warrant for defending it against the onslaught of its assailants. _le bien c'est l'ennemi du mieux._ no matter how inadequate the institution in question may now be, it will still be championed by the great majority; and were it not for the radicals' enthusiasm and faith in their cause their opposition would be in vain. as a witty exponent of homespun philosophy expresses it: "most people would rather be comfortable than be right." they may see that a change is needed, but they hold on to the old order of things as long as possible. long before the french nobility realized that they should give up their claims to exemption from taxation, yet they retained them all until forced to relinquish them. had the "privileges" been less conservative, the revolution would never have occurred. it may be said then that radicalism is born of conservatism. without it might would be right, and anything like justice would be well-nigh impossible. another factor in the development of radicalism is the inertia of mind and will of a great many people. most persons are not easily induced to undertake anything that requires some exertion. they prefer to sit back and let others bear the burdens of the day and its heat. a good example of this is the indifference shown by the french catholics towards the oppressive legislation of their rulers. fortunately, however, in those countries where free scope is given to the individual, and where liberty of speech is firmly established, there will always be found some who are ever ready to take the initiative in demanding a change. their radicalism tends to counteract the influence of this sleeping sickness. it holds up to men the ideal, and inflames them with a desire of attaining it. again, the emotions do not move as fast as the intellect. they will cling to their objects long after the intellect has counselled otherwise. a man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still.[ ] radicalism presents to men an ideal state where everybody is bright and free and happy; and thus helps to detach the affections from beliefs and institutions which are no longer helpful. the emotions may not adhere to the radicals' scheme, but they are at least freed from their old bondage and can embrace the reforms of the less conservative. the influence that radicalism exerts in this way is a very powerful one. everybody knows carlyle's famous outburst of rhetoric bearing on this point: "there was once a man called jean jacques rousseau. he wrote a book called _the social contract_. it was a theory and nothing but a theory. the french nobles laughed at the theory, and their skins went to bind the second edition of the book." the strength of radicalism lies in the fact that it is poetical and philosophical. through philosophy it makes its influence felt on a country's leaders, through poetry on the citizens themselves. andrew fletcher, of saltown, has said: "let me write a country's songs, and i don't care who makes its laws." the poet and the radical are brothers. both live on abstractions. as soon as they particularize their mission fails; the one ceases to be a poet and the other a radical. in his admirable essay on shelley, francis thompson tells clergymen that "poetry is the preacher to men of the earthly as you of the heavenly fairness." according to saint-beuve "the function of art is to disengage the elements of beauty, to escape from the mere frightful reality." substitute radicalism for poetry and art in these quotations and they would still be true. emerson calls the poets "liberating gods." the ancient bards had for the title of their order: "those who are free throughout the world." "they are free and they make free." this is exactly what one would write about radicals. poetry and radicalism then go hand in hand. when radicalism is in the ascendant, poetry will throb with the feverish energy of the people. it will not only be more abundant, but it will show more of real life--the stuff of which literature is made. in conservative times questions concerning life do not agitate men's minds to any great extent. people take things as they find them. set men a thinking, however, place new ideals before them, and then you get a shakespeare and a milton or a galaxy of sparkling gems such as scintillated in the dawn of the nineteenth century. we find then two tendencies which always exist in any progressive society--radicalism and conservatism. both have appeared in connection with every phase of thought and human activity. either, as emerson has said, is a good half but an impossible whole. one is too impetuous, the other is too wary. the one rushes blindly into the future, the other clings too much to the past. there is constant warfare between the two for the mastery. in a progressive community neither of them is in the ascendant for any length of time. a period of radicalism is inevitably followed by one of conservatism and _vice versa_. the pendulum swings to one extreme and then back again to the other. as long as human nature will be what it is, our institutions will be defective, and change will be the order of the day. this no doubt results in progress, which goethe has compared to a movement in a spiral direction. this action and reaction is reflected in the literature of a nation. no matter what definition of literature we may accept, whether it be newman's personal use of language, swinburne's imagination and harmony, or matthew arnold's criticism of life, it will always be found that literature is a crystallization of the ideals of the age. this is true both of poetry and of prose. the poet is not an isolated individual. on the contrary, he is peculiarly sensitive to the influences which surround him. he is the revealer and the awakener of these influences. "and the poet listens and he hears; and he looks and he sees; and he bends lower and lower and he weeps; and then growing with a strange growth, drawing from all the darkness about him his own transfiguration, he stands erect, terrible and tender, above all those wretched ones--those of high place as well as those of low, with flaming eyes."[ ] chapter i early influences the intensity of one's radicalism depends on the extent to which the institutions of a country cause one suffering and disappointment. shelley says in julian and maddalo: most wretched men are cradled into poetry by wrong, they learn in suffering what they teach in song. a description of shelley's radicalism then must take account of all the circumstances that tended to make him dissatisfied with existing institutions. some of these circumstances may seem trifling, but then it must be remembered that events which appear insignificant sometimes have far-reaching effects. pascal remarked once that the whole aspect of the world would be different if cleopatra's nose had been a little shorter. the history of shelley's life is a series of incidents which tended to make him radical. he never had a chance to be anything else. no sooner would he be brought in contact with conservative influences than something would happen to push him again on the high road of revolt. even were he temperamentally conservative (and hogg says that "his feelings and behavior were in many respects highly aristocratical"), the experiences that he underwent were of such a nature as to inevitably lead him into radicalism. percy bysshe shelley was born at field place, in the county of sussex, on saturday, the th of august, . his family was an ancient and honorable one whose history extends back to the days of the crusades. his grandfather, bysshe shelley, born in america, accumulated a large fortune, married two heiresses, and in received a baronetcy. in his old age he became whimsical, greedy, and sullen. he was a skeptic hoping for nothing better than annihilation at the end of life.[ ] with regard to the poet's father, it is very difficult to form a just estimate. there is no doubt that shelley enthusiasts decried the father too much in their efforts to canonize the son. it would indeed be strange to find any father at that time who would be capable of giving our poet that guidance and training which his nature demanded. it was a time when might was right, when the rod held a large place in the formation of a boy's character. we must not be too severe then on the father if he was unacquainted with the proper way of dealing with his erratic son. no one who has read jeafferson's life of the poet will say that bysshe treated his son too harshly. it was his judgment rather than his heart that was at fault. medwin remarks that all he brought back from europe was a smattering of french and a bad picture of an eruption of vesuvius. it is to his mother that shelley owes his beauty and his good nature. he said that she was mild and tolerant, but narrow-minded. very few references to the home of his boyhood are made in his poetry; and this leads us to believe that neither his father nor his mother had much influence over him. in his childhood he seems to have had the day dreams and reveries that wordsworth had. "let us recollect our sensations as children," shelley writes, in the _essay on life_, "what a distinct and intense apprehension had we of the world and of ourselves!... we less habitually distinguished all that we saw and felt from ourselves. they seemed, as it were, to constitute one mass. there are some persons who in this respect are always children. those who are subject to the state called reverie feel as if their nature were dissolved into the surrounding universe or as if the surrounding universe were absorbed into their being." in book ii of the _prelude_ wordsworth gives expression to a similar experience: oft in these moments such a holy calm would overspread my soul that bodily eyes were utterly forgotten, and what i saw appeared like something in myself--a dream a prospect in the mind. shelley from the very beginning delighted in giving free scope to his imagination. in the garret of the house at field place he imagined there was an alchemist old and grey pondering over magic tomes. the "great old snake" and the "great tortoise" were other wondrous creatures of his imagination that lived out of doors. he used to entertain his sisters with weird stories about hobgoblins and ghosts; and even got them to dress themselves so as to represent fiends and spirits. in the _hymn to intellectual beauty_ he writes: while yet a boy i sought for ghosts and sped thro' many a listening chamber, cave and ruin and starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing, hopes of high talk with the departed dead. he was attached to the occult sciences and sometimes watched whole nights for ghosts. once he described minutely a visit which he said he had paid to some neighbors, and it was discovered soon afterwards that the whole story was a fabrication. at ten years of age he was sent to sion house academy, isleworth, where he met his cousin and future biographer, thomas medwin. the other boys, medwin tells us, considered him strange and unsocial. it was at this school that shelley first became acquainted with the romantic novels of anne radcliffe and the other novelists of the school of terror. here too he became greatly interested in chemistry and astronomy. the idea of a plurality of worlds, through which we "should make the grand tour," enchanted him. thus we see that he began very early to live in the unreal and the wonderful. in he went to eton, and there he was known as "mad shelley" and "shelley the atheist." the word "atheist" here does not mean one who denies the existence of god. according to hogg, it was a term given to those who distinguished themselves for their opposition to the authorities of the school. the title must have fallen into disuse shortly after shelley's time, as professor dowdon failed to find at eton any trace of this peculiar usage of the word. here he became interested in physical experiments and carried them on at unseasonable hours. for this he was frequently reprimanded by his superiors, but he proved to be very untractable. at eton shelley became acquainted with dr. lind, whom he immortalized as a hermit in _the revolt of islam_ and as zonoras in _prince athanase_. it was dr. lind, according to hogg, who gave shelley his first lessons in french philosophism. jeafferson says that he taught shelley to curse his superiors and to write letters to unsuspecting persons to trip them up with catch questions and then laugh at them.[ ] an event occurred in the summer of which had considerable influence in developing the radicalism of shelley. he had known and loved his cousin. harriet grove, from childhood, and during the vacation of this year asked her to be his wife. harriet's family, however, became alarmed at his atheistical tendencies and made her give up all communications with him. this angered him very much, and made him declaim against what he considered to be bigotry and intolerance. in a letter to hogg, december , , he writes: "o! i burn with impatience for the moment of the dissolution of intolerance; it has injured me. i swear on the altar of perjured love to revenge myself, on the hated cause of the effect; which even now i can scarcely help deploring.... adieu! down with bigotry! down with intolerance! in this endeavour your most sincere friend will join his every power, his every feeble resource. adieu!" and in a letter of january , : "she is no longer mine! she abhors me as a skeptic as what she was before! oh, bigotry! when i pardon this last, this severest of thy persecutions, may heaven (if there be wrath in heaven) blast me!" these ravings show shelley to have been nervous, hysterical, and supersensitive. the breaking of this engagement with harriet made such an impression on him as to convince him that he should combat all those influences which caused the rupture. the story of shelley's life might have been an entirely different one had he been allowed to marry harriet grove. man is a stubborn animal. once he takes up a certain side, opposition merely serves to strengthen his convictions and make him fight all the harder. if shelley's willfulness had been ignored instead of opposed, i have no doubt that he would have seen things in their proper light and would never have been the rabid radical that he became. an etonian called once on shelley in oxford and asked him if he meant to be an atheist there too. "no!" he answered, "certainly not. there is no motive for it; they are very civil to us here; it is not like eton."[ ] it is medwin's conviction that shelley never completely overcame his love for harriet. hogg notes that as late as shelley loved to play a simple air that harriet taught him. in the _epipsychidion_ he refers to her thus: "and one was true--oh! why not true to me?" love was to shelley what religion is to the ascetic. he could not understand why one should put obstacles in the way of anyone in love, and so he thinks himself in duty bound to fight everything that supports this hated intolerance. this led him to wage war against religion itself. shelley entered university college, oxford, in the michaelmas term of . it was unfortunate for him that conditions at the university were as deplorable as they were. he did not find there the intellectual food that his mind needed, and no doubt his sensitive soul was scandalized by what it felt. intellectual life there was dull. mark pattison[ ] says oxford was nothing more than a grammar school, the college tutors were a little inferior to public school directors, and they obtained their positions through favoritism and not through merit. copleston, a defender of the university against the attacks of the _edinburgh review_, admitted that only extreme incapacity or flagrant idleness would prevent a student from obtaining his degree at the end of his course. fynes clinton, in his _autobiography_, tells us that greek studies at christ church were very much neglected. during his seven years of residence grammar, syntax, prosody were never mentioned. students rarely attended lectures. much of their time was passed in hunting, drinking, and every kind of debauchery. "at boarding schools of every description," writes mrs. wollstonecraft, "the relaxation of the junior boys is mischief; and of the senior, vice. besides, in great schools, what can be more prejudicial to the moral character than the system of tyranny and abject slavery which is established among the boys, to say nothing of the slavery to forms, which makes religion worse than a farce? for what good can be expected from the youth who receives the sacrament of the lord's supper, to avoid forfeiting half-a-guinea, which he probably afterwards spends in some sensual manner?"[ ] such was the atmosphere in which shelley was placed, and it is little wonder that it hastened the growth of the seeds of discontent and revolt which had been already implanted in his soul. misfortune still pursued shelley. had he formed friendships at oxford with men of sober intellect, the whole course of his life might have been changed. unfortunately he soon found a kindred spirit in the cynic hogg. this friend of shelley gives us minute details of the poet's life there. he thinks that shelley took up skeptical philosophy because of the advantage it gave him in argument. _hume's essays_ was a favorite book with shelley, and he was always ready to put forward in argument its doctrines. it may seem strange that this cold skeptical philosophy appealed to such an imaginative poet as shelley; but destruction, as hogg remarks, so that it be on a grand scale, may sometimes prove hardly less inspiring than creation. "the feat of the magician who, by the touch of his wand, could cause the great pyramid to dissolve into the air would be as surprising as the achievement of him who by the same rod could instantly raise a similar mass in any chosen spot." on september , , stockdale offered for sale a volume of poetry by shelley entitled "_original poetry_: by victor and cazire." the book was not out long when it was discovered that many of the poems were stolen property--a fraud on the public and an infringement of at least one writer's copyright. the book was at once withdrawn and suppressed. some doubt exists as to the name of the person who cooperated with shelley in producing this book. shelley enthusiasts say that shelley was the unsuspicious victim of an unworthy coadjutor. jeafferson is of the opinion that shelley was fully conscious of the fraud that was being done. this biographer maintains that shelley was an inveterate liar. "about this time," says stockdale, "not merely slight hints but constant allusions, personally and by letters, ... rendered me extremely uneasy respecting mr. shelley's religious, or indeed irreligious, sentiments." shelley's father too was worrying at this time about his son's loss of faith. he may have received the first intimation of his son's speculations from a criticism in _the critical review_ of another work of shelley's, _zastrozzi_, in which the unknown author was condemned as an offender against morality and a corrupter of youth. the irate father wrote to his son and severely reprimanded him for his conduct. in a letter to hogg, shelley says: "my father wrote to me, and i am now surrounded, environed by dangers, to which compared the devils who besieged st. anthony were all inefficient. they attack me for my detestable principles. i am reckoned an outcast, yet i defy them, and laugh at their ineffectual efforts, etc." and in another letter: "my mother imagines me to be on the highroad to pandemonium; she fancies i want to make a deistical coterie of my little sisters. how laughable!" shelley imagines the whole world is against him. he feels very keenly his isolation. he says his "soul was bursting." there is a relief though. "i slept with a loaded pistol and some poison last night, but did not die." shelley thought he was called upon to come to the aid of all those in distress. we find him at this time aiding aspiring authors, and defending traitorous politicians. an irish journalist, peter finnerty, was condemned for libel and sentenced to eighteen months' imprisonment in lincoln jail. shelley contributed to a subscription list in aid of finnerty and also wrote a poem entitled _a poetical essay on the existing state of things_ to help on the cause. leigh and john hunt, who defended finnerty in _the examiner_, were tried for seditious libel and acquitted. shelley rejoiced over their triumph, and wrote the following letter to leigh hunt congratulating him and proposing a scheme for the mutual defense of all friends of "rational liberty." university college, oxford, _march , _. sir:--permit me, although a stranger, to offer my sincerest congratulations on the occasion of that triumph so highly to be prized by men of liberality; permit me also to submit to your consideration, as one of the most fearless enlighteners of the public mind at the present time, a scheme of mutual safety and mutual indemnification for men of public spirit and principle, which, if carried into effect, would evidently be productive of incalculable advantages. the ultimate intention of my aim is to induce a meeting of such enlightened, unprejudiced members of the community ... and to form a methodical society, which should be organized so as to resist the coalition of the enemies of liberty.... it has been for the want of societies of this nature that corruption has attained the height at which we behold it; nor can any of us bear in mind the very great influence which, some years since, was gained by _illuminism_, without considering that a society of equal extent might establish rational liberty on as firm a basis as that which would have supported the visionary schemes of a completely equalized community.... on account of the responsibility to which my residence in this university subjects me, i, of course, dare not publicly avow all that i think; but the time will come when i hope that my every endeavor, insufficient as they may be, will be directed to the advancement of liberty. your most obedient servant, p. b. shelley. one of the books read by shelley at this time was the abbé barruel's _memoires pour servir a l'histoire du jacobinisme_, which contains an account of the society of illuminists. the remarkable success of this society in propagating free thought and revolutionary principles evidently inspired shelley to attempt the formation of a similar society in england. his proposals, though, fell on deaf ears, and it is probable that leigh hunt did not even acknowledge the receipt of shelley's letter. in february, , a small pamphlet, _the necessity of atheism_, which was written by shelley, was published anonymously. according to hogg, shelley had a custom of writing to divines and engaging them in controversy on the existence of god. _the necessity of atheism_ is merely an elaboration of the arguments of these letters. the masters and some of the fellows of oxford sent for shelley and asked him if he were the author of the work. he replied that they should produce their evidence, if they could prove he wrote it, and not question him because it was neither just nor lawful to interrogate him in such a case and for such a purpose. shelley refused to answer their questions and was given one day in which to leave the college. his friend hogg shared the same fate for the same reason. shelley never received any admonition nor hint that his speculations were improper. hogg says "there can be no reasonable doubt that he would at once have acceded to whatever had been proposed to him by authority."[ ] every kind of disorder was tolerated at the university, and shelley and hogg had no suspicion that their metaphysical speculations were considered so much worse than drunkenness and immorality. if the sentence was not unjust, it was at least needlessly harsh. shelley felt the sting of this disgrace very keenly, and it did much to embitter him against all kinds of authority. shelley and hogg proceeded to london after their expulsion and obtained rooms in poland street. the name reminded shelley of kosciusko and freedom. timothy shelley wrote to his son, commanding him to abstain from all communication with hogg and place himself "under the care and society of such gentlemen as he should appoint" under pain of being deprived of all pecuniary aid. shelley refused to comply with these proposals. toward the middle of april hogg left london to settle down to his legal training in york. it was about this time that shelley became acquainted with harriet westbrook. she wrote him from london that she was wretchedly unhappy, that she was about to be forced to go to school, and wanted to know if it would be wrong to put an end to her miserable life. another letter from her soon followed, in which she threw herself upon his protection and proposed to fly with him. shelley hastened to london, and after the delay of a few weeks eloped with harriet to edinburgh, where they were married on august , . shelley agreed to go through the ceremony of matrimony to save his wife from the social disgrace that would otherwise fall upon her. writing to miss hitchener on march , , harriet says: "i thought if i married anyone it should be a clergyman. strange idea this, was it not? but being brought up in the christian religion, 'twas this first gave rise to it. you may conceive with what horror i first heard that percy was an atheist; at least so it was given out at clapham. at first i did not comprehend the meaning of the word; therefore when it was explained i was truly petrified.... i little thought of the rectitude of these principles and when i wrote to him i used to try to shake them--making sure he was in the wrong, and that myself was right.... now, however, this is entirely done away with, and my soul is no longer shackled with such idle fears." this would indicate that he spent more time proselytizing harriet than in making love to her. it has been said that harriet's sister, elizabeth, managed the whole affair, and that the marriage was brought about through her successful plotting.[ ] after spending five weeks in edinburgh, shelley, harriet, and hogg went to york. they were joined there by elizabeth, who henceforth ruled over shelley's household with a stern hand. she is partly responsible for the estrangement of shelley and his wife. during all this time shelley was in need of money, and shortly after their arrival at york went south to induce his father to provide them with the means of living. while he was absent hogg tried to seduce harriet. shelley sought an explanation from hogg, and pardoned him "fully and freely." shelley's account of the affair in a letter to miss hitchener savors much of godwinism. "i desired to know fully the account of this affair. i heard it from him and i believe he was sincere. all i can recollect of that terrible day was that i pardoned him--fully, freely pardoned him; that i would still be a friend to him and hoped soon to convince him how lovely virtue was; that his crime, not himself, was the object of my detestation; that i value a human being not for what it has been but for what it is; that i hoped the time would come when he would regard this horrible error with as much disgust as i did."[ ] early in november, shelley, his wife, and eliza left york suddenly for keswick. shelley's father and grandfather feared that the poet would parcel out the family estate to soulmates, and so they proposed to allow him £ , a year if he would consent to entail the property on his eldest son, and in default of issue, on his brother. the proposition was indignantly rejected. he considered that kinship bore that relation to reason which a band of straw does to fire. "i am led to love a being not because it stands in the physical relation of blood to me but because i discern an intellectual relationship." early in shelley started a correspondence with william godwin, to whom he was then a stranger. in his first letter he writes: "the name of godwin has been used to excite in me feelings of reverence and admiration. i have been accustomed to consider him a luminary too dazzling for the darkness which surrounds him. from the earliest period of my knowledge of his principles i have ardently desired to share, on the footing of intimacy, that intellect which i have delighted to contemplate in its emanations." godwin's influence with the revolutionists of this time was great. coleridge and southey were his ardent disciples for a time. "throw aside your books of chemistry," said wordsworth to a student, "and read godwin on necessity." this philosopher seemed to provide them with a simple, comprehensive code of morality, which gave unlimited freedom to the reason, and justice as complete as possible to the individual. in february, , the shelleys went to dublin to help on the cause of moral and intellectual reform. he published there an "address to the irish people" which he had written during his stay at keswick. shelley's mission was moral and educational rather than political. he advocated catholic emancipation and the repeal of the union; but he thought that he should first of all strive to dispel bigotry and intolerance--"to awaken a noble nation from the lethargy of despair."[ ] what irishmen needed most of all were knowledge, sobriety, peace, benevolence--in a word, virtue and wisdom. "when you have these things," he said, "you may defy the tyrant." it is not surprising that his mission turned out to be a fiasco. godwin wrote shelley several letters in which he tried to convince him that his pamphlets and association would stir up strife and rebellion. "shelley," he writes, "you are preparing a scene of blood." the poet accordingly withdrew his pamphlets from circulation and quitted ireland. shelley then crossed over to wales, and after a short residence at nangwillt settled at lynmouth. elizabeth hitchener, "the sister of his soul,"[ ] joined them there. the poet first met her at cuckfield while visiting his uncle, captain pilfold. she was a schoolmistress, professing very liberal opinions and possessing "a tongue of energy and an eye of fire." everybody that shelley admired seemed to him perfect, while those whom he disliked were fiends. their correspondence, which extends over a period of more than a year, gives us a good picture of the workings of shelley's mind during this time. they all moved to london in november. it was not to be expected that a combination of even such disinterested, enlightened superior mortals as these could last long. elizabeth's influence over shelley soon began to wane. his dislike for her was equalled only by his former extravagant praise. she was no longer his angel, but was now known as the "brown demon." "she is," he writes, "an artful, superficial, ugly, hermaphroditical beast of a woman, and my astonishment at my fatuity, inconsistency, and bad taste was never so great as after living four months with her as an inmate. what would hell be were such a woman in heaven?" miss hitchener took her leave of the shelleys and again became a schoolmistress. shelley and his family spent some time in wales and dublin and then returned again to london in april, . it was about this time that he finished _queen mab_. on february , , shelley wrote to hookham, his publisher: "you will receive _queen mab_ with the other poems; i think that the whole should form one volume." medwin says that he commenced this work in the autumn of . "after his expulsion he reverted to his _queen mab_ commenced a year and a half before, and converted what was a mere imaginative poem into a systematic attack on the institutions of society." what was it that induced him to make the change? there is no doubt but it was his experience of the misery and suffering around him that prompted him to attack society as he did. radicalism, as has already been shown, springs from discontent. the worse existing conditions are, the more pronounced will be the radicalism that usually arises. conditions--moral, political and social--during the latter half of the eighteenth century were very bad indeed. in his inimitable sketches of the four georges, thackeray asserts that the dissoluteness of the nation was awful. he depicts the lives of its princes, courtiers, men of rank and fashion as idle, profligate, and criminal. "around a young king himself of the most exemplary life and undoubted piety lived a court society as dissolute as our country ever knew." education was sadly neglected. in richardson's _sir charles grandison_, published , charlotte gives an account of her two lovers. one of them is an ideal specimen of the young nobility and is represented as spelling pretty well for a lord. in ireland, the colonies, and even in england itself, oppression was well-nigh intolerable. byron's _age of bronze_ contains a good description of the way in which the landlords treated their tenants. the changes that followed in the wake of the industrial revolution caused untold suffering. the spread of machinery destroyed the old domestic industries of spinning and weaving, and many were consequently deprived of their most important source of subsistence. children took up the places of the master craftsmen; and the amount of misery that this substitution entailed to both children and craftsmen is almost incredible.[ ] politics was rotten to the core. even the great commoner, william pitt, has been convicted by macaulay, of sacrificing his principles without any scruple whatever. the political corruption started by walpole was organized into a system. every man had his price. "politicians are mere jobbers; officers are gamblers and bullies; the clergy are contemned and are contemptible; low spirits and nervous disorders have notoriously increased, until the people are no longer capable of self-defense."[ ] in their struggle with the stuarts the people were completely victorious; but it soon became apparent that they had simply substituted one evil for another. the despotism exercised by the stuarts was now practiced by the dodingtons and the winningtons. burke observes: "the distempers of monarchy were the great subjects of apprehension and redress in the last century. in this the distempers of parliament." the house of commons was not responsible to anybody; and its members showed very little consideration for their constituents. persons who were not acceptable to the ruling party were often fined and imprisoned without due process of law. it is little wonder then that godwin, shelley, and others declaimed against all forms of government. they were acquainted only with the parliament of the georges and the oligarchy of the stuarts, and the one was as bad as the other. the national debt was trebled in the space of twenty years, thus imposing heavy sacrifices on all. there was an income-tax of two shillings on a pound sterling; but the taxes which caused the most suffering to the poor were the indirect taxes on wheat, shoes, salt, etc. in a law was passed prohibiting the importation of wheat for less than eighty shillings the quarter.[ ] no doubt the wealth of the country became very great through the development of new resources, but it was distributed among the few and gave no relief to the common people. the poor laws were working astounding evils. with wheat at a given price, the minimum on which a man with wife and one child could subsist was settled; and whenever the family earnings fell below the estimated minimum, the deficiency was to be made up from the rates. in this way the path to pauperism was made so easy and agreeable that a large portion of the laboring classes drifted along it. this system set a premium on improvidence if not on vice. the inevitable effect was that wages fell as doles increased, that paupers so pensioned were preferred by the farmers to independent laborers, because their labor was cheaper, and that independent laborers, failing to get work except at wages forced down to a minimum, were constantly falling into the ranks of pauperism. it was not until that "a new poor law" was enacted which eliminated these evils.[ ] from one end of the kingdom to the other the prisons were a standing disgrace to civilization. imprisonment from whatever cause it might be imposed meant consignment to a living tomb. jails were pesthouses, in which a disease, akin to our modern typhus, flourished often in epidemic form. they were mostly private institutions leased out to ruthless, rapacious keepers who used every menace and extortion to wring money out of the wretched beings committed to their care. prisons were dark because their managers objected to pay the window tax. pauper prisoners were nearly starved, for there was no regular allowance of food. howard's crusade against prison mismanagement produced tangible results, but after his death the cause of prison reform soon dropped, the old evils revived, and at the beginning of the nineteenth century were everywhere visible.[ ] the church of england, it appears, had become an object of contempt. no doubt selwyn's _dr. warner_ is a distorted picture of the clergymen of the time; yet there is reason to believe that anglican parsons were not very much concerned with the salvation of souls. "the church had become a vast machine for the promotion of her own officers. how admirable an investment is religion! such is the burden of their pleading!" some of the conventionalities of the age were so absurd as to engender sooner or later a spirit of revolt. servants said "your honor" and "your worship" at every moment: tradesmen stood hat in hand as the gentlemen passed by: chaplains said grace and retired before the pudding. "in the days when there were fine gentlemen, mr. secretary pitt's under-secretaries did not dare to sit down before him; but mr. pitt, in his turn, went down on his gouty knees to george ii; and when george iii spoke a few kind words to him, lord chatham burst into tears of reverential joy and gratitude; so awful was the idea of the monarch, and so great the distinction of rank."[ ] not to use hair powder was an unpardonable offence. southey and savage landor were among the first to appear with their hair in _statu naturali_ and this action of theirs produced an extraordinary sensation. _caleb williams_, written by william godwin in , is a severe indictment of the customs and institutions of england. "things as they are," is the subtitle of the work, and on that account an outline of the work will supplement the review of society already given. "_caleb williams_," writes professor dowden, "is the one novel of the days of revolution embodying the new doctrine of the time which can be said to survive."[ ] in the first preface to _caleb williams_ godwin says that the story is "a study and delineation of things passing in the moral world. its object is to show that the spirit and character of the government intrudes itself into every rank of society." "accordingly," he writes, "it was proposed in the invention of the following work to comprehend, as far as the progressive nature of a single story would allow, a general review of the modes of domestic and unrecorded despotism by which man becomes the destroyer of man." caleb williams shortly after the death of his father, became secretary of ferdinand falkland, a country squire living in a remote county of england. mr. falkland's mode of living was very recluse and solitary. he avoided men and did not seem to have any friends in whom he confided. he scarcely ever smiled, and his manners plainly showed that he was troubled and unhappy. he was considerate to others, but he never showed a disposition to lay aside the stateliness and reserve which he assumed. sometimes he was hasty, peevish, and tyrannical, and would even lose entirely his self-possession. mr. collins, falkland's steward, tells williams that their master was not always thus, that he was once the gayest of the gay. in response to caleb's entreaties, collins unfolds as much as he knows of their master's history. he tells him that mr. falkland spent several years abroad and distinguished himself wherever he went by deeds of gallantry and virtue. at length he returned to england with the intention of spending the rest of his days on his estate. his nearest neighbor, barnabas tyrrel, was insupportably arrogant, tyrannical to his inferiors and insolent to his equals. on account of his wealth, strength, and copiousness of speech he was regarded with admiration by some, but with awe by all. the arrival of mr. falkland threatened to deprive tyrrel of his authority and commanding position in the community. tyrrel contemplated the progress of his rival with hatred and aversion. the dignity, affability, and kindness of mr. falkland were the subject of everybody's praise, and all this was an insupportable torment to tyrrel. emily melville, tyrrel's cousin, who lived with him, falls in love with falkland and consequently incurs her patron's displeasure. he resolved to impose an uncouth, boorish youth on her as a husband. she is imprisoned in her room for refusing, and is saved from a diabolical plot to ruin her through the timely assistance of falkland. while still delirious and suffering from the ill-treatment of her persecutor. emily was arrested and cast into prison by tyrrel for a debt contracted for board and lodging during the last fourteen years. death liberated her soon afterwards from the persecutions of her cousin. one of tyrrel's tenants, mr. hawkins, incurred his master's displeasure, and he and his family were turned out of house and home. the laws and customs of the country are used to oppress the victims. tenants must be kept in their places. the presumption is that they are in the wrong, and so the unscrupulous tyrrel had no difficulty in imprisoning the son. shelley says: "that in questions of property there is a vague but most effective favoritism in courts of law, and, among lawyers, against the poor to the advantage of the rich--against the tenant in favour of the landlord--against the creditor in favour of the debtor." (prose. vol. ii, p. .) falkland remonstrated with tyrrel for this piece of injustice, but this served only to increase tyrrel's hatred of him. at length the crisis came. tyrrel is driven out of a rural assembly by falkland. he returned soon afterwards, struck falkland, felled him to the earth, and kicked him in the presence of all. falkland was disgraced, and to him disgrace was worse than death. "he was too deeply pervaded with the idle and groundless romances of chivalry ever to forget the situation, humiliating and dishonourable according to his idea, in which he had been placed upon this occasion. to be knocked down, cuffed, kicked, dragged along the floor! sacred heaven, the memory of such a treatment was not to be endured." next morning mr. tyrrel was found dead in the street, having been murdered at a short distance from the assembly-house. that day marked the beginning of that melancholy which pursued falkland in after years. the public disgrace and chastisement that had been imposed upon him were not the whole of the mischief that happened to the unfortunate falkland. it was rumored that he was the murderer of his antagonist. he was examined by the neighboring magistrates and acquitted. it was absurd to imagine that a man of such integrity should commit such an atrocious crime. suspicion then fell on the hawkinses. they were tried, condemned, and afterwards executed. from thenceforward the habits of falkland became totally different. he now became a rigid recluse. everybody respected him because of his benevolence, but his stately coldness and reserve made it impossible for those about him to regard him with the familiarity of affection. caleb williams turned all these particulars over and over in his mind and began to suspect that falkland was the real murderer of tyrrel. his curiosity became an overpowering passion which was ultimately the cause of all his misfortunes. falkland realizes that his secretary is convinced of his guilt, so he determines to silence him forever. he calls williams into his room and confesses his guilt to him. falkland said that he allowed the innocent hawkinses to die because he could not sacrifice his fame. he would leave behind him a spotless and illustrious name even should it be at the expense of the death and misery of others. he then told caleb that if ever an unguarded word escaped from his lips he would pay for it by his death or worse. this secret was a constant source of torment to williams. every trifling incident made falkland suspicious and consequently increased the misery of his secretary. at length caleb flees, but is taken back, falsely accused of theft, and cast into prison. in all this falkland contrives to manage things so as to increase his reputation for benevolence. williams is made to appear an ungrateful wretch. the impotence of the law to secure justice to the weak is only equalled by the wretchedness of the prisons to which they are condemned. "thank god," exclaims the englishman, "we have no bastile! thank god with us no man can be punished without a crime!" "unthinking wretch!" writes godwin, "is that a country of liberty, where thousands languish in dungeons and fetters? go, go, ignorant fool! and visit the scenes of our prisons. witness their unwholesomeness, their filth, the tyranny of their governors, the misery of their inmates! after that show me the man shameless enough to triumph, and say 'england has no bastile!' is there any charge so frivolous, upon which men are not consigned to those detested abodes? is there any villainy that is not practiced by justices and prosecutors, etc.?" williams tries to escape from prison and is caught in the attempt. he was then treated more cruelly than ever. he made another attempt to escape and was successful. the rest of the novel is taken up with an account of all that williams suffered in his endeavors to keep out of the reach of the law. he falls in with a band of outlaws whose rude natural virtues are contrasted with the meanness and corruption of the officers of the law. he is at last caught, but falkland, to make himself appear magnanimous, does not press the charge against williams. instead he persecutes caleb by poisoning people's minds against him. everywhere caleb goes he is followed by an emissary of falkland who contrives to convince people that williams is an ungrateful scoundrel. he can stand the persecution no longer and so determines to accuse falkland of the murder of tyrrel. williams does this in a way to carry conviction to his hearers. falkland finally breaks down, throws himself into williams' arms, saying, "all my prospects are concluded. all that i most ardently desired is forever frustrated. i have spent a life of the basest cruelty to cover one act of momentary vice, and to protect myself against the prejudice of my species.... and now (turning to the magistrates) do with me as you please. if, however, you wish to punish me, you must be speedy in your justice; for, as reputation was the blood that warmed my heart, so i feel that death and infamy must seize me together." he survived this event but three days. "a nobler spirit than falkland's," godwin writes, "lived not among the sons of men. thy intellectual powers were truly sublime, and thy bosom burned with a godlike ambition. but of what use are talents and sentiments in the corrupt wilderness of human society? it is a rank and rotten soil, from which every finer shrub draws poison as it grows. falkland! thou enteredst upon thy career with the purest and most laudable intentions. but thou imbibest the poison of chivalry with thy earliest youth; and the base and low-minded envy that met thee on thy return to thy native seats, operated with this poison to hurry thee into madness...." all these evils flow from falkland's standard of morals--and his is the aristocratic, traditional one. he is the victim of the false ideal of chivalry. the errors of falkland, shelley writes, "sprang from a high though perverted conception of human nature, from a powerful sympathy with his species and from a temper, which led him to believe that the very reputation of excellence should walk among mankind unquestioned and unassailed." protests against this condition of affairs were not wanting, it is true, but they did not influence men to any great extent. cowper, for example, criticizes most severely the luxury and vices of his age. rank abundance breeds in gross and pampered cities, sloth and lust and wantonness and gluttonous excess. he deplores the corruption in church and state, and pleads for a return to religion. in the _progress of error_ he pictures occidius as a cassock'd huntsman and a fiddling priest. himself a wanderer from the narrow way, his silly sheep, what wonder if they stray. although he lashes the follies of his time in _the task_, _table talk_, and _expostulation_, still he does not attack the institutions of his country with the vehemence characteristic of later writers. his poems are a mild expression of the revolutionary spirit that was then gathering strength. at a very early age shelley showed signs of hatred for existing institutions. these became more pronounced as he grew older, until they finally blazed forth in _queen mab_ in . this poem is considered by some to be merely a declamatory pamphlet in verse. shelley himself described it at one time as "villainous trash." like a true radical he gathers up all the evils of society, its crimes, misery, and oppression, and feels them so keenly that he makes them part of his own being. this collected lightning he discharged in one awful flash in _queen mab_. the first two parts of this poem bear a striking resemblance to volney's _les ruines_.[ ] in _queen mab_ a fairy descends and takes up ianthe's soul to heaven that she may see how to accomplish the great end for which she lives, and that she may taste that peace which in the end all life will share. ianthe merited this boon because she vanquished earth's pride and meanness and burst "the icy chains of custom." volney's traveler is likewise disengaged from his body and conveyed to the upper regions by a genius. many consolations await him there as a reward for his unselfishness and desires for the happiness of mankind. the earth is plainly visible to both volney's traveler and shelley's spirit, ianthe, and its thronging thousands seem like an ant-hill's citizens. volney's traveler sees but a few remains of the hundred cities which once flourished in syria. all this destruction was caused by cupidity. in the same way the spirit of ianthe finds that from england's fertile fields to the burning plains where libyan monsters dwell-- thou canst not find one spot whereon no city stood.--_canto ii._ ianthe thanks the fairy for this vision of the past and says that from it she will glean a warning for the future so that man may profit by his errors and derive experience from his folly. volney's traveler wonders that past experience has not taught mankind a lesson, and that destruction is not a thing of the past. the spirit, in _queen mab_, is shown the miserable life that kings live. they have no peace of mind; even their "slumbers are but varied agonies." they are heartless wretches whose ears are deaf to the shrieks of penury. the fairy says that kings and parasites arose-- from vice, black loathsome vice: from rapine, madness, treachery, and wrong. this is somewhat stronger than volney's dictum that paternal tyranny laid the foundations of political despotism. canto iv of _queen mab_ contains a description of the horrors of war. in _les ruines_ there is an account of the war between russia and turkey. both attribute this horrible evil to cupidity, "the daughter and companion of ignorance." volney's traveler is then vouchsafed a glimpse of the "new age" when equality, liberty, and justice will reign supreme. the final chapters of _les ruines_ describe a disputation between the doctors of different religions, which ends in convincing the people that all religions are false. the ministers of the various sects contradict and refute one another, opposing revelations to revelations and miracles to miracles, until they render it evident that they are all deceived or deceivers. man himself is to blame for having been duped. religion exists because man is superstitious and tolerates the imposition of priests. "thus, agitated by their own passions, men, whether in their individual capacity, or as collective bodies, always rapacious and improvident passing from tyranny to slavery, from pride to abjectness, from presumption to despair, have been themselves the eternal instruments of their misfortunes."[ ] in the notes to _queen mab_, shelley says that as ignorance of nature gave birth to gods the knowledge of nature is calculated to destroy them. but now contempt is mocking thy gray hairs; thou art descending to the darksome grave unhonored and unpitied, but by those whose pride is passing by like thine. and sheds like thine a glare that fades before the sun of truth, and shines but in the dreadful night that long has lowered above the ruined world.[ ] the third part of _queen mab_ contains a glowing picture of the golden age--of the world as it will be, when reason will be the sole guide of men. for this shelley is indebted mainly to godwin's _political justice_. for his denunciation of the professions shelley is indebted to the essay on "trades and professions" in godwin's _enquirer_. with regard to commerce, godwin says that the introduction of barter and sale into society was followed by vice and misery. "barter and sale being once introduced, the invention of a circulating medium in the precious metals gave solidity to the evil, and afforded a field upon which for the rapacity and selfishness of man to develop all their refinements."[ ] shelley says: commerce has set the mark of selfishness the signet of its all-enslaving power upon a shining ore, and called it gold.[ ] godwin expresses his opinion of merchants as follows: "there is no being on the face of the earth with a heart more thoroughly purged from every remnant of the weakness of benevolence and sympathy."[ ] and shelley writes: commerce! beneath whose poison-breathing shade no solitary virtue dares to spring. shelley says that soldiers-- ... are the hired bravos who defend the tyrant's throne--the bullies of his fear: these are the sinks and channels of worst vice, the refuse of society, the dregs of all that is most vile, etc. his note on this passage was taken bodily from essay v of godwin's _enquirer_. with regard to clergymen, shelley expresses his opinion thus: then grave and hoary-headed hypocrites without a hope, a passion, or a love who, through a life of luxury and lies have crept by flattery to the seats of power support the system whence their honors flow godwin's verdict is not so severe. "clergymen," he says, "are timid in enquiry, prejudiced in opinion, cold, formal, the slave of what other men may think of them, rude, dictatorial, impatient of contradiction, harsh in their censures, and illiberal in their judgments." _queen mab_ then is a fierce diatribe against existing institutions. it contains very little constructive philosophy. what value has it for mankind? does it serve any purpose apart from giving pleasure to the aesthetic faculties? it assuredly does. it awakens the social conscience. the first step for the sinner on the road to conversion is to try to realize the sinful state of his soul. the same is true of a nation in need of reform. unless its shortcomings are vividly brought home to it, reformation will never take place. to do this was and still is the work of _queen mab_. it laid bare the weaknesses of state and church; it engendered the spirit of compassion and thus paved the way for reform. chapter ii views on marriage and love in september, , shelley wrote a sonnet, already quoted, to ianthe, his first child, in which he says that the babe was dear to him not only for its own sweet sake, but for the mother's, and that the mother had grown dearer to him for the babe's. hogg informs us, however, that about this time the ardor of shelley's affection for his wife was beginning to cool. it is scarcely correct to speak of the ardor of his affection, for it may be doubted that he ever loved harriet very ardently. if he had been seriously in love with his wife, he would not have written miss hitchener two months after his marriage that he loved her "more than any relation," and that she was the sister of his soul.[ ] however this may be, it is certain that in shelley and his wife did not get along well together. harriet was beautiful and amiable, and adopted in a somewhat parrot-like manner the views of her husband. as she grew older she no doubt developed tastes more in keeping with the conventions of that society which shelley detested. professor dowden suggests that motherhood produced in her character a change that did not harmonize with her husband's idealism. she was no longer an ardent schoolgirl, but a woman who has found out that one must grapple with the realities of life in some way more practical than the one hitherto followed. her sister urged her to look for the style and elegance suitable to the wife of a prospective baronet. this was repugnant to shelley's republican simplicity. "i have often thought," peacock writes, "that, if harriet had nursed her own child, and if the sister had not lived with them, the link of their married life would not have been so readily broken." harriet sympathized less and less with her husband's aspirations, and as a consequence shelley turned to other women for the encouragement and inspiration which he once got from his wife. he spent too much of his time in the company of the newtons, boinvilles, and turners to render possible the retention of his wife's affections. on march , , shelley wrote a letter to hogg, which plainly shows that he found no happiness in his home. "i have been staying with mrs. boinville for the last month; i have escaped, in the society of all that friendship and philosophy combine, from the dismaying solitude of myself.... i have sunk into a premature old age of exhaustion.... eliza is still with us--not here!--but (with his wife) ... i certainly hate her with all my heart and soul." shelley's second marriage in st. george's church, on march , does not throw any light on the relations that existed between himself and his wife. they celebrated this second ceremony simply to dispel all doubts concerning the validity of the first one in edinburgh. on april , mrs. boinville wrote to hogg that shelley was at her house, that harriet had gone to town (presumably to her father's), and that eliza was living at southampton. j. c. jeafferson says that it was shelley who deserted harriet and not harriet, shelley. according to this biographer, shelley left her at binfield on may , .[ ] shelley still hoped to regain his wife's love, and in some verses inscribed, "to harriet, ," he appeals pathetically for her affection. harriet had become cold and proud, and refused to meet his advances toward a reconciliation. her pride, shelley believed, was incompatible with virtue. when he found that he had "clasped a shadow," his anguish, owing to his great sensitiveness, was extreme. other men put up with their wives' imperfections, and why could not shelley have done the same? it must be remembered, though, that these men have other interests to occupy their thoughts, and other friends to give them the sympathy and love denied them at home. this was not the case with shelley. he had few friends and many enemies. it should not surprise us then to find him snatching at the first vision "which promised him the longed-for boon of human love." this vision appeared to him in the person of mary godwin. a letter from harriet to hookham, dated july , shows that she was anxious to be with her husband again. but the time for reconciliation had passed. whenever shelley hated or loved anybody, he did so intensely. everybody was either an angel or a devil; and harriet had ceased to be an angel. "lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds." dowden says shelley persuaded himself that harriet was false to him and had given her heart to a mr. ryan. there is no ground for the charge of unfaithfulness, as peacock, thornton hunt, and trelawny bear testimony concerning her innocence. shelley believed that harriet had ceased to love him, and that he was consequently free to contract a union with another. he puts forth this doctrine in the notes to _queen mab_. "a husband and wife ought to continue so long united as they love each other.... there is nothing immoral in this separation.... the conviction that wedlock is indissoluble holds out the strongest of all temptations to the perverse.... prostitution is the legitimate offspring of marriage." he considered marriage a useless institution, and expressed this view in _st. irvyne_. "say, eloise, do not you think it an insult to two souls, united to each other in the irrefragable covenants of love and congeniality, to promise in the sight of a being whom they know not, that fidelity which is certain otherwise." he does not think that promiscuous intercourse will follow the abolition of marriage. love, and not money, honors, or convenience will be the bond of these unions when marriage is abolished, and this will result in more faithfulness than obtains at present. "the parties having acted upon selection are not likely to forget this selection when the interview is over."[ ] in his review of hogg's _memoirs of prince alexy haimatoff_, shelley regards with horror the recommendation of the tutor to alexy to indulge in promiscuous intercourse. "it is our duty to protest against so pernicious and disgusting an opinion." in a letter to hogg, written after the latter's attempt to seduce harriet, we find the following: "but do not love one (harriet) who can not return it, who if she could, ought to stiffle her desire to do so. love is not a whirlwind that is unvanquishable." shelley's views on marriage agree with those of godwin. they both looked on marriage as a human institution, and consequently thought it might be modified or abolished entirely. they considered happiness man's highest good, and unhappiness man's only evil. vows and promises are immoral because the thing promised may prove at any time detrimental to one's happiness. for this reason husband and wife should not bind themselves to live always together. this doctrine appealed to shelley because it agreed with his views on freedom and his passion for opposing the traditions of society. heretofore it has been found convenient to lay the blame for all the radical views of shelley at the door of godwin. in the case of those on marriage a good deal of the blame must be borne by sir james lawrence. in a letter to lawrence, dated august , , shelley writes: "your _empire of the naires_, which i read this spring, succeeded in making me a perfect convert to its doctrines. i then retained no doubts of the evils of marriage--mrs. wollstonecraft reasons too well for that--but i had been dull enough not to perceive the greatest argument against it, until developed in the naires, prostitution both legal and illegal." hogg says that shelley and his young friends read lawrence's tale with delight.[ ] this work, intended to vindicate the rights of women, is a plea for free love. it pictures the kingdom of the naires as a paradise of love, where neither jealousy nor envy, quarreling nor hatred, have any place. infanticide and the sufferings that follow in the wake of illicit intercourse are there unknown. "it would be unjust to conclude," lawrence writes, "that every voluntary union would be short-lived." he claims that, although constancy is no merit in itself, still it obtains in the kingdom of the naires to a greater extent than in europe. "know ye not that though constancy is no merit it is a source of happiness; and that though inconstancy is no crime, it is no blessing much less a boast."[ ] there is some resemblance between this and the following from shelley's _notes to queen mab_: "constancy has nothing virtuous in itself independently of the pleasure it confers, and partakes of the temporizing spirit of vice in proportion as it endures tamely moral defects of magnitude in the object of its indiscreet choice." in another place lawrence writes: "two hearts whom love with its loadstone has touched, will stick together, nought will tear asunder. but soon as the magnetic power has ceased, say, why should wedlock link in iron fetters, superfluous even when they are not vexatious, those bodies which the soul of love has left?"[ ] in the notes to _queen mab_ we read--"a husband and wife ought to continue so long united as they love each other; any law which should bind them to cohabitation for one moment after the decay of their affection would be a most intolerable tyranny, and the most unworthy of toleration."[ ] "among the naires there are neither courtesans nor virgins, for the two extremes are equally unnatural and equally detrimental to the state. love there shuns not the light of the sun, nor is it, as in europe, degraded as a vice, nor allied to infamy and guilt." shelley lived at a time when the marriage ideal was not held in high repute. lawrence describes many kinds of abominable travesties of marriage. in persia, to silence the scruples of the lustful, "they have contrived contracts of enjoyment (for it would be wicked to call them contracts of marriage) for very short periods of time; these are formally signed and countersigned, and many priests gain their livelihood by giving their benediction to this orthodox prostitution."[ ] marriage was a mere formality for a great many. in france, montesquieu writes, "a husband, who would wish to keep his wife to himself, would be considered a disturber of the public happiness, and as a madman who would monopolise the light of the sun. he who loves his own wife, is one who is not agreeable enough to gain the affections of any other man's wife, who takes advantage of a law to make amends for his own want of amiability; and who contributes, as far as lies in his power, to overturn a tacit convention, that is conducive to the happiness of both sexes."[ ] in england conditions were no better. a husband might consort with as many women as he chose and his wife could get no redress. in italy and spain, the inhabitants, "too fond of liberty to respect the duties of marriage and too attached to their names to suffer their extinction, require only representatives, and not sons as their heirs. it is a pity that the naire system is not known to them; but cicesbeism is a palliative to marriage and an ingenious compromise between family pride and natural independence, and it is better to be inconsistent and happy than unhappy and rational."[ ] in no country of europe is the marriage vow kept. why not then, argued shelley, abolish this institution which makes hypocrites of men? "marriage is the tomb of love.... two lovers only meet when in good humor, or when resolved to be so; a married couple think themselves entitled to torment each other with their ill-humors. when a lover presents a trifle to his beloved, she receives it with smiles; when a husband makes a present to his wife, which indeed happens seldom enough, he runs the risk of being told that he has no taste, or that she could have bought it cheaper."[ ] _the empire of the naires_ is not so much an exposition of the free-love system of the naires as a grossly distorted and exaggerated picture of the miseries that follow from the present system of regulating the relations between the sexes in the different countries of the world. lawrence draws horrible pictures of misery, degradation, and even murder that are a consequence of our opinions on love and marriage. "whenever women are treated like slaves," he writes, "they act like slaves with artifice and hypocricy."[ ] shelley affirms that "the present system of constraint does no more, in the majority of instances, than make hypocrites of open enemies."[ ] lawrence attributes the social evil to the existing code of morality. if a girl falls, she is driven from her home, and the only road then open to her is that which leads to the brothel. "prostitution," says shelley, "is the legitimate offspring of marriage and its accompanying errors. women for no other crime than having followed the dictates of a natural appetite are driven with fury from the comforts and sympathies of society. society avenges herself on the criminals of her own creation."[ ] it does not seem that shelley made much use of the plot or rather of the different incidents of the _empire of the naires_. however, it may not be amiss to indicate the slight resemblance that exists between the story of margaret montgomery and that of rosalind in _rosalind and helen_. rosalind loves a young man whom she is about to marry. on the day fixed for the wedding, her father returns from a distant land to die, and informs them that rosalind and her lover are brother and sister. hold, hold! he cried! i tell thee 'tis her brother! thy mother, boy, beneath the sod of yon churchyard rests in her shroud so cold; i am now weak and pale, and old: we were once dear to one another, i and that corpse! thou art our child! her betrothed falls dead on the receipt of this news. rosalind marries another who uses her very cruelly, perhaps because she gives birth to an illegitimate child. her husband dies, and his will, because she was adulterous, imported, that if e'er again i sought my children to behold or in my birthplace did remain beyond three days, whose hours were told, they should inherit naught: in _the naires_ margaret montgomery and james forbes had known and loved each other from childhood. shortly before the time set for their wedding, james' father sent a letter to margaret's father breaking off the marriage in the most positive terms. the latter's pride was inflamed, and a quarrel ensued in which forbes was mortally wounded. the dying man sent for margaret and told her that she and her lover are sister and brother, that he and not montgomery was her father, and hence her mother's and his opposition to the marriage. margaret is enceinte, and her reputed father turns her out of doors. her lover is killed in naples. a friend sends margaret some money during her stay in london. shelley makes rosalind, who has been dispossessed too, receive some money from an old servant. rosalind and margaret are separated from their life-long friends who know-- what to the evil world is due and therefore sternly did refuse to link themselves with the infamy of ones so lost as their sinning sisters. in both cases common misery reunites them and their friends again. in may or june, , shelley became acquainted with mary godwin. her father described her as being "singularly bold, somewhat imperious, and active in mind; her desire of knowledge is great, and her perseverance in everything she undertakes almost invincible." she was brought up in an atmosphere of free thought, having spent most of her girlhood with mr. baxter, a faithful disciple of godwin. shelley and mary had many sympathies in common, and it is not surprising to find them soon falling in love with each other. peacock tells us that shelley at this time was in agony. on the one hand he was tormented by his desire to treat harriet rightly, and on the other by his passion for mary. passion won the day, and on july shelley eloped with mary to the continent. he tried to ease his conscience by offering harriet his friendship and protection. he wrote her from the continent and urged her to join himself and mary in switzerland. he assured her that she would find in him a firm, constant friend to whom her interests would be always dear. while passing judgment on shelley one should not forget that he simply put into practice those doctrines which he believed to be true. neither shelley nor mary thought they were inflicting any wrong on harriet as long as they offered her their friendship and protection. in september, , shelley, mary and jane clairmont, mary's half-sister, settled in london. about this time he was troubled a great deal with money embarrassments and was in continual hiding from the bailiffs. toward the end of the year he read "the tale of godwin's american disciple in romance, charles brockden brown."[ ] "brown's four novels," says peacock, "schiller's robbers, and goethe's faust, were of all the works with which he was familiar those which took the deepest root in shelley's mind and had the strongest influence in the formation of his character." brown's most important novel, _wieland_, is a gruesome tale in which the horrors portrayed owe their existence to the errors of the sufferers. wieland, a very religious man, is deceived by an unscrupulous ventriloquist who persuades him that a voice from heaven bids him sacrifice the life of his wife and four children. "if wieland had framed juster notions of moral duty, and of the divine attributes; or if he had been gifted with ordinary equanimity or foresight, the double tongued deceiver would have been baffled and repelled." this is the doctrine of shelley; he believed that the evils of society were man's own creation. ye princes of the earth, ye sit aghast amid the ruin which yourselves have made. yes, desolation heard your trumpet's blast, and sprang from sleep.[ ] brown's views on love are almost as radical as those of godwin. wieland's sister is in love with pleyel, and is anxious to act in such a way as to give him hope and at the same time not to appear too forward. "time was," she says, "when these emotions would be hidden with immeasurable solicitude from every human eye. alas! these airy and fleeting impulses of shame are gone. my scruples were preposterous and criminal. they are bred in all hearts, by a perverse and vicious education, and they would have maintained their place in my heart had not my portion been set in misery. my errors have taught me thus much wisdom; that those sentiments which we ought not to disclose it is criminal to harbor."[ ] shelley's ideal woman would hold the same views. he writes: and women too, frank, beautiful and kind ... ... from custom's evil taint exempt and pure speaking the wisdom once they could not think, looking emotions once they feared to feel. and changed to all which once they dared not be yet, being now, made earth like heaven. in may, , shelley, accompanied by mary and jane clairmont, started for italy. it is probable that the undesirable state of shelley's health, together with the constant begging of godwin, determined them to leave england. j. c. jeafferson maintains that miss clairmont persuaded shelley to accompany her to geneva, where she was to meet lord byron. it is quite certain though that mary and shelley were ignorant of byron's intrigue with miss clairmont. the most that can be said is that jane's solicitations may have hastened their departure. in september, , the shelleys returned to london. about a month afterwards news reached them that fanny imlay (mary's half-sister) had committed suicide. it is said that love for shelley drove her to despair. in december shelley was seeking for harriet, of whom he had lost trace some time previously. on december , her body was found in the serpentine. very little is known of the life she led after her separation from shelley. rumor had it that she drank heavily and became the mistress of a soldier, who deserted her. it may be that "in all shelley did, he, at the time of doing it, believed himself justified to his own conscience," but surely that conscience is warped which finds no cause for remorse in shelley's treatment of his first wife. no one can view his self-complacency and assumption of righteousness at this time without feelings of detestation. on the day he heard the news of his wife's suicide he wrote to mary: "everything tends to prove, however, that beyond the shock of so hideous a catastrophe having fallen on a human being once so nearly connected with me, there would in any case, have been little to regret." "little to regret" save the shock to his nerves. what about the suffering of the poor woman that forced her to commit such a terrible deed? shelley claimed his children from the westbrooks, but the claim was denied. the children were committed to the care of a dr. hume, of hanwell. lord eldon gave his judgment against shelley on the ground that shelley's opinions led to immoral conduct. shelley gave vent to his rage in sixteen vitriolic stanzas, which he addressed to the lord chancellor. during his residence at marlow on the thames in , shelley wrote _the revolt of islam_, which was first published under the title _laon and cythna_. in its first form it contained violent attacks on theism and christianity; and the hero and heroine were brother and sister. ollier refused to publish it unless everything indicating such a relationship were removed, and shelley reluctantly consented to make the necessary alterations. _the revolt of islam_ opens with an allegorical myth in which the strife between a serpent and an eagle--good and evil--is described. while the poet sympathizes with the snake, a mysterious woman (asia in prometheus unbound) suddenly appears and conducts him to heaven. there he meets laon and cythna who recount the sufferings which made them worthy of this heavenly place. first of all, laon tells about his love for cythna, who is described as a shape of brightness moving upon the earth. she mourned with him over the servitude-- in which the half of humankind were mewed, victims of lust and hate, the slaves of slaves, she mourned that grace and power were thrown as food to the hyena lust, who, among graves, over his loathed meal, laughing in agony raves.[ ] cythna determines to make all good and just. by the force of kindness she will "disenchant the captives," and "then millions of slaves shall leap in joy as the benumbing cramp of ages shall leave their limbs." the happiness of the lovers was rudely interrupted. cythna is taken away by the emissaries of the tyrant othman; and laon, who killed three of the king's slaves while defending her, is cast into prison. a hermit sets him free, conveys him to an island, and supports him there for seven years. during all of this time laon's mind is deranged. he recovers, however, and then they both embark to help overthrow the tyrant othman. the revolutionists are successful principally because of the influence of their leader, who is a woman, laone. such is the strength of her quiet words that none dare harm her. tyrants send their armed slaves to quell-- her power, they, even like a thundergust caught by some forest, bend beneath the spell of that young maiden's speech, and to their chiefs rebel.[ ] some of the revolutionists demand that othman be put to death for his crimes. laon interposes and tells them that if their hearts are tried in the true love of freedom they should cease to dread this one poor lonely man. here is godwin's doctrine again: the chastened will of virtue sees that justice is the light of love, and not revenge and terror and despite.[ ] that same night the tyrant with the aid of a foreign army treacherously attacks the revolutionists. in the midst of the carnage a black tartarian horse of giant frame comes trampling o'er the dead; the living bleed beneath the hoofs of that tremendous steed on which like to an angel robed in white sate one waving a sword.[ ] needless to say, this is cythna who comes to rescue laon. they both flee to a lonely ruin where they recount to each other the stories of their sufferings. cythna tells that she was carried to a submarine cavern by order of the tyrant, and that she was fed there by an eagle. she became a mother, and was comforted for a while by the caresses of her child until it mysteriously disappeared. an earthquake changed the position of the cavern, and cythna is rescued by some passing sailors. she is taken to the city of othman, where she leads the revolutionists as described in the previous cantos. want and pestilence follow in the wake of massacre, and cause awful misery. an iberian priest in whose breast "hate and guile lie watchful" says that god will not stay the plague until a pyre is built and laon and cythna burned upon it. an immense reward is offered for their capture. the person who brings them both alive shall espouse the princess and reign with the king. a stranger comes to the tyrant's court and tells them that they themselves have made all the desolation which they bewail. however, he cannot expect them to change their ways so he promises to betray laon if they will only allow cythna to go to america. the tyrant agrees to the stranger's terms, who then tells them that he is laon himself. he is placed upon the altar, and as the torches are about to be applied to it cythna appears on her tartarian steed. the priest urges his comrades to seize her, but the king has scruples about breaking his promise. she is set on the pyre, however, and both perish in the flames. they wake reclining-- on the waved and golden sand of a clear pool, upon a bank o'ertwined with strange and star-bright flowers, which to the wind breathed divine odour.[ ] a boat approaches them with an angel (cythna's child) in it. they are all carried in this "curved shell of hollow pearl" to a haven of rest and joy. this disconnected story serves as a vehicle to convey exhortations regarding liberty and justice. thus, during the voyage from the cavern to othman's city, cythna delivers an address to the sailors which contains some of the best passages in the poem. she tells them for example: to feel the peace of self-contentment's lot, to own all sympathies, and outrage none, and in the inmost bowers of sense and thought, until life's sunny day is quite gone down, to sit and smile with joy, or, not alone to kiss salt tears from the worn cheek of woe; to live as if to love and live were one; this is not faith or law, nor those who bow to thrones on heaven or earth such destiny may know.[ ] the poem aims at kindling a virtuous enthusiasm for the doctrines of liberty and equal rights to all. "it is a series of pictures illustrating the growth and progress of individual mind aspiring after excellence" and the regeneration of humanity. laon is the expression of ideal devotion to the happiness of mankind; and cythna is a type of the new woman, "the free, equal, fearless companion of man." the poem depicts "the awakening of an immense nation from their slavery and degradation to a true sense of moral dignity and freedom; the tranquillity of successful patriotism and the universal toleration and benevolence of true philanthropy." it concludes by showing that the triumph of oppression is temporary and a sure pledge of its inevitable fall. so much attention is here given to _the revolt of islam_ because of the influence on it of a love story--_the missionary_, by miss owenson--an influence which up to the present has escaped the notice of shelley students.[ ] in a letter to hogg, dated june , , shelley writes "the only thing that has interested me, if i except your letters, has been one novel. it is miss owenson's _missionary_, an indian tale; will you read it? it is really a divine thing; luxima, the indian, is an angel. what a pity we cannot incorporate these creatures of fancy; the very thoughts of them thrill the soul! since i have read this book, i have read no other."[ ] this tale is a very striking one, and it is not strange that shelley made its philosophy his own. the descriptions are so vivid, the tale so simple, and the experiences recorded apparently so true, that it takes a maturer mind than shelley's to lay bare the fallacies of the work and to unmask its half truths. no outline of the story can give an idea of its strength. in the beginning of the seventeenth century hilarion count d'acugna of the royal house of braganza joins the franciscans, and on account of his zeal and piety is known as "the man without a fault." he is full of zeal for the salvation of souls and goes to india to convert pagans to christianity. "devoted to a higher communion his soul only stooped from heaven to earth, to relieve the sufferings he pitied, or to correct the errors he condemned; to substitute peace for animosity ... to watch, to pray, to fast, to suffer for all. such was the occupation of a life, active as it was sinless." passages like the above serve as sugar coating for the following: "hitherto the life of the young monk resembled the pure and holy dream of saintly slumbers, for it was still a dream; splendid indeed, but unsubstantial, dead to all those ties which constitute at once the charm and the anxiety of existence, which agitate while they bless the life of man, the spring of human affection lay untouched within his bosom and the faculty of human reason unused within his mind.... yet these feelings though unexercised were not extinct; they betrayed their existence even in the torpid life he had chosen, etc." the missionary spends some time at lahore studying the dialects of upper india under the tutelage of a pundit. during his stay there the guru of cashmere comes to lahore for the ceremony of upaseyda. he is accompanied by his beautiful and accomplished granddaughter, luxima, the prophetess and brachmachira of cashmere. the pundit tells the missionary about the wonderful influence that the guru's granddaughter, luxima, has over the people of the place, just as the old man of _the revolt of islam_, who represents shelley's teacher, dr. lind, tells laon about the extraordinary influence of cythna on the people she meets. "the indians of the most distinguished rank drew back as she approached lest their very breath should pollute that region of purity her respiration consecrated, and the odour of the sacred flowers, by which she was adorned, was inhaled with an eager devotion, as if it purified the soul it almost seemed to penetrate." the pundit says that "her beauty, her enthusiasm, her graces, and her genius, alike capacitate her to propagate and support the errors of which she herself is the victim." the old man tells laon that cythna-- paves her path with human hearts, and o'er it flings the wildering gloom of her immeasurable wings. at the ceremony of upaseyda, which the guru holds, disputants of various sects put forth the claims of their respective religions. "a devotee of the musnavi sect took the lead; he praised the mysteries of the bhagavat, and explained the profound allegory of the six ragas.... a disciple of the vedanti school spoke of the transports of mystic love, and maintained the existence of spirit only; while a follower of buddha supported the doctrine of matter, etc." the missionary takes advantage of this opportunity to tell them about christianity. "the impression of his appearance was decisive, it sank at once to the soul; and he imposed conviction on the senses, ere he made his claim on the understanding.... he ceased to speak and all was still as death. his hands were folded on his bosom, to which his crucifix was pressed; his eyes were cast in meekness on the earth; but the fire of his zeal still played like a ray from heaven on his brow." this reminds one at once of canto ix, of _the revolt of islam_: and oromaze, joshua, and mahomet, moses and buddah, zerdhust and brahm and foh, a tumult of strange names, which never met before, as watchwords of a single woe, arose; each raging votary 'gan to throw aloft his armed hands, and each did howl "our god alone is god!"--and slaughter now would have gone forth, when from beneath a cowl a voice came forth, which pierced like ice through every soul. 'twas an iberian priest from whom it came a zealous man, who led the legioned west, with words which faith and pride had stopped in flame, to quell the unbelievers.... he ceased, and they a space stood silent, as far, far away the echoes of his voice among them died; and he knelt down upon the dust, alway muttering the curses of his speechless pride. there is a striking resemblance between this cowled iberian priest and the iberian franciscan of _the missionary_. the missionary looked to the conversion of the prophetess as the most effectual means of accomplishing the conversion of the nation. with this end in view he goes to cashmere, and unexpectedly comes upon luxima one morning, praying at a shrine. "silently gazing in wonder upon each other, they stood finely opposed, the noblest specimens of the human species...; she, like the east, lovely and luxuriant; he, like the west, lofty and commanding; the one, radiant in all the luster, attractive in all the softness which distinguishes her native regions; the other, towering in all the energy, which marks his ruder latitudes." they meet again and again, and the result is they fall in love with each other. it is significant from the point of view of the influence of the _missionary_ that in alastor shelley meets his ideal love "in the vale of cashmire." the way the novelist develops the progress of this sentiment, which both the priest and the priestess had vowed to suppress, can scarcely be surpassed. she describes how their new mode of feeling was opposed by their ancient habits of thinking, and how their minds "struggling between a natural bliss and a religious principle of resistance, between a passionate sentiment and an habitual self-command, become a scene of conflict and agitation." old age with its gray hair, and wrinkled legends of unworthy things and icy sneers is nought; it cannot dare to burst the chains which life forever flings on the entangled soul's aspiring wings.[ ] luxima succumbed to the warfare. she overcame the traditions and laws by which she was bound; and hence shelley's great admiration for her. she embraced christianity less in faith than in love. she did not feel guilty because she thought her sentiments of love were true to all life's natural impulses. the missionary, on the other hand, must have excited in shelley pity for the man and hatred for the institutions which stood in the way of their happiness. "he had not, indeed, relinquished a single principle of his moral feeling--he had not yet vanquished a single prejudice of his monastic education; to feel, was still with him to be weak; to love, a crime; and to resist, perfection." luxima is excommunicated, deprived of caste and declared a wanderer and an outcast upon the earth. they both elude their pursuers and join a caravan which is on its way to tatta. on their journey the missionary tells her that they must soon separate, as duty demands that he continue the work of his ministry. he will see to it that she is well cared for in a convent at tatta. luxima upbraids him for his selfishness. he replies that it is not the prospect of his degradation and humiliation which deters him from staying with her, but the thought that by so doing he will commit a crime--break his vows. "pity then," the missionary says, "and yet respect him who, loving thee and virtue equally, can never know happiness without nor with thee--who thus condemned to suffer without ceasing submits not to his fate, but is overpowered by its tyranny, and who alike helpless and unresigned opposes while he suffers and repines while he endures." continency was unintelligible to shelley, and he criticizes it in canto xii as follows: ... that sudden rout one checked who never in his mildest dreams felt awe from grace or loveliness, the seams of his rent heart so hard and cold a creed had seared with blistering ice; but he misdeems that he is wise whose wounds do only bleed only for self; thus thought the iberian priest indeed and others too thought he was wise to see in pain and fear and hate something divine; in love and beauty no divinity. shelley believed that "the worthiness of every action is to be estimated by the quantity of pleasurable sensation it is calculated to produce,"[ ] that the ideal of man was to love and to be loved. luxima says: "be that heaven my witness that i would not for the happiness i have abandoned and the glory i have lost, resign that desert whose perilous solitudes i share with thee. oh! my father, and my friend, thou alone hast taught me to know that the paradise of woman is the creation of her heart; that it is not the light or air of heaven, though beaming brightness and breathing fragrance, nor all that is loveliest in nature's scenes, which form the sphere of her existence and enjoyment! it is alone the presence of him she loves; it is that mysterious sentiment of the heart which diffuses a finer sense of life through the whole being; and which resembles, in its singleness and simplicity, the primordial idea which in the religion of my fathers is supposed to have preceded time and worlds, and from which all created good has emanated."[ ] in the preface to _the revolt of islam_ shelley writes that he "sought to enlist the harmony of metrical language ... and the rapid and subtle transitions of human passion in the cause of a liberal and comprehensive morality." for this purpose he chose "a story of human passion in its most universal character, diversified with moving and romantic adventures and appeal, in contempt of all artificial opinions or institutions to the common sympathies of every human breast. what is the _missionary_ but "a story of human passion appealing in contempt of all artificial opinions or institutions to the common sympathies of every human heart?" when _the revolt of islam_ first appeared, laon and cythna were brother and sister. their love like that of the missionary and priestess is considered illicit. not only are the motifs of both very similar, but many of the incidents are identical. the influence of the _missionary_ on the _revolt_ will perhaps appear more clearly if we put these incidents in parallel columns. in the second canto-- laon and cythna must part that they when the missionary tells luxima may spread their doctrines among that they must separate, in order men. that he may continue the work of his ministry, luxima says she cythna says: will not long endure the agony of separation. "thinkest thou," she "we part! o laon, i must dare, exclaims, "that i shall long nor tremble survive his loss for whom i have to meet those looks no more! sacrificed all?" oh heavy stroke sweet brother of my soul! can i dissemble the agony of this thought?" * * * * * * * * laon and cythna are seized by the the missionary and luxima are officers of the state, and during seized by the officers of the the struggle laon overcomes three inquisition, and the missionary of the tyrant's soldiers in overcomes three soldiers in defense of cythna. defense of luxima. "--a feeble shriek "but the _feeble_ plaints of it was a feeble shriek, faint, luxima, who was borne away in far, and low the arms of one of the assailants _arrested me_--my _mien grew _recalled to his bewildered mind_ calm and meek_-- a consciousness of their mutual 'twas cythna's cry." sufferings and situations." after the overthrow of the tyrant their fellow travelers boldly othman the people demand advanced to rescue the missionary that he be put to death. and luxima, and awaiting his orders, asked: "shall we throw those men under the camels' feet or shall we bind them to those rocks and leave them to their fate?" laon answers: "the missionary cast on them a glance of pity and contempt and "'what do ye seek? what fear looking round him with an air at ye,' then i cried, once dignified and grateful, he suddenly starting forth, said: 'my friends, my heart is 'that ye should shed deeply touched by your generous the blood of othman? if your sympathy; good and grave men hearts are tried ever unite, of whatever religion in the true love of freedom or whatever faith they may be; cease to dread but i belong to a religion whose this one poor lonely man.'" spirit is to save, not to destroy; suffer these men to live; they are but the agents of a higher power whose scrutiny they challenge me to meet.'" from his prison laon sees a ship on the way to goa the missionary sailing by in which he thinks notices a covered conveyance cythna is imprisoned. going by in which he feels sure luxima is imprisoned. "he "i knew that ship bore cythna shuddered and for a moment the o'er the plain heroism of virtue deserted him. of waters, to her blighting he doubted not that she would be slavery sold conveyed in the same vessel with and watched it with such him to goa." thoughts as must remain untold." cythna is imprisoned in a cavern, luxima is imprisoned in a convent and her mind is deranged for a at lahore. the exciting incidents time. of their arrest and separation had deranged her mind for a time. "the fiend of madness which had made its prey of my poor heart was lulled to sleep awhile." the part taken by laon and cythna the natives are on the point of in the insurrection of the people rebelling, and spanish authority has already been explained. in india is on the brink of extinction. the missionary is laon and cythna are condemned to condemned to death, by the death through the instigation of inquisition. the morning of the the priests. missionary's execution has arrived. the morning of laon's execution has arrived. "the secular judges had already taken their seats on the "and see beneath a sun-bright platform, the grand inquisitor _canopy_, and the viceroy had placed upon a platform level with the themselves beneath their pile, respective _canopies_." the the anxious tyrant sit enthroned christian missionary is led to on high the pile, "_the silence which girt by the chieftans of the belongs to death reigned on host. every_ side; thousands of persons · · · · were present;... nature was there _was silence through the touched on the master spring of host_ as when emotion, and betrayed in the an earthquake trampling on some looks of the multitude feelings populous town, of _horror_, of _pity_, and of has crusht ten thousand with one admiration, which the bigoted tread, and men vigilance of an inhuman zeal expect the second. would in vain have sought to · · · · suppress. _tumult_ was in the soul of all beside, ill joy, or doubt, or fear; but those who saw their tranquil victim pass felt wonder glide, into their brain, and became calm with awe." as burning torches are about to be on the day of the execution applied to the pyre on which laon luxima noticed a procession is to die, a steed bursts through moving beneath her window and her the rank of the people on which a eyes rested on the form of the woman sits. missionary. "she beheld the friend of her soul; love and "fairer, it seems than aught reason returned together." she that _earth can breed_, escapes the vigilance of her calm, radiant, like a phantom guardian, and seeks the place of the dawn. where her beloved is to die. a spirit _from the caves_ of while officers were binding the _daylight_ wandering gone. missionary to the stake "a form all thought it was _god's _scarcely human_ darting with the angel_ come to sweep velocity of lightning through the the lingering guilty to their multitude reached the foot of the fiery grave. pile and stood before it in a grand and aspiring attitude ... thus _bright and aerial_ as it stood, it looked like a spirit _sent from heaven_ in the awful moment of dissolution to cheer and to convey to the regions of the blessed, the soul which would soon arise pure from the ordeal of earthly sufferings. the sudden appearance of the singular phantom struck the imagination of the credulous and awed multitude with superstitious wonder.... the christians fixed their eyes upon the cross, which glittered on a bosom whose beauty scarcely seemed of mortal mould, and deemed themselves the witnesses of a miracle wrought for the salvation of a persecuted martyr, whose innocence was asserted by the firmness and fortitude with which he met a dreadful death." cythna has come not to save laon luxima springs upon the pyre to but to die with him. die with the missionary. at the sight of cythna at the sight of luxima the people rise in rebellion. "they pause, they blush, they gaze--a gathering shout "the timid spirits of the hindus bursts like one sound from the rallied to an event which touched ten thousand streams their hearts, and roused them of a tempestuous sea." from the lethargy of despair--the sufferings, the oppression, they (all through the poem cythna had so long endured, seemed now exerts a wonderful influence epitomized before their eyes in over the people.) the person of their celebrated and distinguished prophetess ... "the tyrants send their armed they fell with fury on the slaves to quell christians, they rushed upon the her power; they, even like a cowardly guards of the thunder-gust inquisition who let fall their caught by some forest, bend arms and fled in dismay." beneath the spell of that young maiden's speech, and to their chiefs rebel." it did not suit shelley's purpose the officers of the inquisition to have the people use force called on by their superiors against the tyrants, so he makes sprang forward to seize the cythna persuade the people missionary; "for a moment the timid multitude were still as "--though unwilling her to bind _the pause of a brooding storm_." near me among the snakes." a priest commands the multitude to seize cythna, "slaves to the stake bind her, and on my head the burden lay of her just torments ... they trembled, but replied not nor obeyed _pausing in breathless silence_. laon escaped from his first prison during the confusion caused by in a boat which belonged to an old the insurrection the missionary man who represents shelley's tutor and luxima escape in a boat which at eton, dr. lind. was provided by his old tutor, the pundit. the missionary and luxima reach a cavern which bears a slight resemblance to the caverns of _the revolt_. he discovers that the priestess is dying from a wound received during the melée at lahore. "answering the eloquence of her languid and tender looks, he exclaims, 'yes, dearest, and most unfortunate, our destinies are now inseparably united! together we have loved, together we have resisted, together we have erred, and together we have suffered; lost alike to the glory and the fame which our virtues and the conquest of our passions obtained for us; alike condemned by our religions and our countries, there now remains nothing on earth for us but each other.'" this recalls to mind the dedication of _the revolt of islam_-- there is no danger to a man that knows what life and death is; there's not any law exceeds his knowledge: neither is it lawful that he should stoop to any other law. as the end of luxima approaches she bids her beloved live and preach peace and mercy, and love to brahmin and christian. "but should thy eloquence and thy example fail, tell them my story! tell them how i have suffered, and how even thou has failed--thou, for whom i forfeited my caste, my country and my life; for 'tis too true, that still more loving than enlightened, my ancient habits of belief clung to my mind, thou to my heart; still i lived thy seeming proselyte, that i might still live thine; and now i die as brahmin women die; a hindoo in my feelings and my faith--dying for him i loved and believing as my fathers believed."[ ] this bears some resemblance to that part of cythna's speech in the cavern, canto ix, where she glories in the triumph of their love over the opposition of the world. i fear nor prize aught that can now betide unshared by thee. cythna thinks that she _will soon die_ and believes like luxima that the story of their love will be a source of inspiration to mankind our many thoughts and deeds, our life and love, our happiness, and all that we have been immortally must live and burn and move when we shall be no more. there are, of course, some differences between the two stories, especially in the conclusions (cythna and laon are burned, while luxima alone dies and the missionary is never heard of again); but many of the incidents of both are so alike as to justify us in believing that those in _the revolt_ were derived from _the missionary_. this is confirmed by the fact that shelley makes more attacks in this poem on priests and the celibacy of the clergy than in any other. in the preface to the poem, shelley says that "although the mere composition occupied no more than six months, the thoughts thus arranged were slowly gathered in as many years." it is suggestive that the idea of composing the poem came to him in , the year in which he first read the _missionary_. in this same year he wrote a little poem entitled an _essay on love_, no copy of which is now extant.[ ] should one ever come to light, it may show remarkable similarity to the love poem _the revolt of islam_, where "love is celebrated everywhere as the sole law which should govern the moral world."[ ] it has been said that shelley was a libertine, but there seems to be no proof for this assertion. hogg, who was his most intimate friend at oxford, says the purity and sanctity of shelley's life were most conspicuous. "he was offended, and indeed more indignant than would appear to be consistent with the singular mildness of his nature at a coarse and awkward jest, especially if it were immodest and uncleanly; in the latter case his anger was unbounded, and his uneasiness preeminent." with the exception of his elopement with mary godwin there is nothing in his life to indicate that he was licentious. "die ruhe, klarheit, sicherheit und stärke seines geschlechtlichen empfündens, das frei ist von aller lüsternheit oder unnatürlichkeit ist bei seiner feinfühligen, nervosen körperanlage besonders bemerkenswert."[ ] true, shelley loved many women, but this does not prove that he was immoral. his love is platonic and not sensual. platonic love is described by howell as "a love abstracted from all corporeal gross impressions and sensual appetites, but consists in contemplations and ideas of the mind."[ ] it is a passion having its source in the enjoyment of beauty and goodness. "what is love or friendship?" shelley asks. "is it capable of no extension, no communication?" lord kaimes defines love to be a particularization of the general passion, but this is the love of sensation, of sentiment--the absurdest of absurd vanities; it is the love of pleasure, not the love of happiness. the one is a love which is self-centered, self-devoted, self-interested ... selfishness, monopoly in its very soul; but love, the love which we worship--virtue, heaven, disinterestedness--in a word."[ ] love seeks the good of all, not because its object is a minister to its pleasures, but because it is really worthy. platonism, laying emphasis upon the function of the soul as opposed to the senses, treats "love as a purely spiritual passion devoid of all sensuous pleasure."[ ] beauty is a spiritual thing, the splendor of god's light shining in all things. it is that quality of an object which draws us to it and makes us love it. man should love everything and everybody because they are all beautiful. shelley says: true love in this differs from gold and clay, that to divide is not to take away love is like understanding, that grows bright gazing on many truths;[ ] in another place he says "the meanest of our fellow beings contains qualities, which, developed, we must admire and adore." beauty is something more than outward appearance. the source of its power lies in the soul. "the platonic theory of beauty teaches that the beauty of the body is a result of the formative energy of the soul." according to the platonist ficino the soul has descended from heaven and has framed a body in which to dwell. true lovers are those whose souls have departed from heaven under the same astral influences and who, accordingly, are informed with the same idea in imitation of which they frame their earthly bodies."[ ] "we are born," writes shelley, "into the world, and there is something within us which, from the instant that we live, more and more thirsts after its likeness.... the discovery of its antitype; the meeting with an understanding capable of clearly estimating our own ... with a frame whose nerves like the chords of two exquisite lyres, strung to the accompaniment of one delightful voice, vibrate with the vibrations of our own;... this is the invisible and unattainable point to which love tends."[ ] according to plato wisdom is the most lovely of all ideas and the human being who has the greatest amount of wisdom is the most lovable. platonic love then concerns only the soul, and the union of lover and beloved is simply a union of their souls. "i am led to love a being," shelley says, "not because it stands in the physical relation of blood to me but because i discern an intellectual relationship."[ ] whenever shelley sees one possessing beauty and virtue he cannot help loving that person. i never was attached to that great sect whose doctrine is that each one should select out of the crowd a mistress or a friend and all the rest though fair and wise commend to cold oblivion;[ ] again narrow the heart that loves, the brain that contemplates the life that wears, the spirit that creates one object, and one form, and builds thereby a sepulchre for its eternity. this is the doctrine of diotima in plato's _symposium_, which shelley has translated as follows: "he who aspires to love rightly, ought from his earliest youth to seek an intercourse with beautiful forms.... he ought then to consider that beauty in whatever form it resides is the brother of that beauty which subsists in another form; and if he ought to pursue that which is beautiful in form it would be absurd to imagine that beauty is not one and the same thing in all forms, and would therefore remit much of his ardent preferences towards one, through his perception of the multitude of claims upon his love." in the preface to _alastor_ shelley says that the poem represents a youth (himself) of uncorrupted feelings led forth to the contemplation of the universe. "but the period arrives when these objects cease to suffice. his mind is at length awakened, and thirsts for intercourse with an intelligence similar to himself. he images to himself the being whom he loves." this image unites all of wonderful or wise or beautiful which the poet could depict. shelley sought this ideal all through life, and when he thought he found it went into raptures. disillusionment, however, soon followed, and _alastor_ is the expression of his despair at not finding an embodiment of his ideal. if we keep in mind that shelley was a platonist, we shall be able to form a more intelligent estimate of his love lyrics and his relations with women. in his first wife, harriet, he saw courage, a desire for freedom, and a willingness to learn his doctrines. thou art sincere and good, of resolute mind free from heart-withering customs' cold control, of passion lofty, pure and subdued. as soon as she ceased to take interest in his studies, his love for her began to wane. "every one must know," he tells peacock, "that the partner of my life should be one who can feel poetry and understand philosophy." a month or two after his first marriage he tells elizabeth hitchener that he loves her. seeing that she possessed high intelligence, great love of mankind, and a tendency to oppose existing institutions, he straightway calls her the "sister of his soul." later on he meets a beautiful, sentimental italian girl, emilia viviani, imagines she is the perfect ideal which he had formed in his youth, and writes the _epipsychidion_. "emilia," says professor dowden, "beautiful, spiritual, sorrowing, became for him a type and symbol of all that is most radiant and divine in nature, all that is most remote and unattainable, yet ever to be pursued--the ideal of beauty, truth, and love."[ ] _epipsychidion_ is the poetic embodiment of the feelings awakened in shelley by this supposed discovery of the incarnation of the ideal. emilia turned out to be an ordinary human creature, and then shelley wished to blot out the memory of her entirely. in a letter to mr. gisborne, june, , shelley says: "i think one is always in love with something or other; the error--and i confess it is not easy for spirits cased in flesh and blood to avoid it--consists in seeking in a mortal image the likeness of what is, perhaps eternal." "such illusions," says dowden, "may be of service in keeping alive within us the aspiration for the highest things, but assuredly they have a tendency to draw away from real persons some of those founts of feeling which are needed to keep fresh and bright the common ways and days of our life."[ ] some of shelley's views on women and the family were derived from mary wollstonecraft's _vindication of the rights of women_. "according to the prevailing opinion," says mrs. wollstonecraft, "women were made for men." all their cares and anxieties are directed towards getting husbands. they deck themselves out with artificial graces that enable them to exercise a short lived tyranny. "love in their bosoms, taking place of every nobler passion, their sole ambition is to look fair, to raise emotion instead of inspiring respect; and this ignoble desire, like the servility in absolute monarchies, destroys all strength of character."[ ] women then should not depend on their charms alone, because these have little effect on their husband's heart "when they are seen every day when the summer is past and gone." her first care should be to improve her mind, to exercise her god-given faculties, assert her individuality. this can never be, though, as long as she is the plaything of man. if one may contest the divine right of kings one may also contest the divine right of husbands. women should bow only to reason and cease being the modest slaves of opinion. it is a violation of the sacred rights of humanity to exact blind obedience and meek submission of women. "the being who patiently endures injustice will soon become unjust." in _the revolt of islam_, cythna says: can man be free if woman be a slave? chain one who lives and breathes this boundless air, to the corruption of a closed grave! can they whose mates are beasts condemned to bear scorn, heavier far than toil or anguish, dare to trample their oppressors? according to pope "every woman is at heart a rake." "rendered gay and giddy by the whole tenor of their lives, the very aspect of wisdom or the severe graces of virtue must have a lugubrious appearance to them." "till women are led to exercise their understandings they should not be satirized for their attachment to rakes."[ ] shelley's opinion of women is even less complimentary: woman! she is his slave, she has become a thing i weep to speak--the child of scorn, the outcast of a desolated home. falsehood, and fear, and toil, like waves have worn channels upon her cheek, which smiles adorn, as calm decks the false ocean....[ ] "the parent," mrs. wollstonecraft writes, "who pays proper attention to helpless infancy has a right to require the same attention when the feebleness of age comes upon him. but to subjugate a rational being to the mere will of another, after he is of age to answer to society for his own conduct, is a most cruel and undue stretch of power, and perhaps as injurious to morality as those religious systems which do not allow right and wrong to have any existence, but in the divine will." children should be taught early to submit to reason, "for to submit to reason, is to submit to the nature of things, and to that god who formed them so, to promote our real interest."[ ] but children near their parents tremble now because they must obey ... ... and life is poisoned in its wells.[ ] "obedience (were society as i could wish it) is a word which ought to be without meaning."[ ] another book that interested shelley very much was the "_memoires relatives a la revolution francaise_" of louvet. louvet was a licentious novelist and ardent republican. he strongly opposed the tyranny of marat and of robespierre and the work of the commune of paris. he was very courageous and often endangered his life by his opposition to the arbitrary measures of the council. in he was obliged to flee for his life and the _memoirs_ contains interesting details of this flight. he and his wife were very devoted to each other, and this together with the man's courage made a strong impression on shelley. "je te laissai, mon chér barbaroux; maix tu me le pardonnes; tu sais quelle passion j'avais pour elle, et comme elle en était digne!" he goes to paris in spite of the fact that he runs the risk of being seized and guillotined. "quiconque n'epouvva point un pariel supplice ne saurait en avoir une juste idée. o ladoiska! sans le souvenir de ton amour, qui donc aurait pu m' empecher de terminer mes peines?"[ ] louvet and ladoiska are reunited again, but only to be arrested soon afterwards. this causes her to exclaim, "non, je jure que sans toi, la vie m'est tourment, un insupportable tourment, seule, je périrais bientôt, je périrais désesperée. ah! permets, permets que nous mourions ensemble."[ ] this work may have suggested to shelley the idea of making laon and cythna die together. cythna tells laon darkness and death, if death be true, must be dearer than life and hope if unenjoyed with thee.[ ] chapter iii politics someone has said that if shelley had not been a poet he would have been a politician. certain it is that he gave to politics a great deal of thought and study. on january , , shelley wrote to peacock: "i consider poetry very subordinate to political science, and, if i were well, certainly i would aspire to the latter, for i can conceive a great work embodying the discoveries of all ages, and harmonizing the contending creeds by which mankind have been ruled."[ ] shelley was not one who beheld the woe in which mankind was bound, and deem'd that fate which made them abject, would preserve them so. on the contrary, he firmly believed in man's capacity to work out his own regeneration. his tuneful lyre was ever at the service of the goddess of freedom; and he took occasion often to pour forth music calculated to rouse the nations from their apathy. very many of shelley's views on political and social questions can be traced to godwin's _political justice_. godwin doubts that one can be said to have a mind. it may still be convenient to use the word "mind," but in fact what we know by that name is merely a chain of "ideas." since man's mind is but an aggregate of ideas, man himself is capable of indefinite modification. differences in men result wholly from differences of education. feed a sinner on syllogisms and you can transform him into a saint. it is impossible for one to resist a clear exposition of the advantages of virtue. it follows, too, that we can easily abolish existing institutions and rearrange the whole structure of society on new principles infallibly correct. the force which is to spur us on to do this is reason. it is "omnipotent." volney, rousseau, holbach, and the rest of this stamp, although condemning past systems of government, admitted that some form of government was necessary for the well-being of mankind. godwin, on the other hand, denounced all government as "an institution of the most pernicious tendency." there is only one power to which man should yield obedience and that is the decision of his own understanding. conditions being such as they are, government may be required for a while to restrain and direct men, but as soon as men will learn to follow reason, government will disappear altogether. godwin taught that every voluntary action flows solely from the decision of one's judgment. "voluntary actions of men originate in all cases in their opinions," _i. e._, in the state of their minds immediately previous to those actions. the nature of a man's actions, therefore, depends on the nature of his opinions. if he has just and true opinions his actions will be good; if erroneous ones, his actions will be bad. but "sound reasoning and truth adequately communicated must be victorious over error."[ ] man will always accept the truth if presented to him properly. it follows, then, that "reason and conviction appear to be the proper instruments for regulating the actions of mankind." man's conduct should not conform to any other standard but reason. obedience to law then is immoral, unless of course its mandates correspond to the decision of our own judgments. shelley has the same idea the man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys, power, like a devastating pestilence pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, make slaves of men, and of the human frame a mechanized automaton.[ ] again and again he exclaims against kings and autocracy. his sonnet, "england in ," is a terrible castigation of the hanoverian kings: an old, mad, blind, despised and dying king; princes the dregs of their dull race, who flow through public scorn--mud from a muddy spring, rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, but leech-like to their fainting country cling, till they drop blind in blood without a blow, etc., etc. to aid republicanism he espoused the cause of the unhappy caroline of brunswick and on her account wrote "a new national anthem," and the satirical piece, "swellfoot the tyrant." in "hellas" we find him advocating the cause of greece, and it is believed that this poem moved his friend byron to take up arms in defense of that country. "a king," writes godwin, "is necessarily and unavoidably a despot in his heart." with him the words "ruler" and "tyrant" are synonymous. a king from the very nature of his office cannot be anything but vicious. shelley expresses his opinion of kings as follows: the king, the wearer of a gilded chain that binds his soul to abjectness, the fool whom courtiers nickname monarch, whilst a slave even to the basest appetites.[ ] one wonders at first why shelley should have represented evil as an eagle in _the revolt of islam_. the reason for this becomes clear when one considers that the eagle is often called a king among birds and is used as a symbol for authority. shelley, however, did not believe in violent revolutions. in _the revolt of islam_, irish pamphlets, &c., he advocates reformation without recourse to force. a change must take place; kings must be done away with, but not until the people are prepared for the change. "a pure republic," he writes, "may be shown, by inferences the most obvious and irresistible, to be that system of social order the fittest to produce the happiness and promote the genuine eminence of man. yet nothing can less consist with reason or afford smaller hopes of any beneficial issue than the plan which should abolish the regal and the aristocratical branches of our constitution, before the public mind, through many gradations of improvement, shall have arrived at the maturity which shall disregard these symbols of its childhood." godwin and shelley maintain that the state should make as little use as possible of coercion and violence. "criminals should be pitied and reformed, not detested and punished." the punishment of death is particularly obnoxious to them. shelley argues against it in his essay on _the punishment of death_. he claims that the punishment of death defeats its own end. it is a triumphant exhibition of suffering virtue, which may inspire some with pity, admiration and sympathy. as a consequence it may incite them to emulate their works, especially the works of political agitators. punishment of death, again, excites those emotions which are inimical to social order. it strengthens all the inhuman and unsocial impulses of man. the contempt of human life breeds ferocity of manners and contempt of social ties. hence it is, shelley believes, that those nations in which the penal code has been particularly mild have been distinguished from all others by the rarity of crime. neither should the citizens of a state use violence in putting down oppression. in his address to the irish he tells them that violence and folly will serve only to delay emancipation. "mildness, sobriety, and reason are the effectual methods of forwarding the ends of liberty and happiness." violence and falsehood will produce nothing but wretchedness and slavery and will make those who use them incapable of further exertion. violence will immediately render their cause a bad one. godwin likewise maintains that "force is an expedient the use of which is much to be deplored. it is contrary to the nature of intellect which cannot be improved but by conviction and persuasion. it corrupts the man that employs it and the man upon whom it is employed."[ ] in _the revolt of islam_ shelley says: oh wherefore should ill ever flow from ill, and pain still keener pain forever breed? we are all brethren--even the slaves who kill for hire are men; and to avenge misdeed on the misdoer doth but misery feed with her own broken heart![ ] godwin would reform society by means of education, so also would shelley. they seem to differ though in their views with regard to the relations that exist between institutions and individuals. godwin holds that tyrranical institutions must be abolished before men can become free. shelley, on the contrary, says that the freedom and enlightenment of individuals should come first, and it is only when that is accomplished that tyrannical institutions will disappear. godwin writes: "the only method according to which social improvements can be carried on is when the improvement of our institutions advances in a just proportion to the illumination of the public understanding."[ ] while shelley writes in his address to the irish people that reform "is founded on the reform of private men and without individual amendment it is vain and foolish to expect the amendment of a state or government." although godwin says in the first book of _political justice_ that it is futile to attempt to change morals without first changing our institutions, still, later on, he seems to forget this and to advocate the reform of individuals. "make men wise," he writes, "and by that very operation you make them free. civil liberty follows as a consequence of this."[ ] shelley, unlike plato, would give to poets the first place in his plan for the reform of society. he calls them "the acknowledged legislators of the world."[ ] godwin's principle of justice is that each should do to others all the good that is in his power. it is an impartial treatment of every man in matters that relate to his happiness--a treatment which is to be measured solely by a consideration of the properties of the receiver and the capacity of him who bestows. everything should be so disposed--material comforts so distributed as to give the same amount of pleasure to all. personal and private feelings such as gratitude and parental affection should be destroyed. a just man will consider the general good only. hence if my father and a stranger who is of more benefit to society than my father are both in danger of death, i am bound to try to save the stranger first.[ ] shelley has something similar to this in his _essay on christianity_: "i love my country, i love the city in which i was born, my parents, my wife and the children of my care, and to these children, this woman, this nation, it is incumbent on me to do all the benefits in my power.... you ought to love all mankind, nay every individual of mankind. you ought not to love the individuals of your domestic circle less, but to love those who exist beyond it more." godwin says that one principle of justice is "to be no respecter of persons."[ ] in a letter to miss hitchener, october, , shelley writes: "i ... set myself up as no respecter of persons." "the end of virtue," says godwin, "is to add to the sum of pleasurable sensation." in the _essay on christianity_ shelley writes: "this and no other is justice: to consider under all circumstances and consequences of a particular case how the greatest quantity and purest quality of happiness will ensue from any action; this is to be just; and there is no other justice." godwin[ ] attempts to tell how we can find out whether an action would be just or not. he warns us against measuring the morality of an action according to existing laws. we can determine its morality only by trying to estimate the amount of happiness or pain it will cause others. "one of the best practical rules of morality," he writes, "is that of putting ourselves in the place of another.... it is by this means only that we can form an adequate idea of his pleasures and pains."[ ] shelley expresses the same thought in his _defense of poetry_: "a man to be greatly good must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own." for shelley laws are "obscure records of dark and barbarous echos," "tomes of reasoned wrong glozed on by ignorance."[ ] lawyers are those who, skilled to snare the feet of justice in the toils of law stand, ready to oppress the weaker still.[ ] "government," he says, "cannot make a law, it can only pronounce that which was the law before its organization, _viz._: the moral result of the imperishable relations of things;"[ ] and in his _address to the irish_: "no act of a national representation can make anything wrong which was not wrong before: it cannot change virtue and truth." all this is merely a repetition of godwin's principles. "immutable reason," he says, "is the true legislator, and her decrees it behooves us to investigate. the functions of society extend, not to the making, but the interpreting of law; it cannot decree, it can only declare that which the nature of things has already decreed."[ ] godwin was a communist rather than a socialist. every kind of cooperation was repugnant to him. with regard to the distribution of wealth he taught that any given article belonged to him to whom it will give the greatest sum of benefit or pleasure. a loaf of bread, _v. g._, belongs to the man who needs it most. shelley holds that if the properties of the aristocrats were resolved into their original stock, and if each earned his own living, each would be happy and contented, and crime and the temptation to crime would scarcely exist. "if two children," he writes, "were placed together in a desert island and they found some scarce fruit, would not justice dictate an equal division? if this number is multiplied to any extent of which number is capable, if these children are men, families--is not justice capable of the same extension and multiplication? is it not the same, are not its decrees invariable?"[ ] again in his _essay on christianity_: "with all those who are truly wise, there will be an entire community not only of thoughts and feelings but also of external possessions." both shelley and godwin put the rent-roll of lands in the same class as the pension-list which is supposed to be employed in the purchase of ministerial majorities. it is a calculation of godwin, says shelley, "that all the conveniences of civilized life might be produced if society would divide the labor equally among its members, by each individual being employed in labor two hours during the day."[ ] godwin says that the means of subsistence belong entirely to the owner. the fruits of labor belong to the laborer, but he is only the steward of them. he can consume only what he needs, and must preserve and dispense the rest for the benefit of others. in his _essay on christianity_, shelley writes "every man in proportion to his virtue considers himself, with respect to the great community of mankind, as the steward and guardian of their interests in the property which he chances to possess."[ ] when shelley proposed to share his income with elizabeth hitchener he said that he was not doing an act of generosity, but one of justice--"bare, simple justice." godwin says that new inventions and the refinements of luxury are inimical to the welfare of society. these mean more work for the poor while only the rich are benefited.[ ] "the poor," writes shelley, "are set to labor--for what? not the food for which they famish; not the blankets for want of which ... no; for the pride of power, for the miserable isolation of pride, for the false pleasures of the hundredth part of society." godwin says that the direct pleasure which luxuries give is very small. they are prized because of the love of distinction which is characteristic of every human mind. fine bonnets and wealth would not be desired by a family living on a desert island. why not let the acquisition of learning and the practice of virtue instead of wealth be the road to fame. shelley writes-- and statesman boasts of wealth.... how vainly seek the selfish for that happiness denied to aught but virtue.[ ] again: "the man who has fewest bodily wants approachest nearest to the divine nature. satisfy these wants at the cheapest rates and expend the remaining energies of your nature in the attainment of virtue and knowledge.... ye can spend no labor on mechanism consecrated to luxury and pride."[ ] "there is no wealth in the world," says godwin, "except this, the labor of man."[ ] every new luxury is a new weight thrown on the shoulders of the laborer, for which they receive no benefit. in the _notes to queen mab_, shelley writes: "there is no real wealth but the labor of man." "what is misnamed wealth," writes godwin, "is merely a power vested in certain individuals by the institutions of society to compel others to labor for their benefit."[ ] "wealth," says shelley, "is a power usurped by the few to compel the many to labor for their benefit."[ ] shelley during his sojurn in ireland, in the spring of , published the _declaration of rights_. this pamphlet afterwards led to the arrest of his irish servant, daniel hill, for distributing the same without authority. many propositions of the _declaration of rights_ bear considerable resemblance to some of the proposals of the _declaration of rights_ adopted by the constitutional assembly of france in august, . no. of shelley's _declaration_ reads as follows: "government is devised for the security of rights. the rights of men are liberty and an equal participation in the commonage of nature." proposition no. of the _constituent assembly_ is: "the object of every political association is the conservation of the natural and imprescriptible rights of man. these rights are liberty, security, resistance to oppression." in no. shelley says: "as the benefit of the governed is, ought to be, the origin of government, no man can have any authority that does not expressly emanate from their will." the corresponding constituent proposition is: "the principle of all authority resides essentially in the nation; no body, no individual can exercise any authority that does not expressly emanate from it." compare shelley's no. with nos. and . no. : "all have a right to an equal share in the benefits and burdens of the government. any disabilities for opinions imply, by their very existence, barefaced tyranny on the side of the government, ignorant slavishness on the side of the governed." no. of the _assembly_: "men are born and remain free and equal. social distinctions can only be founded on the common good." no. : "property being an inviolable and sacred right, no one can be deprived of it, unless public necessity evidently demands it, and then only on condition that indemnity be made." no. of the _declaration_ resembles the constituent nos. and . shelley says: "the rights of man in the present state of society are only to be secured by some degree of coercion to be exercised on their violator. the sufferer has a right that the degree of coercion employed be as light as possible." no. : "the law should establish only those punishments that are strictly and evidently necessary, &c." no. : "... all unnecessary severity should be repressed by law." shelley's no. and the constituent no. declare that no man has the right to resist the law. no. of the _declaration_ resembles no. of the _constituent assembly_. no. : "law cannot make what is in its nature virtuous or innocent to be criminal, any more than it can make what is criminal to be innocent. government cannot make a law; it can only pronounce that which was the law before its organization, _viz._, the moral result of the imperishable relation of things." no. : "law has only the right to prohibit those actions which are injurious to society. anything that is not forbidden by the law cannot be prevented, and no one can be constrained to do that which is not ordained by law." shelley's no. is: "the government of a country ought to be perfectly indifferent to every opinion. religious differences, the bloodiest and most rancorous of all, spring from partiality." this corresponds to constituent no. : "no one should be disturbed on account of his opinions, even religious ones, provided their manifestation does not endanger the public order established by law." finally compare shelley's no. with constituent no. . no. : "no man has a right to be respected for any other possessions but those of virtue and talents. titles are tinsel, power a corruptor, glory a bubble, and excessive wealth a libel on its possessor." no. : "all citizens, being equal in the eyes of the law, are equally admissable to every dignity, position, and public employment according to their capacity, and without any other distinction but those of virtue and talents." shelley's political views were somewhat modified by the influence of leigh hunt. the two friends probably met for the first time in january, . both were sensitive and of a retiring disposition, dwelling in a world of books and dreams. hunt, like shelley, advocated catholic emancipation, freedom of the press, and reform of parliamentary representation. he differed from shelley in this, that he was more practical, and had more faith than his friend in the advantages of such partial reforms as the abolition of child labor and of the slave trade, the reduction and equalization of taxes, and the education of the poor. hunt advocated the reform of military discipline, while shelley claimed that standing armies should be abolished altogether. hunt carried on his attacks against the evils of the time in the pages of _the examiner_, which everybody read in those days. in the hunt brothers were fined and imprisoned for an offensive article on the prince regent which appeared in their paper. shelley must have offered to pay this fine, as hunt records in his autobiography that shelley made him a princely offer. in december, , the shelleys, after their return from the continent, were the guests of hunt at hampstead and received his support and sympathy during the chancery suit. through hunt, shelley made the acquaintance of the cockney circle, including keats, hazlitt, reynolds, novello, brougham and horace smith. in return for all this shelley gave freely of his money to hunt. one acquainted with the englishman's sense of honor may wonder at the unusual way hunt and godwin accepted money from shelley and others. it must be remembered though that these men believed no man had exclusive ownership in superfluous wealth. they received what shelley could spare as if they were taking what belonged to themselves. early in shelley wrote _a proposal for putting reform to a vote_, a pamphlet which today in england would be considered conservative. it suggested that a meeting be held at the crown and anchor tavern "to take into consideration the most effectual measures for ascertaining whether or no a reform in parliament is the will of the majority of the individuals of the british nation." it disclaimed any design of sanctioning the revolutionary schemes which were imputed to the friends of reform, and declares that its object is purely constitutional. the pamphlet advocates annual parliaments, but not universal suffrage. in it shelley expresses himself in favor of retaining the regal and aristocratical branches of our constitution until the public mind "shall have arrived at the maturity that can disregard these symbols of its childhood." "political institutions," he there writes, "are undoubtedly susceptible of such improvement as no rational person can consider possible as long as the present degraded condition to which the vital imperfections in the existing system of government has reduced the vast multitude of men shall subsist. the securest method of arriving at such beneficial innovations is to proceed gradually and with caution." in february, , the shelleys went to live at marlow. there was much suffering among the lacemakers of that town and shelley went continually among the unfortunate population, relieving the most pressing cases of distress to the best of his ability. he had a list of pensioners to whom he made a weekly allowance. one day he returned home without shoes, having given them away to a poor man. on march , , shelley, accompanied by his family, quitted england, never again to return. in italy, as in england, he continually changed his place of abode. during the year he wrote _lines written among the euganean hills_, _julian and maddalo_, and also began _prometheus unbound_. this last work was completed in rome during the summer and fall of . "the poem," he says in the preface, "was chiefly written upon the mountainous ruins of the baths of caracalla, among the flowery glades and thickets of odoriferous blossoming trees which are extended in everwinding labyrinths upon its immense platforms and dizzy arches suspended in the air." _prometheus unbound_ is considered by many to be shelley's most important work. mr. j. a. symonds declares that "a genuine liking for it may be reckoned the touchstone of a man's capacity for understanding lyric poetry." mr. rossetti waxes eloquent over "the immense scale and boundless scope of the conception; the marble majesty and extra-mundane passions of the personages; the sublimity of ethical aspiration; the radiance of ideal and poetic beauty which saturates every phase of the subject." prometheus, according to w. rossetti, is the mind of man. in his preface to the poem shelley writes: "but prometheus is, as it were, the type of the highest perfection of moral and intellectual nature impelled by the purest and truest motives to the best and noblest ends." at the opening of the drama prometheus is discovered bound to an icy precipice in the indian caucasus. he is kept there by the tyrant jupiter, whom he helped to enthrone in place of saturn. mercury is sent to prometheus and offers him freedom from torture on condition that he reveal the secret of averting the fall of jupiter. this prometheus refuses to do because it would seat the tyrant more securely on his throne. he is then left to the untender mercies of the furies. these torture him by making him contemplate all the misery of the world and the futility of hoping for any release from it. they expose to view the wrecks of all the schemes ever advanced for the regeneration of society, and especially the hate, bloodshed, and misery which followed in the wake of the most promising of them all, the french revolution. they remind him that christ's mission is a failure; that his followers are persecuted; and that christianity has not lessened the deceit and selfishness of man. the anguish of prometheus is mental rather than physical. he cries out to the furies thy words are like a cloud of winged snakes, and yet i pity those they torture not. his hope and optimism, however, triumph over all; and the furies vanish. a chorus of spirits come to console him and promise that he shall overcome death. prometheus feels, nevertheless, that all hope is vain without love. conditions will remain as they are until asia, the spirit of love in nature, will be freed. at the end of the first act one of the nymphs, panthea, departs to seek asia. she is found in a lovely vale and is described as a being of exquisite beauty, "whose footsteps pave the world with loveliness." panthea then conducted asia to the cave of demogorgon. this being has neither limb, nor form, nor outline; yet it is felt to be a living spirit. asia asks it when will the destined hour arrive for the release of prometheus. the answer is "behold!" and just then the roof of the cave bursts asunder, and the chariots of the hours are seen passing by. one of them stops and tells asia that nightfall "will wrap heaven's kingless throne in lasting night." asia is transformed before them. misery gives place to love and joy. another spirit with "dove-like eyes of hope" conducts asia to the throne of jupiter. the third act presents the catastrophe. it opens with a long speech of jupiter in which he exults over what he believes to be the approaching conquest of man's soul. little does he realize, however, that his fall is at hand. the car of the hour arrives with demogorgon. at this sight jupiter is filled with terror and exclaims, "awful shape, what art thou?" demogorgon answers, "eternity. demand no direr name. descend and follow me down the abyss." the secret is now revealed. jupiter has just married thetis and the child of this union is to destroy his father. the curse is fulfilled; jupiter falls into the abyss. prometheus is then released by hercules. strength ministers to wisdom, courage, and long-suffering love, as a slave to its master. prometheus is united with asia; mankind with love. the golden age has at last arrived. henceforth there is to be no tyranny nor evil of any kind. love is to be supreme and is to make all wise and happy. man is released from bondage and is now free to do as reason directs. the loathsome mask has fallen, the man remains, scepterless, free, uncircumscribed, but man equal, unclassed, tribeless, and nationless, exempt from awe, worship, degree, the king over himself; just, gentle, wise; but man, passionless? no, yet free from guilt or pain, which were, for his will made or suffered them, nor yet exempt, tho' ruling them like slaves, from chance, and death, and mutability, the clogs of that which else might oversoar the loftiest star of unascended heaven, pinnacled dim in the intense inane. the drama should end here. the tyrant is overthrown and man is happy. in a note on the play mrs. shelley says that it originally had but three acts. later on a fourth act was added, a sort of hymn of rejoicing over the fulfillment of the prophecies with regard to prometheus. in it specters of the dead hours bear time to tomb in eternity. the spirits of the mind reappear and chant their hymns of praise and thanksgiving. prometheus represents mankind. he is oppressed by the very being, jupiter, to whom he himself has given power. jupiter must not be considered as the abstract power of moral evil. he represents those institutions, political and religious, which man himself has created. jupiter's downfall is brought about by his own offspring; man himself can overthrow tyranny. in the marriage of jupiter and thetis, shelley seems to portray the overweening arrogance through which a political tyranny invests itself with the pomp of a false glory and which always precedes its downfall. the form of demogorgon assumed by the child of this union undoubtedly means revolution, that revolution which follows the marriage of unrighteous power to arrogant display.[ ] demogorgon may be looked upon, too, as reason; asia, the spirit of love, comes in contact with demogorgon, reason, and moves it to action. the poet here means to image to us the profound truth, that it is only through contact with emotion that abstract thought can become roused to action and be a vital and dynamic power in the sphere of practical life. it is only after having met demogorgon that the power of asia is set free. if reason must be inspired by passion before it can prevail, "love on the other hand must become instinct with wisdom before it can be made manifest in that glory which shall save the world." after the interview with demogorgon, asia, love, is transfigured, "its rosy warmth pervades the whole creation, and its power is revealed triumphantly supreme. this is the act through which, in the secret mystery of creation, the redemption of prometheus is achieved. thus through a double process, destructive and constructive--by revolution and by love--is set free the human soul."[ ] rossetti regards prometheus as the anthropomorphic god, created by the mind of man, and tyrannizing over its creator; but surely, as miss scudder says, the myth is quite as much political as theological. _prometheus unbound_ was fiercely attacked in the _quarterly_, and shelley, thinking that southey was the author of the article, wrote to him about it. southey answered him that he did not write the article in question, and at the same time read him a lecture on the necessity of giving up his evil principles. shelley felt that he was being misjudged and wrongfully accused by one whom he could not suspect of ill-will, and this no doubt helped to keep him a radical, even if he were inclined at this time to become more conservative. during , meetings were held all over the country by the laboring classes to consider ways and means of bettering their condition. on august , , a huge one was held at st. peter's field, manchester, with the view of urging parliamentary reform. the magistrates had previously declared that such a meeting would be illegal and the city authorities had made extensive preparations for the preservation of the peace. after an enormous crowd had gathered around the speakers, forty of the yeomanry cavalry attempted to make their way through the multitude to arrest the ringleaders. when it was found that they could not reach the platform a hasty order was given to three hundred hussars to disperse the crowd. they made a terrific charge, which resulted in the killing of six people and in the wounding of fifty or sixty others. the news of this affair roused in shelley violent emotions of indignation and compassion. writing to his publisher, mr. ollier, he thus comments on the affair: "the same day that your letter came, came the news of the manchester work, and the torrent of my indignation has not yet done boiling in my veins. i wait anxiously to hear how the country will express its sense of this bloody, murderous oppression of its destroyers. something must be done. what, yet, i know not." he calls it "an infernal business" and says that it is but the distant thunders of the terrible storm which is fast approaching. "the tyrants here, as in the french revolution, have first shed blood." the manchester "massacre" inspired shelley to write the _mask of anarchy_. leigh hunt was asked to print it in _the examiner_, but he refused. "i did not insert it," hunt wrote, "because i thought that the public at large had not become sufficiently discerning to do justice to the sincerity and kind-heartedness of the spirit that walked in this flaming robe of verse." in this poem shelley is not so vague and indefinite as he is in _prometheus unbound_. he shows there that he has a grasp of the practical wants of men. "what art thou, freedom?" shelley asks, and he replies: thou art clothes, and fire, and food for the trampled multitude-- no--in countries that are free such starvation cannot be as in england now we see. even here shelley exhorts his countrymen to seek reform through peaceful methods. he tells them to oppose meekness and resoluteness to violence and tyranny; and then the tyrants will return with shame to the place from which they came and the blood thus shed will speak in hot blushes on their cheek. there is very little recorded concerning the relations that existed between robert owen (england's first socialist of note) and shelley. one of owen's biographers states that shelley's spirit appeared to owen at a spiritualistic seance, and that owen exclaimed, "oh, there is my old friend, shelley." it is certain at any rate that owen was a close friend of godwin, and consequently had at least an indirect influence on shelley. _queen mab_, moreover, was the gospel of the owenites. for shelley's later views we are indebted to his _philosophical view of reform_ which professor dowden discusses in his volume _transcripts and studies_. shelley wrote to leigh hunt on may , , and enquired if he knew any bookseller who would publish an octavo volume, entitled a _philosophical view of reform_. the plan of the work was to include chapters on: ( ) the sentiment of the necessity of change; ( ) its causes and its objects; ( ) practicability and necessity of change; ( ) state of parties as regards it; ( ) probable, possible, and desirable mode in which it should be effected. the work was never published, however, and it is said that the manuscript cannot now be found.[ ] the treatise opens with a brief historical survey of the chief movements on behalf of freedom which have taken place since the beginning of the christian era. he describes historical christianity as a perversion of the utterances and actions of the great reformer of nazareth. "the names borrowed from the life and opinions of jesus christ were employed as symbols of domination and imposture; and a system of liberality and equality, for such was the system preached by that great reformer, was perverted to support oppression." he eulogizes the philosophers of the eighteenth century and sees in the government of the united states the first fruits of their teaching. two conditions are necessary to a perfect government: first, "that the will of the people should be represented as it is"; secondly, "that that will should be as wise and just as possible." the former of these obtains in the united states; and, in so far as the people are represented, "america fulfills imperfectly and indirectly the last and most important condition of perfect government." he then condemns "the device of public credit" and the new aristocracy which arose with it. this new order has its basis in fraud, as the old had its basis in force. it includes attorneys, excisemen, directors, government pensioners, usurers, stock jobbers, with their dependents and descendants. what are the reforms that he advocates? today some of them would be considered too mild by even a conservative. he would abolish the national debt, the standing army, and tithes, due regard had to vested interests. he would grant complete freedom to thought and its expression, and make the dispensation of justice cheap, speedy and attainable by all. a reform government should appoint tribunals to decide upon the claims of property holders. true, political institutions ought to defend every man in the retention of property acquired through labor, economy, skill, genius or any similar powers honorably and innocently exerted. "but there is another species of property which has its foundation in usurpation or imposture, or violence." "of this nature is the principal part of the property enjoyed by the aristocracy and the great fundholders." "claims to property of this kind should be compromised under the supervision of public tribunals." from an abstract point of view, universal suffrage is just and desirable, but since it would lead to an attempt to abolish the monarchy and to civil war some other measure must be tried instead. mr. bentham and other writers have urged the admission of females to the right of suffrage. "this attempt," shelley writes, "seems somewhat immature." the people should be better represented in the house of commons than they are at present. he would allow the house of lords to remain for the present to represent the aristocracy. all reform should be based upon the principle of "the natural equality of man, not as regards property, but as regards rights." "whether the reform, which is now inevitable, be gradual and moderate or violent and extreme depends largely on the action of the government." if the government refuse to act, the nation will take the task of reformation into its own hands and the abolition of monarchy must inevitably follow. "no friend of mankind and of his country can desire that such a crisis should arrive." "if reform shall be begun by the existing government, let us be contented with a limited beginning with any whatsoever opening. nothing is more idle than to reject a limited benefit because we cannot without great sacrifices obtain an unlimited one." "we shall demand more and more with firmness and moderation, never anticipating but never deferring the moment of successful opposition, so that the people may become capable of exercising the functions of sovereignty in proportion as they acquire the possession of it." the struggle between the oppressed and the oppressors will be merely nominal if the oppressed are enlightened and animated by a distinct and powerful apprehension of their object. "the minority perceive the approaches of the development of an irresistible force, by the influence of the public opinion of their weakness on those political forms, of which no government but an absolute despotism is devoid. they divest themselves of their usurped distinctions, and the public tranquillity is not disturbed by the revolution." the true patriot, then, should endeavor to enlighten the nation and animate it with enthusiasm and confidence. he will endeavor to rally round one standard the divided friends of liberty, and make them forget the subordinate objects with regard to which they differ by appealing to that respecting which they are all agreed. shelley seems to think that revolutionary wars are seldom or never necessary. a vigilant spirit of opposition, together with a campaign of enlightenment, will usually suffice to bring about the desired reforms. it is better to gain what we demand by a process of negotiation which would occupy twenty years than to do anything which might tend towards civil war. "the last resort of resistance is undoubtedly insurrection." the work ends with a consideration of the nature and consequences of war. "war waged from whatever motive extinguishes the sentiment of reason and justice in the mind." shelley, following godwin and condorcet, was a firm believer in the perfectibility of human nature. "by perfectible," godwin writes, "it is not meant that man is capable of being wrought to perfection. the idea of absolute perfection is scarcely within the grasp of human understanding." "the wise man is satisfied with nothing. finite things must be perpetually capable of increase and advancement; it would argue, therefore, extreme folly to rest in any given state of improvement and imagine we had attained our summit."[ ] in a letter to e. hitchener, july , , shelley writes: "you say that equality is unattainable; so, will i observe is perfection; yet they both symbolize in their nature, they both demand that an unremitting tendency towards themselves should be made; and the nearer society approaches towards this point the happier it will be." the development of the race, they believe, has been along the following lines: man emerged from the savage state under the attraction of pleasure and the repulsion of pain. self-love, his only motive of action, made him at once social and industrious, led him to confound happiness with unregulated enjoyment, made him avaricious and violent, and caused the strong to oppress the weak and the weak to conspire against the strong. slavery and corruption have consequently followed on the liberty and innocence of primitive times. but as man is perfectible this condition of things cannot last. the diffusion of knowledge together with the discoveries and inventions recently made, have already been productive of great progress. humanity is now fairly started on a career of conquest; the emancipation of the mind is rapidly advancing. soon morality itself will come to be rationally viewed; it will be universally acknowledged that there is only one law, that of nature; only one code, that of reason; only one throne, that of justice; and only one altar, that of concord.[ ] shelley had unbounded faith in human nature and believed that the downfall of tyranny must soon take place. he believed that the world would resolve itself into one large communistic family, where every man would be independent and free. godwin says that "there will be no war, no crime, no administration of justice, as it is called, and no government. besides this there will be neither disease, anguish, melancholy or resentment."[ ] the sun of reason will of itself disperse all the mists of ignorance and the pestilential vapors of vice. it will bring out all the beauty and goodness of man. love will be universal; everybody will seek the good of all. earth, shelley thinks, will soon become a garden of delight. o happy earth, reality of heaven of purest spirits thou pure dwelling-place where care and sorrow, impotence and crime languor, disease, and ignorance dare not come.[ ] chapter iv. religion and philosophy we now come to that part of our subject which is the most difficult to handle--shelley's religion. there are so many seeming contradictions in his utterances on this subject that it would appear impossible at first sight to reconcile them and bring out of them a consistent form of belief. before he went to oxford he had attacked christianity, still on his entrance to that university he made the required profession of belief in the doctrines of the church of england as by law established. how are we going to reconcile this with his love for truth? one cannot get away from the difficulty by saying that this profession was a mere formality. thousands of non-conformists throughout the land denied themselves the benefits of a university education because they scorned to play the hypocrite. shelley's views were fairly orthodox up to the time of his going to oxford. _zastrozzi_, printed in , contains a bitter attack on atheism: and in a letter to stockdale shelley disclaims any intention of advocating atheism in _the wandering jew_. he, no doubt, was unorthodox in his views regarding the nature of god; but his belief in the immortality of the soul and in the existence of a first cause is clearly shown in a letter to hogg dated january , . he writes: "i may not be able to adduce proofs, but i think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be advanced, that some vast intellect animates infinity. if we disbelieve this, the strongest argument in support of the existence of a future state instantly becomes annihilated.... love, love, infinite in extent, eternal in duration, yet allowing your theory in that point, perfectible, should be the reward; but can we suppose that this reward will arise, spontaneously, as a necessary appendage to our nature, or that our nature itself could be without cause--a god? when do we see effects arise without causes?" from this point a rapid change takes place in his opinions. this is the work of the sceptic hogg, who sported with him, now arguing for, now against christianity, with the result that shelley himself became sceptical. his disbelief is due also to the influence of the works of godwin and the french materialists, helvetius, holbach, condorcet and rousseau. in his _system of nature_ helvetius makes an eloquent plea for atheism. he denies that any kind of spiritual substance exists. in the universe there is nothing but matter and motion. man is the result of certain combinations of matter; his activities are matter in motion. god, the soul, and immortality are the inventions of impostors to lash men into obedience and submission. in _queen mab_ shelley represents god and religion as the cause of evil, and scoffs at the idea of creation. from an eternity of idleness i, god, awoke.[ ] a blasphemous caricature of our savior and of the doctrine of redemption is also there exhibited. later on he grew to love christ, although he declaimed against christianity as long as he lived. in _prometheus unbound_ he treats our savior more reverently than he did in _queen mab_. he is there in sympathy with the spirit of christ, and denounces christianity only in so far as it has abandoned "the faith he kindled." this change, no doubt, is due to the influence of his residence in italy and of his love for the new testament. regarding the character of christ he writes: "they (the evangelists) have left sufficiently clear indications of the genuine character of jesus christ to rescue it forever from the imputations cast upon it by their ignorance and fanatacism. we discover that he is the enemy of oppression and falsehood";[ ] that he was just, truthful, and merciful; "that he was a man of meek and majestic demeanor; of natural and simple thought and habits; beloved by all, unmoved, solemn and serene." one of the greatest obstacles that prevented shelley from understanding christianity was his belief in godwin's doctrine that sin is but an error of judgment. his wife writes that "he believed mankind had only to will that there should be no evil and there would be none." to one believing that mediation is superflous in the work of sanctification, christianity is almost meaningless. three months before his death shelley expressed his views with regard to christianity as follows: "i differ with moore in thinking christianity useful to the world; no man of sense can think it true.... i agree with him that the doctrines of the french and material philosophy are as false as they are pernicious; but still they are better than christianity, inasmuch as anarchy is better than despotism; for this reason, that the former is for a season, and the latter is eternal."[ ] the question whether shelley was an atheist or not must not be decided on one or two extracts from his writings or even on any one work. true he argued against theism, but to call him an atheist on that account would be as logical as to say st. thomas was an atheist because he advanced objections against the existence of god. one reason for the opinion that he was an atheist lies in the fact that he had a conception of the deity which differed from the puritanical one then in vogue. when he attempted to show the nonexistence of god his negation was directed against the notions of god which exhibited him as a being with human passions, as an autocratic tyrant. in his letter to lord ellenborough he writes: "to attribute moral qualities to the spirit of the universe ... is to degrade god into man." he denied the existence of the god represented as "a venerable old man, seated on a throne of clouds, his breast the theater of various passions analogous to those of humanity, his will changeable and uncertain as that of an earthly king."[ ] even in _queen mab_ we find a vague picture of his conception of god: spirit of nature! all sufficing power necessity! thou mother of the world! unlike the god of human error, thou requirest no prayers or praise, the caprice of man's weak will belongs no more to thee than do the changeful passions of his breast to thy unvarying harmony.[ ] but in the next canto does he not say explicitly, "there is no god"? in a note, though, he explains that "this negation must be understood solely to affect a creative deity. the hypothesis of a pervading spirit coeternal with the universe remains unshaken." elsewhere he writes: "the thoughts which the word 'god' suggest to the human mind are susceptible of as many variations as human minds themselves. the stoic, the platonist, and the epicurean, the polytheist, the dualist, and the trinitarian differ entirely in their conceptions of its meaning. they agree only in considering it the most awful and most venerable of names, as a common term to express all of mystery, or majesty, or power which the invisible world contains. and not only has every sect distinct conceptions of the application of this name, but scarcely two individuals of the same sect, which exercise in any degree the freedom of their judgment, or yield themselves with any candor of feeling to the influences of the visible, find perfect coincidence of opinion to exist between them.... god is neither the jupiter who sends rain upon the earth; nor the venus through whom all living things are produced; nor the vulcan who presides over the terrestrial element of fire; nor the vesta that preserves the light which is enshrined in the sun, the moon, and the stars. he is neither the proteus, nor the pan of the material world. but the word 'god' unites all the attributes which these denominations contain and is the (inter-point) and over-ruling spirit of all the energy and wisdom included within the circle of existing things."[ ] but did he not write _the necessity of atheism_ for which he was expelled from oxford? even if he did, this does not prove that he was an atheist. we saw already that he loved to advance objections and propound difficulties to people who thought they knew everything that can be known about a subject. many stoutly maintained that a valid _a priori_ proof (usually called the ontological) can be advanced for the existence of god and it was against these that shelley directed his artillery. "why," trelawny asked him once, "do you call yourself an atheist?" "it is a word of abuse," shelley replied, "to stop discussion; a painted devil to frighten the foolish; a threat to intimidate the wise and good. i used it to express my abhorrence of superstition. i took up the word as a knight took up a gauntlet in defiance of injustice."[ ] leigh hunt said that shelley "did himself injustice with the public in using the popular name of the supreme being inconsiderately. he identified it solely with the most vulgar and tyrannical notions of a god made after the worst human fashion." southey told him also that he ought not to call himself an athiest, since in reality he believed that the universe is god.[ ] "i love to doubt and to discuss," shelley writes, and it is for this reason that he adopted the arguments of locke, hume, and holbach. he does not doubt the existence of god; he simply doubts that it is capable of proof. in january , , it seemed to him that he had hit upon the long-sought-for-proof. in a letter to hogg he writes: "stay, i have an idea. i think i can prove the existence of a deity--a first cause. i will ask a materialist, how came this universe at first? he will answer by chance. what chance? i will answer in the words of spinoza: 'an infinite number of atoms had been floating from all eternity in space, till at last one of them fortuitously diverged from its track, which dragging with it another, formed the principle of gravitation and in consequence the universe.' what cause produced this change, this chance. for where do we know that causes arise without their corresponding effects; at least we must here, on so abstract a subject, reason analogically. was not this then a cause; was it not a first cause? was not this first cause a deity? now nothing remains but to prove that this deity has a care or rather that its only employment consists in regulating the present and future happiness of its creation.... oh that this deity were the soul of the universe, the spirit of universal, imperishable love! indeed, i believe it is." "the deity must be judged by us from attributes analogical to our situation." in a letter of june , , he says god is "the existing power of existence." it is another word for the essence of the universe. true he makes use of expressions which would seem to contradict the above, but it seems to me that these should always be interpreted in the light of his more explicit utterances as already explained. there was a kind of discrepancy between his interior thought and his exterior attitude. apostle of reason though he was, he felt the necessity of appealing to other sources to quench the thirst for higher things. his fidelity to the doctrine of locke, that all knowledge originates in the senses, did not allow him to proclaim this necessity. "negateur d'un dieu personnel dont les attributs seraient des reflets des pauvres attributs humains, il desirait pourtant pouvoir les supporter et les croire, mais cette obscure tendance, il ne sut on n'osa la traduire publiquement."[ ] in his poetry where he lays bare his soul his belief in god is manifest. it is only when he argues that he would seem to be an atheist. this discrepancy looks like deceit, but it is not. it is honesty rather than duplicity. he advanced only those statements which he thought he could prove, which he could demonstrate by the aid of reason. "it does not," he writes, "prove the nonexistence of a thing that it is not discoverable by reason; feeling here affords us sufficient proof.... those who really feel the being of a god, have the best right to believe it."[ ] (true he goes on to say that he does not feel the being of god, and must be content with reason; but by this he may mean that he does not feel the existence of the god of the christians.) after all, this position with regard to the proof of god's existence is not so very different from that of newman. "logic," says newman, "does not really prove." it enables us to join issues with others ... it verifies negatively.[ ] newman, contrary to locke, would inject an element of volition into logic. "he does not, indeed, deny the possibility of demonstration; he often asserts it; but he holds that the demonstration will not in fact convince."[ ] we have really to desert a logical ground and to take our stand upon instinct. according to shelley anything that could not be demonstrated should not be given to others as gospel truth.[ ] now, feelings cannot be demonstrated, and hence it is that one may feel one thing and at the same time see that the senses and even unaided reason show that the contrary is true. "feelings do not look so well as reasonings on black and white." later on he said that materialism "allows its disciples to talk and dispenses them from thinking."[ ] the opposition which shelley experienced forced him to argue. when shelley wrote _the necessity of atheism_ he was at most only an agnostic. this word was first used by huxley in and if it had been in use in it may be that shelley's pamphlet _the necessity of atheism_ would have had for its title "the necessity of agnosticism." no doubt agnostics are often atheists, but they are not necessarily so. "a man may be an agnostic simply or an agnostic who is also an atheist. he may be a scientific materialist and no more, or he may combine atheism with his materialism; consequently while it would be unjust to class agnostics, materialists or pantheists as necessarily also atheists, it cannot be denied that atheism is clearly perceived to be implied in certain phases of all these systems. there are so many shades and gradations of thought by which one form of a philosophy merges into another, so much that is opinionative and personal woven into the various individual expositions of systems, that, to be impartially fair, each individual must be classed by himself as atheist or theist. indeed more upon his own assertion or direct teaching than by reason of any supposed implication in the system he advocates must this classification be made. the agnostic may be a theist if he admits the existence of a being behind and beyond nature even while he asserts that such a being is both unprovable and unknowable."[ ] with regard to the sources of shelley's views on religion there is considerable difference of opinion. s. bernthsen maintains that nothing contributed so much to the development of his genius and of his world-view as spinoza's philosophy.[ ] professor dowden, on the other hand, holds that although shelley worked at a translation of spinoza's _tractatus theologico politicus_ several times, still "we find no evidence that he received in youth any adequate or profound impression, as goethe did, from the purest and loveliest spirit among philosophical seekers after god. of far greater influence with shelley than spinoza or kant were those arrogant thinkers who prepared the soil of france for the ploughshare of revolution."[ ] and helen richter in two articles in _english studies_, vol. , shows that some of the quotations from shelley used by miss bernthsen may be traced to other sources besides spinoza. shelley's notions on belief can be traced to locke and not to spinoza. in the first book of the _essay_ concerning the human understanding, locke attempts to prove that there are no innate ideas. to the objection that the universal acceptance of certain principles is proof of their innateness, he replies that no principles are universally accepted. you cannot point to one principle of morality, he says, that is accepted by all peoples. standards of morality differ in different nations and at different times. how then are our ideas acquired? the second book of the _essay_ is devoted to showing that they originate in experience. experience, locke teaches, is two-fold: _sensation_, or the perception of external phenomena; and _refection_, or the perception of the internal phenomena, that is, of the activity of the understanding itself. these two are the sources of all our ideas. in the _essay_, ii, - , we read: "all ideas come from sensation and reflection.... whence has it (mind) all the materials of reason and knowledge? to this i answer in one word, from experience; on that all our knowledge is founded and from that it ultimately derives itself." in book iv, , locke says: "rational knowledge is the perception of the connection and agreement or disagreement and repugnancy of any of our ideas.... probability is the appearance of agreement upon fallible proofs.... the entertainment the mind gives this sort of proposition is called _belief_, assent, or opinion." in his notes to _queen mab_, shelley writes: "when a proposition is offered to the mind, it perceives the agreement or disagreement of the ideas of which it is composed. a perception of their agreement is termed _belief_.... belief then is a passion the strength of which, like every other passion, is in precise proportion to the degrees of excitement. the degrees of excitement are three. the senses are the sources of all knowledge to the mind; consequently their evidence claims the strongest assent. the decision of the mind founded upon our experience, derived from these sources, claims the next degree. the experience of others which addresses itself to the former one, occupies the lowest degree." this reminds one of locke's division of knowledge into three parts--intuitive, demonstrative, and sensitive. in the same note to _queen mab_, shelley says: "the mind is _active_ in the investigation in order to perfect the state of perception of the relation which the component ideas of the proposition bear to each, which is _passive_." and in locke, ii, , we read: "the mind in respect of its simple ideas is wholly _passive_ and receives them all from the experience and operations of things.... the origin of _mixed modes_ is, however, quite different. the mind often exercises an _active_ power in making these several combinations called notions." according to spinoza, judgment, perception, and volition are one and the same thing. "at singularis volitio et idea unum et idem sunt."[ ] shelley, on the other hand, says that many falsely imagine "that belief is an act of volition in consequence of which it may be regulated by the mind."[ ] here we find reflected the philosophical ideas of sir william drummond, in whose _academical questions_, shelley writes, "the most clear and vigorous statement of the intellectual system is to be found."[ ] according to drummond, reasoning is entirely independent of volition. no man pretends that he can choose whether he shall feel or not. it is not because the mind previously wills it that one association of ideas gives place to another. it is because the new ideas excite that attention which the old no longer employ. trains of ideas may be always referred to one principal idea. "whatever be the state of the soul, we always find it to result from some one prevailing sentiment, or idea, which determines the association of our thoughts and directs for a time the course which they take."[ ] we are impelled to action by the influence of the stronger motive. in his letter to lord ellenborough, shelley holds that "belief and disbelief are utterly distinct from and unconnected with volition. they are the apprehension of the agreement or disagreement of the ideas which compose any proposition. belief is an involuntary operation of the mind, and, like other passions, its intensity is purely proportionate to the degrees of excitement."[ ] there is no certainty that shelley was acquainted with the works of spinoza when he wrote _queen mab_. it is likely that he obtained his spinozan views from william drummond. "it is necessary to prove," shelley wrote, "that it (the universe) was created; until that is clearly demonstrated we may reasonably suppose that it has endured from all eternity.... it is easier to suppose that the universe has existed from all eternity than to conceive a being (beyond its limits) capable of creating it."[ ] again in his _essay_ on a future state: "but let thought be considered as some peculiar substance which permeates, and is the cause of, the animation of living things. why should that substance be assumed to be something essentially distinct from all others and exempt from subjection to those laws from which no other substance is exempt." to shelley everything was god. spirit of nature! here! in this interminable wilderness of worlds, at whose immensity even soaring fancy staggers here is thy flitting temple. yet not the slightest leaf that quivers to the breeze is less instinct with thee; yet not the meanest worm that lurks in graves and fattens on the dead less shares thy eternal breath.[ ] with spinoza, drummond maintains that two substances having different attributes can have nothing in common between them; and that there cannot be two or more substances of the same nature. infinite, immaterial, eternal, substance has nothing in common with substance which is material, finite, and perishable. how is it possible, then, that the former produced the latter? "an immaterial substance is necessarily without extension, or solidity, and never could have bestowed what it never possessed. god is infinite and consequently his substance is the sole, universal and eternal substance. of this eternal substance there are two modifications--mind and extension. human mind is part of the infinite mind of god. by body is meant the mode which expresses the essence of god, inasmuch as it is contemplated as extended substance, in a certain limited way, consequently though we do not call the deity corporeal, as that would express what is finite, yet we say that all extended substance is contained in god, since extension and mind are the eternal attributes of his essence."[ ] matter moves and acts according to its own laws; it preserves what we term the fair order of the universe, and it guides the motions of those worlds that are constituted out of it, by the properties which are inherent in it. "why then should we not say that it feels, thinks and reasons in man. thoughts and sentiments proceed from peculiar distributions of atoms in the human brain." the same necessity which gives us a peculiar form and constitution also gives us a peculiar disposition and character. from these observations we may conclude with certainty that all bodies are capable of being affected by attraction and repulsion, of making combinations, of suffering dissolution, and that they always strive to persevere in that state in which they are while it is suitable to them."[ ] shelley has the same thought: throughout this varied and eternal world soul is the only element; the block that for uncounted ages has remained the moveless pillar of a mountain's weight is active living spirit. every grain is sentient both in unity and part and the minutest atom comprehends a world of loves and hatreds.[ ] again in a letter to miss hitchener, november , : "yet that flower has a soul; for what is soul but that which makes an organized being to be what it is?... i will say then that all nature is animated; that microscopic vision, as it has discovered to us millions of animated beings, so might it, if extended, find that nature itself was but a mass of organized animation." southey told shelley that he was a pantheist and not an atheist. he (southey) says: "i ought not to call myself an atheist, since in reality i believe that the universe is god." "pantheism in its narrower and proper philosophic sense is any system which expressly (not merely by implication) regards the finite world as simply a mode, limitation, part or aspect of the one eternal being; and of such a nature, that from the standpoint of this being no distinct existence can be attributed to it."[ ] in so far as shelley gives to nature the attributes of god he is a pantheist. this he often does. thus, in _julian and maddalo_, "sacred nature"; in _the revolt of islam_, v, ii, "dread nature"; and in the _refutation of deism_ he speaks of "divine nature." often though he distinguishes between god and nature; and in this respect differs from spinoza and those who are pantheists in the stricter use of the term. thus in _the revolt of islam_, ix, , "by god and nature and necessity." there is another difference between the pantheism of shelley and that of spinoza. shelley does not make any difference between men, animals and plants. they are all about on the same level. spinoza on the other hand makes man the king and center of the universe. shelley may have gotten his pantheistic views from volney and holbach as well as from drummond. in the _systeme de la nature_, ii, c. vi, we read: "tout nous pronne donc que ce n'est pas hors de la nature que nous devons chercher la divinite. quand nous voudrons en avoir une idée, disons que la nature est dieu." a characteristic of his later pantheism is that it identifies god with love. "great spirit, deepest love! which rulest and dost move all things which live and are."[ ] again, "o power!... thou which interpenetratest all things and without which this glorious world were a blind and formless chaos. love, author of good, god, king, father."[ ] plato mounts up from sensuous love to intellectual love, and so does shelley. in the _defence of poetry_, iii, s. , he shows us how another great poet accomplished this. "his (dante's) apotheosis of beatrice in paradise and the gradations of his own love and her loveliness, by which as by steps he feigns himself to have ascended to the throne of the supreme cause, is the most glorious imagination of modern poetry." one would be in this highest stage, according to spinoza, when one has attained the intellectual love of god. "this intellectual love of god is the highest kind of virtue and it not only makes man free, but it confers immortality."[ ] shelly makes all things love one another. thus in _adonais_: all baser things pant with life's sacred thirst; diffuse themselves; and spend in love's delight, the beauty and the joy of their renewed might (st. ). this harmonizes with his earlier views concerning inanimate objects. we saw he believed that they all had life, that they were all possessed of the "spirit of nature." in _prometheus unbound_ he speaks of "this true, fair world of things a sea reflecting love." love draws man to man. it is the _sine qua non_ of man's existence. his love is founded in beauty as perceived by the senses. the spirit of beauty and the spirit of love are one. great spirit, _deepest love_! which rulest and dost move all things which live and are ... who sittest in thy star o'er ocean's western floor spirit of beauty.[ ] we love that which is beautiful. "love is a going out of one's own nature, or an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action or person not our own."[ ] the beauty of the world leads us step by step to the love of pure beauty, love itself. in the _symposium_, diotima explains how the love of beautiful objects leads on to the conception of perfect abstract beauty, "eternal unproduced, indestructible.... all other things are beautiful through a participation of it ... when any one ascending from the correct system of love begins to contemplate this supreme beauty he already touches the consummation of his labor."[ ] the earth is not beauty, love, divinity itself; it is but the shadow of god. how glorious are thou, earth! and if thou be the shadow of some spirit lovelier still.[ ] again the awful shadow of some unseen power floats unseen amongst us.[ ] this reminds us of platonism. the "spirit" is the idea, and the "shadow" is the earth. plato's idea transcends the world of concrete existence. the two functions of the idea are to cause things to be known and to constitute their reality. it is at the same time one and many.[ ] it stood out most prominently in the mind of plato as the idea of good or beauty by which he meant god himself. he says that the shadow of the power of intellectual beauty inspires us and not intellectual beauty itself. we could not endure that. intellectual beauty is god. since then shelley's great spirit, spirit of nature, light, beauty, love, resembles the "ideas" of plato very closely, and since these ideas have been identified by st. augustine and other christian platonists with the "mind of god," it is doubtful that shelley was an atheist in the strict sense of the term. his poetry at least will tend to imbue us with a realization of god's presence. that light whose smile kindles the universe, that beauty in which all things work and move, that benediction which the eclipsing curse of birth can quench not, that sustaining love which through the web of being blindly wove by man and beast and earth and air and sea. burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of the fire for which all thirst; now beams on me, consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.[ ] in his later years shelley became more and more of an idealist. towards the beginning of he became acquainted with berkeley's writings at the instance of southey. ideas, according to berkeley, are communicated to the mind through the immediate operation of the deity without the intervention of any actual matter. all our ideas are words which god speaks to us. matter is only a perception of the mind. ----this whole of suns, and worlds, and men, and beasts, and flowers, with all the silent or tempestuous workings by which they have been, are, or cease to be, is but a vision; all that it inhabits are motes of a sick eye, bubbles and dreams; thought is its cradle and its grave, nor less the future and the past are idle shadows of thoughts eternal flight--they have no being: nought is but that which feels itself to be.[ ] when panthea, in _prometheus unbound_, describes to asia a mysterious dream, suddenly asia sees another shape pass between her and the "golden dew" which gleams through its substance. "what is it?" she asks. "it is mine other dream," replies panthea. "it disappears," exclaims asia. "it passes now into my mind," replies panthea. to shelley dreams are as visible as the dreamers, and our minds are simply a collection of dreams. reality is reduced to the unsubstantiality of a dream, and dreams are the only reality. with regard to his belief in the immortality of the soul, we have the same difficulty and the same solution. all that we see or know, he says, perishes, and although life and thought differ from everything else, still this distinction does not afford us any proof that it survives that period beyond which we have no experience of its existence. the quotations, though, which can be twisted into an expression of disbelief in the immortality of the soul[ ] are less numerous than those expressing disbelief in the existence of god. his writings teem with expressions of belief in existence after death. "you have witnessed one suspension of intellect in dreamless sleep ... you witness another in death. from the first, you well know that you cannot infer any diminution of intellectual force. how contrary then to all analogy to infer annihilation from death."[ ] again, "whatever may be his true and final destination there is a spirit within him at enmity with nothing and dissolution."[ ] plato claimed that the soul preexisted long before it was united to the body. in its supercelestial home "the soul enjoyed a clear and unclouded vision of ideas; and that, although it fell from that happy state and was steeped in the river of forgetfulness it still retains an indistinct memory of those heavenly intuitions of the truth."[ ] shelley was so impressed with the truth of this theory that he once walked up to a woman who was carrying a child in her arms and asked her if her child would tell them anything about preexistence. he believed that after death the soul returns to plato's world of ideas whence it came. whilst burning through the inmost veil of heaven the soul of adonais, like a star beacons from the abode where the eternal are.[ ] as to the nature of the soul his early views reflect the influence of dr. g. aberthney, who believed in a kind of universal animism. on january , , he writes to hogg: "i think we may not inaptly define _soul_ as the most supreme, superior and distinguished abstract appendage to the nature of anything." again, "i conceive (and as is certainly capable of demonstration) that nothing can be annihilated, but that everything appertaining to nature, consisting of constituent parts infinitely divisible, is in a continual change, then do i suppose--and i think i have a right to draw this inference--that neither will soul perish."[ ] in _queen mab_ we find shelley believing in the doctrine of necessity. there he denies the freedom of the will. later on he exempted the will from the law of necessity, but not the intelligence or reason of man. his views on this subject were derived principally from godwin. "every human being," says godwin, "is irresistably impelled to act precisely as he does act. in the eternity which preceded his birth a chain of causes was generated, which, operating under the name of motives, make it impossible that any thought of his mind and any action of his life should be otherwise than it is."[ ] the actions of every human being are determined by the dictates of reason; and, like the operations of nature, are subject to the law of necessity. this idea of necessity is obtained from our experience of the uniformity of the phenomena of nature. similar causes invariably produce the same effect. in the material world an immense chain of causes and effects appears, the connection between which we cannot understand. the same thing is true of the moral world. there, motive is to voluntary action what cause is to effect in the physical order. a man cannot resist the strongest motive any more than a stone left unsuspended can remain in the air. will is simply an act of the judgment determined by logical impressions. the murderer is no more responsible for his deed than the knife with which the crime was committed. both were set in motion from without; the knife, by material impulse; the man, by inducement and persuasion. to hate a murderer, then, is as unreasonable as to hate his weapon. educate him, but do not punish. in the material world no atom of this turbulence fulfills a vague and unnecessitated chance, or acts but as it must and ought to act.[ ] in the same way not a thought, a will, an act, no working of the tyrant's moody mind, nor one misgiving of the slaves who boast their servitude, to hide the shame they feel, nor the events enchaining every will, that from the depths of unrecorded time have drawn all-influencing virtue, pass unrecognized, or unforeseen by thee, soul of the universe![ ] in his notes to _queen mab_, shelley admits that the doctrine of necessity tends to introduce a great change into the established notions of morality, and utterly to destroy religion. it teaches that no event could happen but as it did happen; and that if god is the author of good he is also the author of evil. shelley soon broke away from the teaching of godwin and spinoza with regard to the freedom of the will. he maintained that the will is unrestrainedly free and that man is his own master. thus, "man whose will has power when all beside is gone" (_the revolt_, viii, ). "such intent as renovates the world a will omnipotent" (ibid., ii, ). "who if ye dared might not aspire less than ye conceive of power" (ibid., xi, ). man can obtain freedom if he really desires it. godwin held that freedom from external restraints leads to freedom of the mind, whereas shelley sees in external political freedom the blossoming forth of already obtained freedom of the soul. the interior freedom is obtained through self-abnegation and the determination of the will. mrs. shelley says in the introduction to _prometheus unbound_ that shelley believed mankind had only to will that there should be no evil and there would be none. evil is not something inherent in creation, but an accident that may be expelled. "but we are taught," writes shelley, "by the doctrine of necessity, that there is neither good nor evil in the universe, otherwise than as the events to which we apply these epithets have relation to our own peculiar mode of being."[ ] this view is very similar to that of drummond. he held that order and disorder have no place but in our own imagination, and are the modes in which we survey the eternal and necessary series of things. ideas of right and wrong depend upon the circumstances in which people are placed. they vary so much that we do not find the standard of morality to be precisely the same in any two countries of the world. good and evil are modes of thinking; and what appears good to one person may appear bad to another, and neither good nor bad to a third. this is spinoza's doctrine: "bonum et malum quod attinet, nihil etiam positivum in rebus, in se scilicet consideratis, indicant, nec aliud sunt praeter cogitandi modos, seu motiones, quas formamus ex eo, quod res ad invicem comparamus nam una eademque res potest eodem tempore bona et mala, et etiam indiffereus esse." _ethics_, iv. shelley has two versions of the origin of good and evil. the first is manichean and represents them as twin genii of balanced power and opposite tendencies ruling the world. "this much is certain: that jesus christ represents god as the fountain of all goodness, the eternal enemy of pain and evil.... according to jesus christ, and according to the indisputable facts of the case, some evil spirit has dominion in this imperfect world."[ ] good is represented by the morning star and evil by a comet. according to the second version, which is shelley's own view, evil has not the same power that good has, and came later into the world. evil is strong because man permits it to exist, and must disappear as soon as man wills this. since it could be entirely eliminated, it is not an integral part of the world. man is naturally good. his vices are the result of bad education. they are nothing but errors of judgment. let truth prevail; educate men properly, and then vice will entirely disappear. shelley also writes: let priest-led slaves cease to proclaim that man inherits vice and misery, when force and falsehood hang even over the cradled babe stifling with rudest grasp all natural good. godwin thinks that the influence of the emotions and passions has been overestimated. it is not true that they can force one to act in opposition to the dictates of one's reason. they maintain their hold on men but by the ornaments with which they are decked out; and these are the things which compel a man to yield. reduce sensual acts to their true nakedness and they would be despised. whatever power the passions have to incline men to act will, in future, be offset by consideration of justice and self-interest. many have overcome the influence of pain and pleasure in the past by the energies of intellectual resolution, and what these accomplished can be done by all. reason and truth, then, are sufficient to change the whole complexion of society. they will ultimately prevail; and then all will be wise and good. the following from shelley is an echo of this. and when reason's voice loud as the voice of nature shall have waked the nations; and mankind perceive that vice is discord, war, and misery; that virtue is peace and happiness and harmony xx how sweet a scene will earth become! of purest spirits a pure dwelling-place, symphonious with the planetary spheres. godwin went so far as to say that eventually all sickness would disappear; and even in this shelley follows his master. shelley finds this view of evil in the teaching of christ. "according to jesus christ," he writes, "some evil spirit has dominion in this imperfect world. but there will come a time when the human mind shall be visited exclusively by the influence of the benignant power."[ ] all the philosophists who influenced shelley agreed in this that virtue leads to happiness. the purpose of virtuous conduct, says godwin, "is the production of happiness." so with shelley "virtue is peace, and happiness, and harmony." virtue, says godwin, is the offspring of the understanding; and vice is always the result of narrow views. "selfishness," writes shelley, "is the offspring of ignorance and mistake;... disinterested benevolence is the product of a cultivated imagination, and has an intimate connection with all the arts which add ornament or dignity or power, or stability to the social state of man."[ ] shelley does not believe in the existence of hell. he thinks that this doctrine is incompatible with the goodness of god. "love your enemies, bless those who curse you, that ye may be the sons of your heavenly father, who makes the sun to shine on the good and the evil, and the rain to fall on the just and unjust." how monstrous a calumny have not impostors dared to advance against the mild and gentle author of this just sentiment, and against the whole tenor of his doctrines and his life overflowing with benevolence and forbearance and compassion."[ ] god, he says, would only be gratifying his revenge under pretence of satisfying justice were he to inflict pain upon another for no better reason than that he deserved it. chapter v radicalism in contemporary poetry a poet is the product of his time. shelley observes that there is a resemblance, which does not depend on their own will, between the writers of any particular age. they are all subjected to a common influence "which arises out of a combination of circumstances belonging to the time in which they live, though each is in a degree the author of the very influence by which his being is thus pervaded." hence it is that the works of any poet cannot be thoroughly appreciated unless the spirit that pervaded the life of the period be understood. this is particularly true of the poetry of shelley. it embodies the aspirations and ideals of the philosophers of his time. its themes are liberty, justice and revolt. on every side are heard protests against conventionality, against government, and against religion. the philosophers of the french revolution are hailed as the saviors of society and their theories put forth as a panacea for all human ills. shelley is the high water mark of the waves of revolt which threatened to inundate the country. a brief investigation, then, of the poetical atmosphere of the end of the eighteenth century will help us in our study of the sources of his radicalism. there can be no doubt but contemporary literature had some influence on his sensitive nature. "the writings of the future laureate (southey) as likewise of wordsworth and coleridge, and landor's _gehir_ were among those for which shelley in early youth had a particular predilection."[ ] since the influence of southey soon began to decline on account of his fulsome praise of george iii, we shall confine our attention to wordsworth and coleridge. "one word in candor," shelley writes, "on the manner in which the study of contemporary writing may have modified my composition. i am intimately persuaded that the peculiar style of intensive and comprehensive imagery in poetry which distinguishes modern writers has not been as a general power the product of the imitation of any particular one. it is impossible that any one contemporary with such writers (wordsworth and coleridge were specified at first) as stand in the front ranks of literature of the present day can conscientiously assure themselves or others that their _language_ and _tone of thought_ may not have been modified by the study of the productions of these extraordinary intellects."[ ] radicalism, we said, was the characteristic of this period and this extended both to the form and the matter of poetry. byron characterizes one eminent poet as "the mild apostate from poetic rule."[ ] during the greater part of the eighteenth century conservatism and classicism were in the ascendant. after the revolution of everything medieval and catholic was looked upon with suspicion. old customs and festivities were allowed to fall into disuse. compared with the past it was a material age. in the early part of the century agriculture and commerce flourished and with this advance in material prosperity came the decline of romanticism. "correctness" in form and thought is the guiding light of prince and peasant, of poet and philosopher. imagination is concerned almost entirely with society and fine manners. pope's themes are beaux and belles, pomatum, billets-doux, and patches. he preferred the artificial to the natural. form, imitation of the classics, is to him and the men of that period, the all important matter in literature. in his _essay on criticism_ he tells us again and again learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem to copy nature is to copy them. "to his immediate successors pope was the grand exemplar of what a poet should be,"[ ] but unfortunately he was followed by a horde of imitators whose only claim on the muse of poetry was ability to turn out heroic couplets. as a consequence poetry became a cold, lifeless affair, devoid of imagination and "divorced from living nature and the warm spontaneity of the heart."[ ] a reaction against this pseudo-classicism was inevitable. that small but constantly flowing stream of romanticism which is found in the works of thomson, blake, warton and gray, increased in size until it broke loose in the _lyrical ballads_ of . this was the joint work of coleridge and wordsworth. the two poets met for the first time in . coleridge was then years of age and wordsworth but two years his senior. in july, , wordsworth and his sister moved to alfoxden, in somersetshire, that they might be near coleridge, who was living with his wife at nether-stowey. they were, as coleridge has said somewhere, three people but one soul. a good description of the relationship between them is given in dorothy wordsworth's _alfoxden journal_, and in coleridge's _the nightingale_; a conversation poem. their most frequent topic of conversation was "the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colors of imagination."[ ] from these conversations originated the plan of the _lyrical ballads_. the work was divided into two parts. coleridge was to direct his attention to romantic and supernatural characters and to enshroud these with a human interest and a semblance of truth sufficient to engage our interest and attention. wordsworth, on the other hand, was to produce the same effect by giving the charm of novelty to objects chosen from ordinary life. it seemed to them that the beauty of a landscape often depended on the accidents of light and shade; that moonlight or sunset sometimes transformed an uninviting scene into one of entrancing beauty; and so they believed that they could diffuse the glow of their imagination over any object and make it attractive. as might be expected the publication of the _ballads_ did not meet with success. the change from the stereotyped verse of the age to these carelessly formed effusions was too much for the critics. some scoffed at them; others thought they were being hoaxed. the subjects dealt with in these poems were long considered as unfit for poetry; and of course the conservative felt it his bounden duty to protest against the innovation. in the second edition of the _ballads_, which was entirely wordsworth's own work, an attempt is made to justify this radical departure from the beaten path. a poet, he explains, is a genius, and should not be hampered by any conventions of art or traditions of society. his imagination is the purifying fire which transmutes the rough ore of the commonplace into the choice gold of literature. "good poetry," he writes, "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." "he (the poet) is a man speaking to men; a man, it is true, endowed with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings of the universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them."[ ] this is a good picture of shelley. "with a spiritual gaze turned first inward, on his own passions and volitions, and then turned outward upon the universe, shelley looked in vain for external objects answering to the forms generated by his dazzling imagination."[ ] meter and poetic diction, wordsworth says, are something altogether accidental to poetry, and consequently there is no essential difference between the language of poetry and that of prose. "the distinction," shelley writes, "between poets and prose writers is a vulgar error. plato was essentially a poet."[ ] wordsworth contends, too, that the proper language of poetry is the ordinary language of the rustic. the excellence of poetry depends not so much on the dignity of the words used as on their capacity to arouse emotions. "the language of poets," shelley writes, "is vitally metaphorical; that is, it marks the before-unapprehended relations of things and perpetuates their apprehension; until words which represent them, become, through time, signs for portions or classes of thought instead of pictures of integral thoughts.... every original language near to its source is in itself the chaos of a cyclic poem."[ ] not only shelley's principles as regards "the use of language" but also his "tone of thought" was influenced by wordsworth. coleridge and wordsworth removed the sphere of poetry from social action to philosophical reflection; they exchanged the ancient method, consisting in the ideal imitation of external objects, for an introspective analysis of the impressions of the individual mind.[ ] many of wordsworth's poems are records of the moods of his own soul, and of phases of his life; so also are shelley's. a brief examination of some of wordsworth's works will serve to make this clear. wordsworth planned an epic poem, _the recluse_, of which _the prelude_, or introduction, and _the excursion_ are the only parts extant. in these two poems we can trace out the history of his radicalism. _the prelude_ is his autobiography; and _the excursion_ supplements what is lacking to a thorough revelation of the workings of his mind. he begins _the prelude_ by telling about his childhood and schooltime, his residence at cambridge, vacation and love for books. he then treats of his first trip to the continent and his residence in london. book ix is concerned with his second visit to france in . while there he mixed up with all classes ... and thus ere long became a patriot; and my heart was all given to the people, and my love was theirs.[ ] it was natural for him to do so, because he lived from boyhood among those whose claims on one's respect did not rest on accidents of wealth or blood. he describes his friend general beaupis, who inoculated him with enthusiasm for the cause of the revolution. in _the revolt of islam_ shelley describes dr. lind, who taught him to curse the king. hatred of absolute rule, where the will of one is law for all, was becoming stronger in wordsworth every day. after the september massacres and the imprisonment of the king he returned to paris. and ranged with ardor heretofore unfelt the spacious city.[ ] he was about to cast in his lot with the revolutionists when he was forced to return to england. the excesses of the revolution, however, deprived him of some of the hopes that he placed in it. at that time his "day thoughts" were most melancholy. when news came of the fall of robespierre his hopes began to revive. the earth will now march firmly towards righteousness and peace. oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy! for mighty were the auxiliars which then stood upon our side, us who were strong in love; bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven.[ ] in canto v of _the revolt of islam_ shelley describes how oppressors and oppressed are persuaded to forego revenge. love has conquered and a new era of peace and happiness is about to begin. to hear, to see, to live, was on that morn lethean joy. although shelley does not dwell on details as wordsworth does, still there is a striking similarity between the spirit of parts of _the excursion_ and that of many of shelley's poems. an extract from _the revolt of islam_ will help to verify this. thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear friend, when first the clouds that wrapt me from this world did pass. i do remember well the hour which burst my spirit's sleep. a fresh may-dawn it was, when i walked forth upon the glittering grass, and wept, i know not why; until there rose from the near schoolroom voices that, alas! were but one echo from a world of woes, the harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes. and then i clasped my hands and looked around-- but none was near to mock my streaming eyes, which poured their drops upon the sunny ground-- so without shame i spoke: "i will be wise, and just, and free, and mild, if in me lies such power, for i grow weary to behold the selfish and the strong still tyrannize without reproach or check. wordsworth's joy, however, was short-lived. in napoleon started on a campaign of conquest and this completely shattered wordsworth's faith in the revolution. when he saw that the french were changing a war of self-defense into one of subjugation, losing sight of all which they themselves had struggled for, he became "vexed with anger and sore with disappointment." about the year he fell under the influence of godwin, and it is to his doctrines that he now turned for solace. godwin, as we have seen, makes reason the sole guide and rule of conduct. custom, law, and every kind of authority are inimical to the well-being of humanity. wordsworth then at this time began dragging all precepts, creeds, etc., "like culprits to the bar of reason, now believing, now disbelieving," till, demanding formal proof and seeking it in everything, i lost all feeling of conviction, and, in fine, sick, wearied out with contrarieties, yielded up all moral questions in despair.[ ] he had sounded radicalism to its lowest depths and found it wanting. i drooped deeming our blessed reason of the least use where wanted most. in _the prelude_ wordsworth records how he had in youth moments of supreme inspiration, and had taken vows binding himself to the service of the spirit he felt in nature. to the brim my heart was full, i made no vows but vows were made for me; bond unknown to me was given, that i should be, else sinning greatly a dedicated spirit. so with shelley in _alastor_: mother of this unfathomable world! favor my solemn song! for i have loved thee ever and thee only. the sense of life and the sense of mystery are seen in _alastor_ and these are due to the influence of wordsworth. during all this time wordsworth wrote very little poetry embodying his radical sentiments. the only important work of this kind which appeared is his drama, _the borderers_. even this cannot be called a radical word as it marks his rejection of godwinism. marmaduke loves idonea, herbert's daughter, and is told that she is about to be sacrificed by her father to the lust of a neighboring noble. oswald, the godwinian, persuades marmaduke, by dint of reasoning, to disregard the musty command of tyrants, to obey the only law "that sense submits to recognize," and kill blind herbert. this marmaduke does, but later on finds out his mistake and tells idonea towards the end that proof after proof was pressed upon me; guilt made evident, as seemed, by blacker guilt, whose impious folds enwrapped even thee.[ ] he realizes that he has committed a crime; that it is the height of folly to ignore instinct and tradition, and so he wanders over waste and wild till anger is appeased in heaven, and mercy gives me leave to die. although the radicalism of his early years does not reveal itself to any great extent in his poetry of that time, still it is responsible for his largest work, _the excursion_. this poem is an attempt to reconstruct a new theory of life out of the ruins of the french revolution. according to wordsworth, the poet is a teacher. "i wish," he says, "to be considered as a teacher or as nothing." shelley says that "poets are the unacknowleged legislators of the world."[ ] his _revolt of islam_ and other poems attempt to inculcate "a liberal and comprehensive morality." what particularly distinguishes wordsworth and shelley from preceding poets is that they moralize and draw lessons from their own experiences. the two principal characters in _the excursion_--the solitary and the wanderer--represent wordsworth the radical and wordsworth the conservative. the wanderer, who has had a long experience of men and things, derives from nature moral reflections of various kinds. in his walks he meets the solitary, a gloomy, morose sceptic. this man tells about his desire to find peace and contentment; his delight in nature; and the happiness of his wedded life. the death of his wife and children filled him with despair. he then begins to question the ways of god to men and exclaims then my soul turned inward--to examine of what stuff times fetters are composed; and life was put to inquisition, long and profitless![ ] he is aroused from these abstractions by the report that the dread bastile has fallen; and from the wreck he sees a golden palace rise the appointed seat of equitable law the mild paternal sway ... from the blind mist issuing i beheld glory, beyond all glory ever seen. in _queen mab_ shelley has a somewhat similar phrase: hope was seen beaming through the mists of fear. he thus becomes interested once more in life; and joins in the chorus of liberty singing in every grove. war shall cease did ye not hear that conquest is abjured? bring garlands, bring forth choicest flowers, to deck the tree of liberty.[ ] society then became his bride and "airy hopes" his children. although no gallic blood flows in his veins, still not less than gallic zeal burns among "the sapless twigs of his exhausted heart." he is in entire sympathy with the plans and aspirations of the revolutionists, and he feels that a progeny of golden years is about to descend and bless mankind. all the hopes of the solitary, though, are blasted. he is disgusted with the way in which the revolution is progressing and sets sail for america, where he expects to find freedom from the restraints of tyranny. shelley writes about america as follows: there is a people mighty in its youth. a land beyond the oceans of the west where, though with rudest rites, freedom and truth are worshipped.[ ] the solitary's expectations are not fulfilled, and so he returns, despondent, to his own country. he is in this frame of mind when he meets the wanderer, who tells him that the only adequate support for the calamities of life is belief in providence. victory, the wanderer says, is sure if we strive to yield entire submission to the law of conscience. he compares the force of gravity, which constrains the stars in their motions, to the principle of duty in the life of man. in act iv of _prometheus unbound_ shelley compares the force of gravity to the impulse of love. there is no cause for despair, and "the loss of confidence in social man." the beginning of the revolution had raised man's hopes unwarrantably high. as there was no cause then for such exalted confidence, so there is none now for fixed despair. the two extremes are equally disowned by reason. one should have patience and courage. it is folly to expect the accomplishment in one day of "what all the slowly moving years of time have left undone." in the preface to _the revolt of islam_ shelley writes: "but such a degree of unmingled good was expected (from the revolution) as it was impossible to realize.... could they listen to the plea of reason who had groaned under the calamities of a social state according to the provisions of which one man riots in luxury whilst another famishes for want of bread? can he who the day before was a trampled slave suddenly become liberal-minded? this is the consequence of the habits of a state of society to be produced by resolute perseverance and indefatigable hope, and long-suffering and long-believing courage, and the systematic efforts of generations of men of intellect and virtue." the wanderer exhorts the solitary to engage in bodily exercise and to study nature. he contrasts the dignity of the imagination with the presumptuous littleness of certain modern philosophers. at this point the solitary remarks that it is impossible for some to rise again; that the mind is not free. it is as vain to ask a man to resolve as bid a creature fly "whose very sorrow is that time hath shorn his natural wings." the wanderer replies that the ways of restoration are manifold fashioned to the steps of all infirmity, and tending all to the same point, attainable by all peace in ourselves and union with our god. the wanderer calls upon the skies and hills to testify to the existence of god. wordsworth the wanderer finds an answer for wordsworth the solitary in nature. he sees that there is a living spirit in nature; a spirit which animates all things, from "the meanest flower that blows" to the glorious birth of sunshine; a spirit which pervades matter and gives to each its distinctive life and being. he sees god in everything. to every form of being is assigned an _active principle_ ... ... from link to link it circulates the soul of all the worlds.[ ] shelley, in a letter to hogg, january , , speaks about "the soul of the universe, the intelligent and necessarily beneficent _actuating principle_." wordsworth's treatment of nature is original in this that nature is no longer viewed as a garden or laboratory where man's processes are carried on, but she is recognized as being over and above him and penetrating his whole life by impulses that emanate from her. wordsworth spiritualizes nature. he views her phenomena as so many "varying manifestations of one life sacred, great, and all-pervading. "this life of nature is felt more when man is alone with her and hence the love of solitude which marks the wordsworthian habit of mind."[ ] other characteristics of wordsworth besides the love for nature's seclusion are "the reverence which sees in her a revelation of infinity and the recognition in her of a mysterious and poetic life." these are also characteristics of shelley. his love of solitude is inspired by the desire to know nature in her inmost heart; "he has the same feeling for infinite expanse and the same perception of an underlying life." he also insists, like wordsworth, on "the education of nature." in the preface to _alastor_, shelley says that the subject of the poem represents a youth "led forth by an imagination inflamed and purified through familiarity with all that is excellent and majestic, to the contemplation of the universe.... the magnificence and beauty of the external world sinks profoundly into the frame of his conceptions and affords to their modifications a variety not to be exhausted." in the introductory stanzas, shelley asks this great parent, nature, to inspire him that his "strain may modulate with murmurs of the air." he tells us, too, "that every sight and sound from the vast earth and ambient air sent to his heart its choicest blessings." wordsworth says, in _lines on tintern abbey_, that nature never did betray the heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life to lead from joy to joy; for she can so inform the mind that is within us, so impress with quietness and beauty, and so feed with lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall e'er prevail against us or disturb our cheerful faith, that all which we behold is full of blessings. in the prelude, wordsworth speaks of the influence of nature as follows: wisdom and spirit of the universe! that soul that art the eternity of thought. that givest to forms and images a breath and everlasting motion, not in vain by day or star-light thus from my first dawn of childhood didst thou intertwine for me the passions that build up our human soul. this and the _intimations of immortality_ remind us of the following passage in _queen mab_: soul of the universe! eternal spring of life and death, of happiness and woe, of all that chequers the phantasmal scene that floats before our eyes in wavering light, which gleams but on the darkness of our prison, whose chains and massy walls we feel, but cannot see. wordsworth goes into the woods and hears a thousand notes all making sweet music, all in harmony. furthermore, he feels that all living things, flowers and animals, are possessed of conscious life. and 'tis my faith that every flower enjoys the air it breathes. (_lines written in early spring._) nature is throbbing not only with life but with the spirit of love, a spirit that knits the whole world of living things together. love, now a universal birth, from heart to heart is stealing, from earth to man, from man to earth. (_to my sister._) the same thought runs through many of shelley's poems. in _the sensitive plant_ the flowers live, love, and die. but none ever trembled and panted with bliss in the garden, the field, or the wilderness, like a doe in the noontide, with love's sweet want, as the companionless sensitive plant. the beauty and loveliness of nature will do us more good "than all the sages can." they will inspire us as nothing else will. dr. ackermann draws attention to the kindness of wordsworth and shelley for animals, and notes the similarity between the two following passages.[ ] thus wordsworth in _the excursion_, ii, - : birds and beasts and the mute fish that glances in the stream and harmless reptile coiling in the sun ... he loved them all: their rights acknowledging he felt for all. and shelley in _alastor_, - : if no bright bird, insect, or gentle beast i consciously have injured, but still loved and cherished these my kindred. wordsworth concludes _the excursion_ and shelley the _alastor_ with the desire for death. with the name of wordsworth, the name of that greater genius, coleridge, will always be linked. although they were life-long friends still no two could be more unlike in character and temperament. wordsworth was moody and determined. he, like shelley, worked out his plans unmindful of the opinion of others. neglect and ridicule did not trouble him in the least. he was an excellent type of _mens sana in corpore sano_. coleridge, on the other hand, was without ambition and steadiness of purpose. he drifted on through life in a listless manner, "sometimes committing a golden thought to the blank leaf of a book, or to a private letter, but generally content with oral communication."[ ] at an early age he had accomplished great things and it was felt that these were but "the morning giving promise of a glorious day." he was scarcely thirty when he won distinction as a poet, journalist, lecturer, theologian, critic and philosopher. the "glorious day," however, never matured. sickness and opium were the clouds that obscured the brightness of his genius. his married life was not a happy one. as in the case of shelley, jealousy and irritation on the part of the wife, and disenchantment on the part of the husband made home-life intolerable. one of the earliest manifestations of coleridge's radicalism is his _ode on the destruction of the bastile_, written in . in it he rejoices at the overthrow of tyranny and the success of freedom. liberty with all her attendant virtues will now be the portion of all. yes! liberty the soul of life shall reign, shall throb in every pulse, shall flow thro' every vein! he hopes that she will extend her influence wider and wider until every land shall boast "one independent soul." in his _ode to france_ he writes: with what deep worship i have still adored the spirit of divinest liberty. shelley may have had this in mind when he wrote in _alastor_ and lofty hopes of divine liberty thoughts the most dear to him. coleridge's most important radical work, which lamb considered to be more than worthy of milton, is _religious musings_. shelley's _queen mab_ bears so strong a resemblance to it that the _religious musings_ has been called coleridge's _queen mab_. in the first part he lashes his countrymen for joining the coalition against france under pretence of defending religion. further on he gives his views on society, its origin and progress. it is to private property that we must attribute all the sore ills that desolate our mortal life. unlike many radicals, however, coleridge can see the good in an institution as well as the evil. thus he holds that the rivalry resulting from our present economic condition has stimulated thought and action from avarice thus, from luxury and war, sprang heavenly science; and from science freedom. the innumerable multitude of wrongs, continues coleridge, by man on man inflicted, cry to heaven for vengeance. even now ( ) the storm begins which will cast to earth the rich, the great, and all the mighty men of the world. this will be followed by a period of sunshine, when love will return and peace and happiness be the portion of all. as when a shepherd on a vernal morn through some thick fog creeps timorous with slow foot, darkling with earnest eyes he traces out the immediate road, all else of fairest kind hid or deformed. but lo! the bursting sun! touched by the enchantment of that sudden beam straight the black vapor melteth, and in globes of dewy glitter gems each plant and tree: on every leaf, on every blade it hangs; and wide around the landscape streams with glory! so we will fly into the sun of love, impartially view creation, and love it all. we will then see that god diffused through society makes it one whole; that every victorious murder is a blind suicide; that no one injures and is not uninjured. this change will be brought about by a return to pure faith and meek piety. he differs from shelley in this, that he does not look for reformation through the overturning of thrones and churches. the existing frame-work of society is all right; it needs only to be freed from some of its barnacles. the first stanza of coleridge's _love_ reminds one of the following passage from shelley's _prometheus unbound_ (act iv, ): his will, with all mean passions, bad delights and selfish cares, its trembling satellites, a spirit ill to guide, but mighty to obey, is as a tempest-winged ship, whose helm love rules. coleridge's stanza runs as follows: all thoughts, all passions, all delights whatever stirs this mortal frame all are but ministers of love and feed his sacred flame.[ ] shelley's sonnet to ianthe is little more than a transposition of coleridge's sonnet to his son. shelley says: i love thee, baby! for thine own sweet sake: those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek, thy tender frame, so eloquently weak, love in the sternest heart of hate might wake; but more when o'er thy fitful slumber bending thy mother folds thee to her wakeful heart, whilst love and pity, in her glances blending, all that thy passive eyes can feel impart: more, when some feeble lineaments of her, who bore thy weight beneath her spotless bosom, as with deep love i read thy face, recur,-- more dear art thou, o fair and fragile blossom; dearest when most thy tender traits express the image of thy mother's loveliness.[ ] coleridge's runs as follows: charles! my slow heart was only sad when first i scanned that face of feeble infancy: for dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst all i had been, and all my child might be! but when i saw it on its mother's arm, and hanging at her bosom (she the while bent o'er its features with a tearful smile), then i was thrilled and melted, and most warm impressed a father's kiss; and all beguiled of dark remembrance and presageful fear. i seemed to see an angel's form appear-- 'twas even thine, beloved woman mild! so for the mother's sake the child was dear and dearer was the mother for the child. coleridge and shelley made a universal application of a few metaphysical principles acquired in their early years; and on them ground their political and religious views. poetry, metaphysics, morals and politics mixed themselves forever in their imagination.[ ] chapter vi conclusion the radical, when theorizing, considers man in the abstract. he forgets about actual conditions--man with his inequalities. the only thing necessary, in his view, for the reformation of society is to lay before mankind some logical plan of action. he loses sight of the fact that other influences, besides logic, play a part in the moulding of man's conduct. newman says teach men to shoot around corners and then you may hope to convert them by means of syllogisms. "one feels," emerson writes, "that these philosophers have skipped no fact but one, namely, life. they treat man as a plastic thing, or something that may be put up or down, ripened or retarded, molded, polished, made into solid or fluid or gas at the will of the leader."[ ] the radical sees the millenium dawning upon the land every time a new scheme is proposed for the amelioration of society. they do not apply any tests to determine its adaptability to the needs of the people. it satisfies the rules of logic and for them this is sufficient. burke considers this point in his speech, "on conciliation with america." "it is a mistake to imagine that mankind follow up practically any speculative principle as far as it will go in argument and in logical illation. all government, indeed every human benefit and enjoyment, every virtue and every prudent act is founded on compromise and barter. we balance inconveniences; we give and take; we remit some rights that we may enjoy others. man acts from motives relative to his interests; and not on metaphysical speculations." shelley could not understand how it is that evils continue so pertinaciously to exist in society. he believed that men had but to will that there would be no evil and there would be none. it seemed to him that he could construct inside twenty-four hours a system of government and morals that would be perfect. "the science," burke writes, "of constructing a commonwealth, or renovating it, or reforming it, is, like every other experimental science not to be taught _a priori_. nor is it a short experience that can instruct us in that practical science.... the science of government being therefore so practical in itself, and intended for such practical purposes, a matter which requires experience, and even more experience than any person can gain in his whole life, however sagacious and observing he may be, it is with infinite caution that any man ought to venture upon pulling down an edifice which has answered in any tolerable degree for ages the common purposes of society, or on building it up again without having models and patterns of approved utility before his eyes."[ ] the radical does not distinguish between essentials and non-essentials. he sees some evils in connection with an institution and forthwith would wipe that institution out of existence. garrison thought there was something in the constitution of the united states that sanctioned slavery and so he described the constitution as "a league with death and a covenant with hell." as late as shelley believed that "the system of society as it exists at present must be overthrown from the foundations with all its superstructures of maxims and of forms."[ ] he sees the evil and misses the good. the radical and the conservative both sin in this, that they take the cause of their adversaries not by its strong end, but by its weakest. imaginative people see a few things clearly, and on that account do not see the whole. their attention is entirely taken up with a few details. shelley had no connected view of the world. he has brilliant, perhaps exaggerated, pictures of parts of it. he picks out some misery here and some injustice there, and condemns the whole. again, he does not offer a complete philosophy of life for us to follow. he takes a truth here and another there and deifies them, exaggerates them as he does pictures of the world. his thoughts were so vivid that they outshone the counsels of the more conservative. they impressed him so much that he could not see their limitations. single views, a simple philosophy suited him. for this reason he made his guides and leaders those philosophers of the eighteenth century who discarded the tortuous philosophy of the past and put forward a simple recipe which was to bring light and happiness to the world. radicals do a great deal of good by shaking off our social torpor and disturbing our self-sufficient complacency. but they very often cause a great deal of harm, and then society has a perfect right to defend itself against them. if they ignore the past, if they disregard the wisdom of centuries, if they tend to subvert all that has been already done, they are not effecting the betterment of society, but its destruction. true reformers link themselves with the good already existing in society and war only against its evils. they will start with things as they are. burke says that "the idea of inheritance furnishes a sure principle of conservation and a sure principle of transmission, without at all excluding a principle of improvement. it leaves acquisition free; but it secures what it acquires.... by preserving the method of nature in the conduct of the state, in what we improve we are never wholly new; in what we retain we are never wholly obsolete." true, progress in all the arts and sciences requires a certain readiness to experiment with the unknown and try something new. yet if that readiness be reckless, disaster will surely be the result. desire to move forward must be moderate, must be harmonized with distrust of the unknown if real progress is to ensue. to improve society we must understand it, and to do this we must recognize its positive value. the work of social reformers would be more effective if they had a better knowledge of existing laws and institutions. as a rule soap-box orators declaim against things about which they know little or nothing. a clear consciousness then of the good in the world, a clear understanding of the principles which bind this social world together is indispensable to the social reformer. to understand an object is to see through its defects to the positive qualities that constitute it; for nothing is made up of its own shortcomings. hence we must place our faith in evolution rather than revolution. any reform that is to be made must be founded in the good at present working in the world. it cannot be said that shelley had a clear consciousness of the social forces at work in society or of the good being done by the institutions of his time. he admitted himself that he detested history, and one cannot form a just estimate of institutions without knowing something about their history. had he known something about the real history of christianity or of the development of constitutional government in england he would not probably have been the radical that he was. he did not see that the institutions of his time were the product of the efforts of generations of men; he did not realize that the social structure is the most complicated and delicate of all the products of human nature, and consequently did not appreciate the folly of some of the radical changes he proposed. shelley had a horror of tradition and prejudice; yet a certain amount of prejudice is necessary. a man who would solve all the problems of life without falling back on tradition would be obliged, in each of the decisions that he would make, to follow a line of thought or argumentation which would impose an intolerable burden on him. according to shelley, the morality of an act is to be measured by the utilitarian standard, "the greatest good of the greatest number." how though can we measure the pleasure and the pain that flows from an action? in many cases we must take the judgment of the race; we must be guided by prejudice or tradition. "prejudice," writes burke, "is of ready application in the emergency; it previously engages the mind in a steady course of wisdom and virtue, and does not leave the man hesitating in the moment of decision, sceptical, puzzled and unresolved. prejudice renders a man's virtue his habit and not a series of unconnected acts. through just prejudice, his duty becomes a part of his nature."[ ] the radical lays too much stress on the influence of institutions. shelley ascribed to them all the evils of society. he was confident that a remodelling of them would bring about a complete reformation of society. social wrongs are caused by men and men alone can cure them. the radical is so taken up with his own ideas that he soon becomes eccentric. he loses, too, all sense of humor. he sees nothing but tragedy confronting him at every turn. at leghorn, shelley, accompanied by a friend, visited a ship which was manned by greek sailors. "does this realize your idea of hellenism, shelley?" his friend asked. "no! but it does of hell," he replied. almost every radical is lacking in tact, in moderation and in the sense of practical life. the radical is apt to think that everybody is against him. he does not credit his opponents with honest convictions, and so he imagines that he is being unjustly persecuted. shelley thought that even his father sought to injure him. "the idea," peacock writes, "that his father was continually on the watch for a pretext to lock him up haunted him through life." this brings us to several of shelley's traits which are characteristic of genius or insanity rather than of radicalism. in his _man of genius_ professor lombroso says that the characteristics of insane men of genius are met with, though far less conspicuously, among the great men freest from any suspicion of insanity. "between the physiology of the man of genius," he writes, "and the pathology of the insane, there are many points of coincidence; there is even actual continuity." one of the most important of these characteristics is hallucination. examples of geniuses who were subject to hallucinations are caesar, brutus, cellini, napoleon, dr. johnson, and pope. shortly before his death shelley saw a child rise from the sea and clap its hands. at tanyralt, on the night of february , , shelley imagined that he heard a noise proceeding from one of the parlors and immediately went downstairs armed with two pistols. there, he said, he found a man who fired at him but missed. the report of shelley's pistol brought the rest of the family on the scene, but none of them could find any trace of the intruder. it is generally conceded that this attack took place only in shelley's fertile imagination. at another time shelley imagined that he was afflicted with elephantiasis. one day towards the close of he was traveling in a coach with a fat old lady, who, he felt sure, must be a victim of this disease. later on at mr. newton's house as "he was sitting in an arm chair," writes madame gatayes, "talking to my father and mother, he suddenly slipped down on the ground, twisting about like an eel. 'what is the matter?' cried my mother. in his impressive tone shelley announced 'i have the elephantiasis.'... after a few weeks this hallucination left him as suddenly as it came. "he took strange caprices," writes hogg, "unfounded frights and dislikes, vain apprehensions and panic terrors and therefore he absented himself from formal and sacred engagements." it is well to keep this in mind when reading some of the criticism of shelley. j. c. jeafferson cites a long list of facts to prove that shelley was a wilful prevaricator. almost all of these can be explained away through the assumption that shelley himself was deceived when he told something that did not square with the known facts of the case. "had he," writes hogg, "written to ten different individuals the history of some proceeding in which he was himself a party and an eye-witness each of his ten reports would have varied from the rest in essential and important circumstances." "genius," says lombroso, "is conscious of itself, appreciates itself, and certainly has no monkish humility." shelley often expressed regret that the rest of mankind was not as good as himself and his soulmate, miss hitchener. he thought that he had no faults. another characteristic of the genius is that he must be continually traveling from one place to another. this is certainly true of shelley. he seldom remained longer than a year in one place. shelley in common with most sane men of genius was much preoccupied with his own ego. he loved to talk and write about himself and his opinions. the most important of his poems contain pictures of himself. "these energetic intellects," writes lombroso, "are the true pioneers of science; they rush forward regardless of danger, facing with eagerness the greatest difficulties--perhaps because it is these which best satisfy their morbid energy." shelley was always embarking on some foolish enterprise. he ran away with a school girl without having in sight any means of support. he went to ireland to emancipate the whole race; and after this failed he set about reclaiming a large tract of land from the sea at the little town of tremadoc, wales. he finally lost his life through venturing out to sea in stormy weather with an undermanned boat.[ ] matthew arnold's dictum, then, that shelley was not sane is a gross exaggeration. the characteristics of his life which would seem to uphold arnold's assertion are found in sane men of genius. that he was abnormal in some ways cannot be denied. in a letter which mrs. shelley wrote to sir john bowring when she sent him the holograph manuscript of the _mask of anarchy_, there is the following reference to her husband: "do not be afraid of losing the impression you have concerning my lost shelley by conversing with anyone who knows about him. the mysterious feeling you experience was participated by all his friends, even by me, who was ever with him--or why say even i felt it more than any other, because by sharing his fortune, i was more aware that any other of his wondrous excellencies and the strange fate which attended him on all occasions.... i do not in any degree believe that his being was regulated by the same laws that govern the existence of us common mortals, nor did anyone think so who ever knew him. i have endeavored, but how inadequately, to give some idea of him in my last published book--the sketch has pleased some of those who best loved him--i might have made more of it, but there are feelings which one recoils from unveiling to the public eye."[ ] shelley always remained a child. this was the opinion of one of his greatest admirers, francis thompson. "the child appeared no less often in shelley the philosopher than in shelley the idler. it is seen in his repellant no less than in his amiable weaknesses." to this fact, perhaps, may be ascribed the luxuriance of his imagination; it is freer in childhood than in old age. heaven lies about us in our infancy! shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy. but he beholds the light and whence it flows he sees it in his joy.[ ] he has been described as "a beautiful spirit building his many-colored haze of words and images." for him idealism was more than a need of the spirit; it was the principal element of his being.[ ] anyone who cleared away obstacles from the path of his imagination had all the attraction of a kindred spirit. this helps to explain godwin's influence over him. his father-in-law advocated the entire abolition of existing institutions, and left the work of reconstruction to man's imagination. here it was that shelley found full scope for the exercise of his faculties. he cannot be said to have contributed many original ideas to nineteenth century literature. "he merely familiarizes the highly refined imagination of the more select classes of poetical readers with beautiful idealisms of moral excellence." radicalism is a characteristic of youth. almost every person who is of any importance in his community will be found to have started out in life, boiling over with enthusiasm and eager to help on reform by advocating a change in this or that institution. very often this interferes with their judgment. bacon had this in mind when he wrote: "is not the opinion of aristotle worthy to be regarded wherein he saith that young men are not fit auditors of moral philosophy, because they are not settled from the boiling-heat of their affections nor tempered with time and experience."[ ] shakespeare endorses this in _troilus and cressida_, act ii, scene . not much unlike young men, whom aristotle thought unfit to hear moral philosophy. that shelley, had he lived, would have followed in the footsteps of wordsworth, coleridge and southey and become a conservative may well be doubted. however, his life shows some progress in that direction. he had learned to become more tolerant of various types of men; and stopford brooke maintains that there are indications in shelley's works to show that he would have become a christian. it is unfortunate that shelley never came into close personal contact with a burke who could take him out of the region of imagination and make him appreciate the beauty of order and institutions. had shelley met such a one he might have been influenced in the way that the greek augustine was benefited by the roman ambrose. southey might have helped shelley if he had shown more consideration for our poet's extremely sensitive feelings. southey's pet argument was that shelley was too young to understand the question they were discussing. "when you are as old as i am," he would say, "then you will see things in a different light." such a line of reasoning has no influence on men of shelley's stamp. aubrey de vere, in a letter to henry taylor, december , , states that shelley's character had two great natural defects. the first was a want of robustness which took away from him stability and self-possession. the second was his want of reverence. "there is," he writes, "an insolence of audacity in some passages of shelley on religious subjects which admits only of two interpretations, viz., something in his original cerebral organization doubtless augmented by circumstances that hindered proper development in some part of it or else pride in quite an extraordinary degree." lest this should appear to give de vere's complete view of shelley i quote further from the same letter. "something angelic there was certainly about him, something that i recognized from the first day that i read his poetry. his intelligence had also a keen logic about it." the radical is gifted with a powerful constructive imagination. he feels keenly the failures of institutions and is led to construct an ideal state of society. he takes all the good he knows, joins the pieces together, beautifies and adorns the picture until he has formed an earthly paradise. this has its advantages as only those whose imaginations are fired by fine ideals will ever stir the world with noble deeds. to succeed you must, as emerson expresses it, "hitch your wagon to a star." imagination has, of course, its dangers. some are content to day dream; to live in the world of their imagination. they are impatient of the failures, of the slow, steady toil that precedes success. they forget that change works slowly. "he who has a clear grasp of a concrete ideal and a clear insight into the conditions, realization, and the difficulties in the actual world by which it is beset will be the true social reformer of the world."[ ] shelley had a good grasp of the ideal, but he did not know how to cross over from the ideal to the real. this journey is a long and tedious one. "all progress," mackenzie writes, "which is guided by an ideal must be more or less of the nature of a stumble."[ ] "our very walking," as goethe puts it, "is a series of falls." bacon writes, "certainly it is heaven upon earth to have a man's mind move in charity, rest in providence, and turn upon the poles of the earth." shelley's mind moved in charity, but turned anywhere except upon the poles of the earth. notwithstanding all its shortcomings radicalism fulfils a very useful purpose in society. it keeps before our eyes the ideal. "it emphasizes the moral over the material; man over property. its prominence in society insures progress and gives promise that ideals shall not perish; that hope shall not wane, and that society shall long for perfection and peace, without which longing no progress is possible."[ ] radicalism emphasizes the ideal; conservatism the real. out of the two springs progress. "one is the moving power; the other the steadying power of the state. one is the sail without which society would make no progress; the other the ballast without which there would be small safety in a tempest."[ ] it is strange that the experience of centuries has not taught men to be more tolerant towards the radical. we see how blind was the generation behind us in resisting the obvious reforms which it was asked to approve; yet it never enters our heads to suspect that the next generation will consider as obvious reforms what we consider subversive proposals, and will wonder at our stupidity in having offered any resistance to them. shelley was a "sentimental" rather than a "philosophical"[ ] radical. he inflamed wills rather than enlightened minds. he roused men to action instead of solving difficult problems. man is influenced more by his emotions than by his intellect and hence the importance of the position which the sentimental radical holds in the history of society. if the radical arouses helpful emotions the amount of good he does is incalculable, so too is the amount of harm an unwise radical is responsible for. the emotions which shelley's poetry arouse are on the whole helpful. true a few of the details of one or two of his works should be condemned, but these usually serve to bring out the main idea of the work which is always an inspiring one. nobody thinks of condemning "lear" because of the vileness of goneril. if we would interpret any writer's meaning and message the first thing to attend to is to regard the work "as a whole bearing on life as a whole." doing this we will grasp what is central, and at the same time will appreciate the true value of all details. francis thompson does not believe that any one ever had his faith shaken through reading shelley. he knows, too, only of three passages to which exception might be taken from a moral point of view. shelley extolled justice, freedom and equality; and he denounced tyranny and injustice. his poetry should inspire men to be more charitable and tolerant, to seek less after wealth and the applause of the world, to sympathize more and more with suffering humanity, to return good for evil and to pursue the common good of all with more zeal and enthusiasm. one or more of the faculties of every poet are more highly developed than those of ordinary people. in some cases it is the senses; in others the imagination. tennyson and wordsworth are good examples of the first class. they note and describe shades of color--in flowers, in the sky--the music of waters, and a hundred other things that escape the notice of common mortals. in shelley it is his imagination, his faculty for feeling the sufferings of others that is abnormal. he sees a woman afflicted with elephantiasis, and straightway imagines that he himself has the same disease. shelley keenly feels the misery around him, gives expression to that feeling, and castigates the causes of that misery. shelley's poetry exercises our imagination, takes us away from ourselves and makes us think about our neighbors. the great trouble with the world today is that men think only about themselves, their own wants and their own joys. if we were made to feel the sufferings of the poor one-half of the evils of society would be eliminated. anything then that brings home to us the evils of society is a blessing. "every grade of culture," writes dr. kerby, "has its own spirit of fellowship, its own code, understanding and secrets. hence it is that the imagination has a supreme rôle in the neighborly relations of men. as social processes unite men in imagination, they supply the basis of concord, service and trust.... reason may talk of social solidarity, and economic or sociological analysis may show us how intimately all men are united; the catechism may appeal to intellect and tell us that mankind of every description is our neighbor. but only they have entrance to our hearts to whom imagination gives the passport; only they are neighbors whom imagination accepts and embraces."[ ] the work of reconstructing human brotherhood is in a great measure the work of the imagination. the objection may be raised here that although shelley's imagination was very strong, still he was guilty of great wrong to harriet. in reply one may say that the imagination is only one-half the mould which forms the perfect man. the other half is made up of reason and revealed religion. where these two parts of the mind are found together we get great men. they exist side by side in the saints. a man may know all about ascetical theology, or all about his profession, but if he has not imagination he will always be a plodder. to come more directly to our difficulty, shelley had the motive power of imagination and the guiding force of reason, but not that of revealed religion. the result was that he went off at a tangent when he dealt with matrimony. his case should be a convincing argument to women at least that christianity is necessary for the happiness and well-being of mankind. in so far as shelley's imagination was guided by the light of reason, he was a saint. trelawny says that shelley stinted himself to bare necessities, and then often lavished the money saved by unprecedented self-denial on selfish fellows who denied themselves nothing. some of shelley's poetry is calculated to arouse one's anger and hatred of wrong. a people who are destitute of these emotions are fit subjects for the yoke. as long as there are men ready to take advantage of another's weakness; as long as there are selfish men who will advance themselves at the expense of others, so long will it be necessary to keep alive in men the spirit of hatred of injustice. the difficulty with a great many critics of shelley is that they confound shelley's railing at the evils of religion and governments with railing at religion and government itself. in places, it is true, he would seem to be a complete anarchist, but then allowance should be made for the sweeping generalizations that are characteristic of poetry and radicalism. those passages in which he would seem to condemn all religion and government should deceive no one. no doubt it is wrong to brood too much over the misery of the world. one misses a great deal if one sees only the evil, and never sees any of the good nor experiences any of the joy of life. extreme pessimism is as harmful as extreme optimism. the pessimism that lets in no ray of hope is a plague. such though is not the pessimism of shelley. his pictures of the evils of society are illumined by the reflection from the happier state of society that is about to come to pass. shelley would do away with government and authority. surely, some would say, that is enough to discredit him as a thinker forever. on the contrary, it shows how far in advance of his time he was; it shows he had a good grasp of the sociological principle that the less compulsion and the more cooperation under direction there is in any state the better it is. shelley never meant to say that he would here and now abolish all authority. no one saw more clearly than he that chaos would result from the removal of authority from society as at present constituted. when shelley writes about freedom from authority he is picturing the ideal state where men will be just and wise. he very likely doubted that such a state was possible here below, still he thought it was incumbent on everybody to strive after this ideal. he wanted men to so perfect themselves, to so act, that laws and policemen would become less and less necessary. shelley may not have the "sense of established facts," and may be unable to offer suggestions which will work out well in practice, but he does infuse a higher and a nobler conception of life into the consciousness of a people. what wordsworth said concerning his own poems is true of the works of shelley. "they will cooperate with the benign tendencies in human nature and society, and will, in their degree, be efficacious in making men wiser, better, and happier." bibliography the best critical edition of shelley's complete work is that by h. b. forman in eight volumes, london, . other useful editions of the poetical works are: professor g. e. woodberry's, four volumes, boston, ; professor dowden's, one volume, london, ; t. huchinson's, oxford, ; and w. m. rossetti's, three volumes, london, . for an account of the earlier publications of shelley's works consult _the shelley library: an essay in bibliography_, by h. b. forman. the most comprehensive and authoritative life of shelley is that by professor dowden in two volumes, london, . the following are the chief authorities, critical and biographical, to be consulted: ackermann, r.: (a) _quellen zu shelley's poetischen werken._ . (b) _shelley's epipsychidion und adonais._ . (c) _prometheus unbound. kritische textansgabe, etc._ . allen, edith l.: _shelley day by day._ . allen, leslie h.: _die personlichkeit p. b. shelley's._ . angeli, helen a.: _shelley and his friends in italy._ . alexander, w. j.: _select poems of shelley._ axon, w. e.: _shelley's vegetarianism._ . bates, e. s.: _a study of shelley's drama._ the cenci. belfast, earl of: _poets and poetry of the nineteenth century._ . bennett, d.: _the world's sages, infidels and thinkers._ . bernthsen, s.: _der spinozismus in shelley's weltanschauung._ . biazi, guido: _the last days of p. b. shelley._ . brailsford, h. n.: _shelley, godwin, and their circle._ brown: _the prometheus unbound of shelley._ brandes, g.: _main currents in nineteenth century literature._ vol. iv. brandl, samuel t.: _coleridge und die englische romantik._ . brooke, stopford a.: _studies in poetry._ . byron, may.: _a day with the poet p. b. shelley._ . calvert, g. h.: _coleridge, shelley, goethe, biographic aesthetic studies._ . carducci, g.: _prometeo liberato, torino roma._ . chevrillon, t. a.: _etudes anglaises._ . chiarini, giuseppe: _ombre e figure saggi critici._ . a. clutton-brock: _shelley; the man and the poet._ . courthope, w. j.: _the liberal movement in english literature._ . chapman, e. m.: _english literature and religion._ - . clarke, miss h. a.: _prometheus unbound._ copeland, c. t.: _shelley, p. b._, vol. iv. gateway series texts. courthope, w. j.: _a history of english poetry_, vol. vi. . crashway, rose m.: _byron, shelley, keats prize essays._ . darmesteter, james: _essais de litterature anglaise._ . dawson, w. j.: _quest and vision, essays in life and literature._ . dell, e. e.: _pictures from shelley._ . de quincy, thomas: _essays on the poets._ dibdin: _reminiscences of a literary life._ . dowden, edward: (a) _transcripts and studies._ . (b) _the french revolution and english literature._ . dreyer, c.: _studier og portraeter._ . droop, a.: _die belesenheit, p. b. shelley._ . druskowitz, dr. helene: _shelley._ . edgar, p.: _a study of shelley._ . edmunds, e. w.: _shelley and his poetry._ . ellis, f. s.: _alphabetical table of contents adapted to forman's._ . elsner: _shelley's abhangigkeit, v. godwin's political justice._ . elton, c. t.: _an account of shelley's visits to france._ . garnett, r.: _essays of an ex-librarian._ . gillardon, h.: _shelley's einwirkung auf byron._ . gribble, francis: _shelley._ . gummere, francis b.: _democracy and poetry._ godwin, parke: _out of the past._ guthrie, w. n.: _modern poet prophets._ . hancock, a. e.: _the french revolution and english poets._ . hogg, t. j.: _the life of p. b. shelley._ . hunt, leigh: (a) _autobiography._ . (b) _imagination and fancy._ inghen, robert: _the letters of p. b. shelley._ . jack, a. a.: _shelley: an essay._ . jeafferson, j. c.: _the real shelley._ vols. . johnson c. f.: _three americans and three englishmen._ . kingsley, charles: _works_, vol. xx. . kegan p. c.: _william godwin; his friends, etc._ knight: _ausg. v. wordsworth's poetischen. werken._ koszul, a.: _la jeunesse de shelley._ . kroder, armin: _shelley's verskunst dargestellt von dr. armin kroder._ . locock, c. d.: _an examination of the shelley manuscript in the bodleian library._ . maurer, otto: _shelley und die frauen._ . mccarthy, d. f.: _shelley's early life._ . macdonald, george: _the imagination and other essays._ . masson, d.: _wordsworth, shelley, keats, and other essays._ . manford, eimer: _die personlichen bexiehungen zwischen byron und shelleys' eine kritische studie._ . marshall, mrs.: _life of mary w. shelley._ . vols. mayor, j. b.: _classification of shelley's metres._ miller, b.: _leigh hunt's relations with byron and shelley._ . manoini, d.: _p. b. s. note biographice con una scelta di liriche tradotte in italiano, citta di castelio._ . marshall, mrs. j.: _mary wollstonecraft shelley_, vols. . medwin, thomas: _the life of p. b. shelley_, . middleton, c. s.: _shelley and his writings_, vols. . moir, d. m.: _sketches of the literature of the past half century._ . moore, h.: _mary w. shelley._ . monti, g.: _studi critici._ payne, w. m.: _the greater english poets of the nineteenth century._ . peacock, t. l.: _letters to p. b. shelley._ . _memoirs of shelley._ phelps, wm. l.: _the beginnings of the english romantic movement._ philarete, charles: _etudes sur la litterature et les moeurs de l'angleterre au xix siecle._ polidori, j. w.: _the diary of polidori relating to shelley._ rabbe, felix: _shelley; the man and the poet._ . richter, h.: _p. b. shelley._ . rossetti, lucy m.: _mrs. shelley._ . rossetti, w. m.: _a memoir of shelley._ . _shelley's prometheus unbound considered as a poem._ salt, h. s.: _p. b. shelley, poet and pioneer._ . schuyler, e.: _shelley with byron in his italian influences._ scott, r. p.: _the place of shelley among the poets of his time._ . scudder, v. d.: _prometheus unbound._ . _the life of the spirit in modern english poets, shelley._ sharp, w.: _life of shelley, great writers_ (bibliography). . shawcross, j.: _shelley's literary and philosophical criticism._ . shelley, p. b.: _defence of poetry_, br. essay. . shelley, p. b.: _il convito. editore, adolfo de bosis_, libro x-xi. shelley, j. g.: _shelley memorials from authentic sources._ _the shelley society papers_, including the following: (a) aveling: _shelley and socialism._ (b) blind mathilde: _shelley's view of nature compared with darwin's._ . (c) browning, robert: _essay on shelley._ . (d) dillon, a.: _shelley's philosophy of love._ part ii. . (e) garnett, r.: _shelley and lord beaconsfield._ . (f) parkes, w. k.: _shelley's faith._ . shelley society: _notebook of the shelley society._ shelley, p. b.: _notebook of p. b. shelley._ . slicer, t. r.: _p. b. shelley, an appreciation._ . smith, george b.: _shelley, a critical biography._ . sotherau, c.: _shelley as a philosopher and reformer._ . stoddard, r. h.: _anecdote biography of p. b. shelley._ . symonds, h. a.: _shelley_ (in _english men of letters_). . sweet, henry: _in an english miscellany presented to dr. furnivall._ oxford. . taylor, g. r.: _mary wollstonecraft. a study in economics and romance._ . thomas, edward: _feminine influence on the poets._ . thompson, j.: _biog. and critical studies_ (shelley's religious opinions). thompson, f.: _shelley: an essay._ . til, hermann: _metrische untersuchungen zu den blankversdichtungen shelley._ . trelawny, e. j.: _recollection of the last days of shelley and byron._ . trent, w. p.: _the authority of criticism._ . todhunter, j.: _a study of shelley._ . white, w.: _anecdote biography of p. b. shelley._ . _commemorazione di p. b. shelley in roma._ . young, h. b.: _dissertation on the life and novels of t. l. peacock._ . wagner, w.: _shelley's the cenci, analyse, quellen und innerer zusammenhang, etc._ . ward, t. h.: _the english poets._ vol. iv. . ward, wilfrid: _aubrey de vere: a memoir._ woodberry, george e.: _the torch._ . yeats, w. b.: _good and evil._ vol. . zettner, hans: _shelley's mythendichtung._ . biography the author of this dissertation was born in glassburn, nova scotia, november , . he attended the public school there until the fall of , when he entered st. francis xavier university, antigonish, n. s. in november, , he entered the propaganda college, rome, and was ordained a priest in . the years and he devoted largely to the study of english literature, and in july, , passed the preliminary post-graduate examinations in english at st. francis xavier university. in october of the same year he entered the catholic university of america, where he pursued studies in english under professors lennox and hemelt; in sociology under dr. kerby, and in economics under dr. o'hara. to these gentlemen and to the rt. rev. bishop shahan for kindly encouragement he wishes to acknowledge a debt of gratitude. footnotes: [ ] a dissertation submitted to the catholic university of america in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of doctor of philosophy, june, . [ ] trent, _the authority of criticism and other essays_. [ ] _english thought in the eighteenth century_, chap. x. [ ] cf. halevy, _la resolution et la doctrine de l'utilite_. [ ] _queen mab_, canto iv. [ ] samuel butler, _hudibras_. [ ] _open court._ [ ] _ingpen_, letter jan. , . [ ] _the real shelley_, vol. i, p. . [ ] hogg: _life of shelley_, p. . [ ] _oxford studies_ ( ), quoted in _koszul_, p. . [ ] _rights of woman_, ch. , p. . [ ] hogg, _life of shelley_, p. . [ ] "il est vrai que shelley courait un peu a l'amour de harriet comme macbeth courait au meurtre de duncan. 'ce qu'il faisait ressemblait plutot a un coup de volonte qu' a un elan de passion."--_la jeunesse de shelley_, koszul, p. . [ ] _ingpen_, vol. i, p. . [ ] _hogg_, vol. ii, p. . [ ] wordsworth uses this expression in the conclusion of _the prelude_. [ ] cf. _the excursion_, book viii. [ ] leslie stephen: _english thought in the eighteenth century_. vol. ii. [ ] _koszul_, p. . [ ] cf. _social england_, trail and mann, p. , also _the political history of england_, by broderick and fotheringham, p. . [ ] _social england_, trail and mann, p. . [ ] thackeray, _the four georges_. [ ] _the french revolution and english literature_, p. . [ ] cf. hancock. _french revolution and english poets_, p. . [ ] chapter xi. p. . [ ] canto vi. p. . [ ] missing note [ ] _queen mab._ [ ] _the enquirer_, p. . [ ] letter, oct. , . _ingpen_, p. . [ ] _the real shelley_, vol. ii, p. . [ ] quoted in _shelley und die frauen_, maurer. [ ] _hogg's life_, p. . [ ] _the naires_, book , p. . [ ] book vi, p. . [ ] p. . [ ] book xi cf. _chardius travels in persia_. [ ] _persian letters._ letter . [ ] _naires_, book x, p. . [ ] book x, p. . [ ] _the naires_, book viii, p. . [ ] notes to _queen mab_. [ ] ibid. [ ] dowden: _life of shelley_, vol. i, p. . [ ] _the revolt of islam._ canto xi, st. . [ ] page . [ ] canto ii, st. . [ ] canto iv, st. . [ ] canto iv, st. . [ ] canto vi, st. . [ ] canto xii, . [ ] canto viii, st. . [ ] "toutes les sources de "laon and cythna" n'ont pas ete explorées: celles qui l'ont ete paraissent peu sûres et peu importantes: la fête de la fédération du v e chant rappelle son modèle francais, et l'ideale peinture des ruines de volney; la grotte on cythna est enchaînée--comme la caverne d'asia dans prométhée peut être due à un souvenir de the cave of fancy de mary wollstonecraft; lés echos de byron, et certains prétendent de l'imagination de notre delille semblent peu discernables."--koszul, _la jeunesse de shelley_, , p. . [ ] hogg's _life of shelley_, ed. , p. . [ ] _the revolt_, canto ii, st. . [ ] _notes to queen mab._ [ ] p. . [ ] p. . [ ] cf. letter to godwin, jan. , . [ ] preface to _the revolt of islam_. [ ] maurer: _shelley und die frauen_, p. . [ ] howell's letters, book i, sect. , let. xv. [ ] to e. hitchener, nov. , . [ ] j. s. harrison, _platonism in english poetry of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries_, p. . [ ] _epipsychidion_, dowden, p. . [ ] _platonism in english poetry_, p. . [ ] _essay on love._ [ ] letter to miss hitchener. [ ] _epipsychidion._ [ ] _dowden's life_, vol. ii, p. . [ ] _life of shelley_, vol. ii, p. . [ ] _vindication of the rights of women_, ch. ii, p. . [ ] p. . [ ] _the revolt of islam_, canto ii, st. . [ ] _vindication of the rights of women_, ch. xi. [ ] _the revolt of islam_, canto viii, st. . [ ] miss hitchener, dec. , . [ ] p. , _memoirs_. [ ] p. . [ ] canto ix, st. . [ ] _ingpen_, p. . [ ] book i, ch. v, p. . [ ] _queen mab_, canto iii. [ ] _queen mab_, iii, p. . [ ] _political justice_, iv, . [ ] canto v. [ ] _political justice_, i, . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] _defense of poetry._ [ ] ibid. [ ] _political justice_, book ii, chap. ii, p. . [ ] ibid., i, p. . [ ] _enquirer_, p. . [ ] _prom. unbound_, iii, , . [ ] _queen mab._ [ ] _decl. of rights_, art. . [ ] _political justice_, i, p. . [ ] letter to elizabeth hitchener, july , . [ ] notes to _queen mab_. [ ] shelley memorials, _essay on christianity_, p. . [ ] book viii, ch. . [ ] _queen mab_, v. [ ] _essay on christianity_, p. . [ ] _the enquirer_, part ii, essay ; also _political justice_, book viii, ch. . [ ] _political enquirer_, p. . [ ] notes to _queen mab_. [ ] v. d. scudder: _introduction to prometheus unbound_. [ ] ibid. [ ] letter of prof. dowden to the author. [ ] _political justice_, iv, . [ ] flint: _philosophy of history_, p. . [ ] _political justice_, book , . [ ] _queen mab._ [ ] cf. volney, les ruines, "dieu apres avoir passe une eternite sans rien faire prit enfin le dessin de produire le monde." [ ] _essay on christianity_, p. . [ ] letter to horace smith, april , . [ ] letter to lord ellenborough, june, . [ ] _queen mab._ [ ] _essay on christianity. shelley memorials_, p. . [ ] _recollections by trelawny_, p. . [ ] letter to e. hitchener, jan. , . [ ] koszul: _la jeunesse de shelley_, p. . [ ] letter to e. hitchener, oct. , . [ ] _grammar of assent_, p. . [ ] leslie stephen: _the utilitarians_, vol. iii, p. . [ ] _ingpen_, p. . [ ] _essay on life._ [ ] _catholic encyclopedia_, vol. ii. [ ] "doch ist vielleicht nichts für die gestaltung seines eigenartigen genius und für die richtung seiner poetischen weltauschauung von so ma geliender bedeutung gewesen, wie die philosophie spinoza's." [ ] _dowden's life_, vol. i, p. . [ ] _ethics_, ii. [ ] _notes to queen mab._ [ ] _essay on life_, ed. by mrs. shelley, vol. i, p. . [ ] p. , _academical questions_. [ ] _ingpen_, vol. i, p. . [ ] _notes to queen mab._ [ ] _queen mab._ [ ] _academical questions_, p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] _queen mab_, iv, p. . [ ] baldwin, j. m.: _dictionary of philosophy and psychology_, . [ ] _ode to naples_, epode ii. b. [ ] _colisseum_, iii, . [ ] turner: _history of philosophy_, p. . [ ] _ode to naples_, epode ii, b. [ ] _def. of poetry_, iii, . [ ] forman's ed. _prose works_, vol. iii, p. . [ ] _prom. unbound_, act. ii, sc. , p. . [ ] _hymn to intellectual beauty._ [ ] _turner_, p. . [ ] _adonais_, st. . [ ] _hellas._ [ ] cf. shelley's _essay on a future state_. [ ] letter to eliz. hitchener, june , . [ ] _essay on life._ [ ] turner: _history of philosophy_, p. . [ ] _adonais_, st. . [ ] june , . [ ] _political justice_, book vi. . [ ] _queen mab_, canto vi, p. . [ ] ibid. [ ] notes to _queen mab_. [ ] _shelley memorials, essay on christianity_, p. . [ ] _essay on christianity._ [ ] _speculations on morals_, vol. ii, prose works, p. . [ ] _shelley memorials. essay on christianity_, p. . [ ] w. m. rossetti: _memoir of shelley_, p. . [ ] shelley's notebook. printed for w. k. bixby, st. louis, . [ ] _english bards and scotch reviewers._ [ ] p. j. lennox in the _catholic encyclopedia_, vol. xii. [ ] t. arnold; _manual of english literature_, p. . [ ] coleridge: _biographia literaria_, ch. xiv. [ ] _preface to lyrical ballads._ [ ] _courthope_, vol. vi, p. . [ ] shelley's _defence of poetry_, p. . [ ] shelley's _defence of poetry_, p. . [ ] courthope: _history of poetry_, vol. vi, p. . [ ] _riverside edition_, p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] ibid., book xi, p. . [ ] _the prelude_, book xi, p. . [ ] act. v, scene . [ ] _essay on poetry._ [ ] _the excursion_, book iii, p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] _revolt of islam_, canto xi, st. . [ ] _the excursion_, verse . [ ] l. winstanley in _englische studien_, v. . [ ] quellen: _vorbilder, stoffe zu shelley's poetischen werken_. [ ] jenkins: _handbook of literature_, p. . [ ] dowden's ed., p. . [ ] dowden's _life of shelley_, vol. i, p. . [ ] courthope: _history of poetry_. vol. vi, p. . [ ] _essay on owen._ [ ] _reflections_, vol. v. [ ] _letter to leigh hunt_, may , . [ ] letter to leigh hunt, p. . [ ] guido biagi: _gli ultimi giorni di p. shelley_. [ ] quoted in _shelley society papers_, part i, p. . [ ] wordsworth: _ode on the intimations of immortality_. [ ] "tutte le circostanze della vita dello shelley attestano come in lui la poesia, la visione, l'idealismo fossero, piu che un bisogno dello spirito, il principale elemento costitutive dell esser suo." g. chiarini, ombre e figure. [ ] _advancement of learning_, book ii. [ ] j. s. mckenzie: _social philosophy_. p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] _am. cath. quarterly._ vol. , p. . [ ] macaulay: _essay on the earl of chatham_. [ ] carlyle calls the philosophical radicals "paralytic radicals" because their theories lead to inaction. [ ] _the catholic world_, vol. , p. . transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. the following misprints have been corrected: "queston" corrected to "question" (page ) "shelly's" corrected to "shelley's" (page ) "sacrcely" corrected to "scarcely" (page ) "shiek" corrected to "shriek" (page ) "destines" corrected to "destinies" (page ) "make" corrected to "makes" (page ) "acknowedged" corrected to "acknowledged" (page ) "intellecual" corrected to "intellectual" (page ) "encylopedia" corrected to "encyclopedia" (footnote ) other than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original. proofreaders adonais by shelley edited with introduction and notes by william michael rossetti contents. preface memoir of shelley memoir of keats adonais: its composition and bibliography its argument general exposition bion and moschus adonais: preface adonais cancelled passages of adonais and its preface notes preface. _adonais_ is the first writing by shelley which has been included in the _clarendon press series_. it is a poem of convenient length for such a purpose, being neither short nor decidedly long; and--leaving out of count some of the short poems--is the one by this author which approaches nearest to being 'popular.' it is elevated in sentiment, classical in form,--in substance, biographical in relation to keats, and in some minor degree autobiographical for shelley himself. on these grounds it claimed a reasonable preference over all his other poems, for the present method of treatment; although some students of shelley, myself included, might be disposed to maintain that, in point of absolute intrinsic beauty and achievement, and of the qualities most especially characteristic of its author, it is not superior, or indeed is but barely equal, to some of his other compositions. to take, for instance, two poems not very different in length from _adonais_--_the witch of atlas_ is more original, and _epipsychidion_ more abstract in ideal. i have endeavoured to present in my introductory matter a comprehensive account of all particulars relevant to _adonais_ itself, and to keats as its subject, and shelley as its author. the accounts here given of both these great poets are of course meagre, but i assume them to be not insufficient for our immediate and restricted purpose. there are many other books which the reader can profitably consult as to the life and works of shelley; and three or four (at least) as to the life and works of keats. my concluding notes are, i suppose, ample in scale: if they are excessive, that is an involuntary error on my part. my aim in them has been to illustrate and elucidate the poem in its details, yet without travelling far afield in search of remote analogies or discursive comment--my wish being rather to 'stick to my text': wherever a difficulty presents itself, i have essayed to define it, and clear it up--but not always to my own satisfaction. i have seldom had to discuss the opinions of previous writers on the same points, for the simple reason that of detailed criticism of _adonais_, apart from merely textual memoranda, there is next to none. it has appeared to me to be part of my duty to point out here and there, but by no means frequently, some special beauty in the poem; occasionally also something which seems to me defective or faulty. i am aware that this latter is an invidious office, which naturally exposes one to an imputation, from some quarters, of obtuseness, and, from others, of presumption; none the less i have expressed myself with the frankness which, according to my own view, belongs to the essence of such a task as is here undertaken. _adonais_ is a composition which has retorted beforehand upon its actual or possible detractors. in the poem itself, and in the prefatory matter adjoined to it, shelley takes critics very severely to task: but criticism has its discerning and temperate, as well as its 'stupid and malignant' phases. w.m. rossetti. _july, ._ memoir of shelley. the life of percy bysshe shelley is one which has given rise to a great deal of controversy, and which cannot, for a long time to come, fail to be regarded with very diverse sentiments. his extreme opinions on questions of religion and morals, and the great latitude which he allowed himself in acting according to his own opinions, however widely they might depart from the law of the land and of society, could not but produce this result. in his own time he was generally accounted an outrageous and shameful offender. at the present date many persons entertain essentially the same view, although softened by lapse of years, and by respect for his standing as a poet: others regard him as a conspicuous reformer. some take a medium course, and consider him to have been sincere, and so far laudable; but rash and reckless of consequences, and so far censurable. his poetry also has been subject to very different constructions. during his lifetime it obtained little notice save for purposes of disparagement and denunciation. now it is viewed with extreme enthusiasm by many, and is generally admitted to hold a permanent rank in english literature, though faulty (as some opine) through vague idealism and want of backbone. these are all points on which i shall here offer no personal opinion. i shall confine myself to tracing the chief outlines of shelley's life, and (very briefly) the sequence of his literary work. percy bysshe shelley came of a junior and comparatively undistinguished branch of a very old and noted family. his branch was termed the worminghurst shelleys; and it is only quite lately[ ] that the affiliation of this branch to the more eminent and senior stock of the michelgrove shelleys has passed from the condition of a probable and obvious surmise into that of an established fact. the family traces up to sir william shelley, judge of the common pleas under henry vii, thence to a member of parliament in , and to the reign of edward i, or even to the norman conquest. the worminghurst shelleys start with henry shelley, who died in . it will be sufficient here to begin with the poet's grandfather, bysshe shelley. he was born at christ church, newark, north america, and raised to a noticeable height, chiefly by two wealthy marriages, the fortunes of the junior branch. handsome, keen-minded, and adventurous, he eloped with mary catherine, heiress of the rev. theobald michell, of horsham; after her death he eloped with elizabeth jane, heiress of mr. perry, of penshurst. by this second wife he had a family, now represented, by the baron de l'isle and dudley: by his first wife he had (besides a daughter) a son timothy, who was the poet's father, and who became in due course sir timothy shelley, bart., m.p. his baronetcy was inherited from his father bysshe--on whom it had been conferred, in , chiefly through the interest of the duke of norfolk, the head of the whig party in the county of sussex, to whose politics the new baronet had adhered. mr. timothy shelley was a very ordinary country gentleman in essentials, and a rather eccentric one in some details. he was settled at field place, near horsham, sussex, and married elizabeth, daughter of charles pilfold, of effingham, surrey; she was a beauty, and a woman of good abilities, but without any literary turn. their first child was the poet, percy bysshe, born at field place on aug. , : four daughters also grew up, and a younger son, john: the eldest son of john is now the baronet, having succeeded, in , sir percy florence shelley, the poet's only surviving son. no one has managed to discover in the parents of percy bysshe any qualities furnishing the prototype or the nucleus of his poetical genius, or of the very exceptional cast of mind and character which he developed in other directions. the parents were commonplace: if we go back to the grandfather, sir bysshe, we encounter a man who was certainly not commonplace, but who seems to have been devoid of either poetical or humanitarian fervour. he figures as intent upon his worldly interests, accumulating a massive fortune, and spending lavishly upon the building of castle goring; in his old age, penurious, unsocial, and almost churlish in his habits. his passion was to domineer and carry his point; of this the poet may have inherited something. his ideal of success was wealth and worldly position, things to which the poet was, on the contrary, abnormally indifferent. shelley's schooling began at six years of age, when he was placed under the rev. mr. edwards, at warnham. at ten he went to sion house school, brentford, of which the principal was dr. greenlaw, the pupils being mostly sons of local tradesmen. in july, , he proceeded to eton, where dr. goodall was the head master, succeeded, just towards the end of shelley's stay, by the far severer dr. keate. shelley was shy, sensitive, and of susceptible fancy: at eton we first find him insubordinate as well. he steadily resisted the fagging-system, learned more as he chose than as his masters dictated, and was known as 'mad shelley,' and 'shelley the atheist.' it has sometimes been said that an eton boy, if rebellious, was termed 'atheist,' and that the designation, as applied to shelley, meant no more than that. i do not feel satisfied that this is true at all; at any rate it seems to me probable that shelley, who constantly called himself an atheist in after-life, received the epithet at eton for some cause more apposite than disaffection to school-authority. he finally left eton in july, . he had already been entered in university college, oxford, in april of that year, and he commenced residence there in october. his one very intimate friend in oxford was thomas jefferson hogg, a student from the county of durham. hogg was not, like shelley, an enthusiast eager to learn new truths, and to apply them; but he was a youth appreciative of classical and other literature, and little or not at all less disposed than percy to disregard all prescription in religious dogma. by demeanour and act they both courted academic censure, and they got it in its extremest form. shelley wrote, probably with some co-operation from hogg, and he published anonymously in oxford, a little pamphlet called _the necessity of atheism_; he projected sending it round broadcast as an invitation or challenge to discussion. this small pamphlet--it is scarcely more than a flysheet--hardly amounts to saying that atheism is irrefragably true, and theism therefore false; but it propounds that the existence of a god cannot be proved by reason, nor yet by testimony; that a direct revelation made to an individual would alone be adequate ground for convincing that individual; and that the persons to whom such a revelation is not accorded are in consequence warranted in remaining unconvinced. the college authorities got wind of the pamphlet, and found reason for regarding shelley as its author, and on march , , they summoned him to appear. he was required to say whether he had written it or not. to this demand he refused an answer, and was then expelled by a written sentence, ready drawn up. with hogg the like process was repeated. their offence, as entered on the college records, was that of 'contumaciously refusing to answer questions,' and 'repeatedly declining to disavow' the authorship of the work. in strictness therefore they were expelled, not for being proclaimed atheists, but for defying academic authority, which required to be satisfied as to that question. shortly before this disaster an engagement between shelley and his first cousin on the mother's side, miss harriet grove, had come to an end, owing to the alarm excited by the youth's sceptical opinions. settling in lodgings in london, and parting from hogg, who went to york to study conveyancing, percy pretty soon found a substitute for harriet grove in harriet westbrook, a girl of fifteen, schoolfellow of two of his sisters at clapham. she was exceedingly pretty, daughter of a retired hotel-keeper in easy circumstances. shelley wanted to talk both her and his sisters out of christianity; and he cultivated the acquaintance of herself and of her much less juvenile sister eliza, calling from time to time at their father's house in chapel street, grosvenor square. harriet fell in love with him: besides, he was a highly eligible _parti_, being a prospective baronet, absolute heir to a very considerable estate, and contingent heir (if he had assented to a proposal of entail, to which however he never did assent, professing conscientious objections) to another estate still larger. shelley was not in love with harriet; but he liked her, and was willing to do anything he could to further her wishes and plans. mr. timothy shelley, after a while, pardoned his son's misadventure at oxford, and made him a moderate allowance of £ a-year. percy then visited a cousin in wales, a member of the grove family. he was recalled to london by harriet westbrook, who protested against a project of sending her back to school. he counselled resistance. she replied in july (to quote a contemporary letter from shelley to hogg), 'that resistance was useless, but that she would fly with me, and threw herself upon my protection.' this was clearly a rather decided step upon the damsel's part: we may form our own conclusions whether she was willing to unite with percy without the bond of marriage; or whether she confidently calculated upon inducing him to marry her, her family being kept in the dark; or whether the whole affair was a family manoeuvre for forcing on an engagement and a wedding. shelley returned to london, and had various colloquies with harriet: in due course he eloped with her to edinburgh, and there on th august he married her. his age was then just nineteen, and hers sixteen. shelley, who was a profound believer in william godwin's _political justice_, rejected the institution of marriage as being fundamentally irrational and wrongful. but he saw that he could not in this instance apply his own pet theories without involving in discredit and discomfort the woman whose love had been bestowed upon him. either his opinion or her happiness must be sacrificed to what he deemed a prejudice of society: he decided rather to sacrifice the former. for two years, or up to an advanced date in , the married life of shelley and harriet appears to have been a happy one, so far as their mutual relation was concerned; though rambling and scrambling, restricted by mediocrity of income (£ a year, made up between the two fathers), and pestered by the continual, and to percy at last very offensive, presence of miss westbrook as an inmate of the house. they lived in york, keswick in cumberland, dublin (which shelley visited as an express advocate of catholic emancipation and repeal of the union), nantgwillt in radnorshire, lynmouth in devonshire, tanyrallt in carnarvonshire, london, bracknell in berkshire: ireland and edinburgh were also revisited. various strange adventures befell; the oddest of all being an alleged attempt at assassination at tanyrallt. shelley asserted it, others disbelieved it: after much disputation the biographer supposes that, if not an imposture, it was a romance, and, if not a romance, at least a hallucination,--shelley, besides being wild in talk and wild in fancy, being by this time much addicted to laudanum-dosing. in june harriet gave birth, in london, to her first child, ianthe eliza (she married a mr. esdaile, and died in ). about the same time shelley brought out his earliest work of importance, the poem of _queen mab_: its speculative audacities were too extreme for publication, so it was only privately printed. amiable and accommodating at first, and neither ill-educated nor stupid, harriet did not improve in tone as she advanced in womanhood. her sympathy or tolerance for her husband's ideals and vagaries flagged; when they differed she gave him the cold shoulder; she wanted luxuries--such as a carriage of her own--which he neither cared for nor could properly afford. he even said--and one can hardly accuse him of saying it insincerely--that she had been unfaithful to him: this however remains quite unproved, and may have been a delusion. he sought the society of the philosopher godwin, then settled as a bookseller in skinner street, holborn. godwin's household at this time consisted of his second wife, who had been a mrs. clairmont; mary, his daughter by his first wife, the celebrated mary wollstonecraft; and his young son by his second wife, william; also his step-children, charles and clare clairmont, and fanny wollstonecraft (or imlay), the daughter of mary wollstonecraft by her first irregular union with gilbert imlay. until may , when she was getting on towards the age of seventeen, shelley had scarcely set eyes on mary godwin: he then saw her, and a sudden passion sprang up between them--uncontrollable, or, at any rate, uncontrolled. harriet shelley has left it on record that the advances and importunities came from mary godwin to shelley, and were for a while resisted: it was natural for harriet to allege this, but i should not suppose it to be true, unless in a very partial sense. shelley sent for his wife, who had gone for a while to bath (perhaps in a fit of pettishness, but this is not clear), and explained to her in june that they must separate--a resolve which she combated as far as seemed possible, but finally she returned to bath, staying there with her father and sister. shelley made some arrangements for her convenience, and on the th of july he once more eloped, this time with mary godwin. clare clairmont chose to accompany them. godwin was totally opposed to the whole transaction, and mrs. godwin even pursued the fugitives across the channel; but her appeal was unavailing, and the youthful and defiant trio proceeded in much elation of spirit, and not without a good deal of discomfort at times, from calais to paris, and thence to brunen by the lake of uri in switzerland. it is a curious fact, and shows how differently shelley regarded these matters from most people, that he wrote to harriet in affectionate terms, urging her to join them there or reside hard by them. mary, before the elopement took place, had made a somewhat similar proposal. harriet had no notion of complying; and, as it turned out, the adventurers had no sooner reached brunen than they found their money exhausted, and they travelled back in all haste to london in september,--clare continuing to house with them now, and for the most part during the remainder of shelley's life. even a poet and idealist might have been expected to show a little more worldly wisdom than this. after his grievous experiences with eliza westbrook, the sister of his first wife, shelley might have managed to steer clear of clare clairmont, the sister by affinity of his second partner in life. he would not take warning, and he paid the forfeit: not indeed that clare was wanting in fine qualities both of mind and of character, but she proved a constant source of excitement and uneasiness in the household, of unfounded scandal, and of harassing complications. in london shelley and mary lived in great straits, abandoned by almost all their acquaintances, and playing hide-and-seek with creditors. but in january sir bysshe shelley died, and percy's money affairs improved greatly. an arrangement was arrived at with his father, whereby he received a regular annual income of £ , out of which he assigned to harriet £ for herself and her two children--a son, charles bysshe, having been born in november (he died in ). shelley and mary next settled at bishopgate, near windsor forest. in may they went abroad, along with miss clairmont and their infant son william, and joined lord byron on the shore of the lake of geneva. an amour was already going on between byron and miss clairmont; it resulted in the birth of a daughter, allegra, in january ; she died in , very shortly before shelley. he and mary had returned to london in september . very shortly afterwards, th of november, the ill-starred harriet shelley drowned herself in the serpentine: her body was only recovered on the th of december, and the verdict of the coroner's jury was 'found drowned,' her name being given as 'harriet smith.' the career of harriet since her separation from her husband is very indistinctly known. it has indeed been asserted in positive terms that she formed more than one connexion with other men: she had ceased to live along with her father and sister, and is said to have been expelled from their house. in these statements i see nothing either unveracious or unlikely: but it is true that a sceptical habit of mind, which insists upon express evidence and upon severe sifting of evidence, may remain unconvinced[ ]. this was the second suicide in shelley's immediate circle, for fanny wollstonecraft had taken poison just before under rather unaccountable circumstances. no doubt he felt dismay and horror, and self-reproach as well; yet there is nothing to show that he condemned his conduct, at any stage of the transactions with harriet, as heinously wrong. he took the earliest opportunity-- th of december--of marrying mary godwin; and thus he became reconciled to her father and to other members of the family. it was towards the time of harriet's suicide that shelley, staying in and near london, became personally intimate with the essayist and poet, leigh hunt, and through him he came to know john keats: their first meeting appears to have occurred on th february, . as this matter bears directly upon our immediate theme, the poem of _adonais_, i deal with it at far greater length than its actual importance in the life of shelley would otherwise warrant. hunt, in his _autobiography_, narrates as follows. 'i had not known the young poet [keats] long when shelley and he became acquainted under my roof. keats did not take to shelley as kindly as shelley did to him. shelley's only thoughts of his new acquaintance were such as regarded his bad health with which he sympathised [this about bad health seems properly to apply to a date later than the opening period when the two poets came together], and his poetry, of which he has left such a monument of his admiration as _adonais_. keats, being a little too sensitive on the score of his origin, felt inclined to see in every man of birth a sort of natural enemy. their styles in writing also were very different; and keats, notwithstanding his unbounded sympathies with ordinary flesh and blood, and even the transcendental cosmopolitics of _hyperion_, was so far inferior in universality to his great acquaintance that he could not accompany him in his daedal rounds with nature, and his archimedean endeavours to move the globe with his own hands [an allusion to the motto appended to _queen mab_]. i am bound to state thus much; because, hopeless of recovering his health, under circumstances that made the feeling extremely bitter, an irritable morbidity appears even to have driven his suspicions to excess; and this not only with regard to the acquaintance whom he might reasonably suppose to have had some advantages over him, but to myself, who had none; for i learned the other day with extreme pain ... that keats, at one period of his intercourse with us, suspected both shelley and myself of a wish to see him undervalued! such are the tricks which constant infelicity can play with the most noble natures. for shelley let _adonais_ answer.' it is to be observed that hunt is here rather putting the cart before the horse. keats (as we shall see immediately) suspected shelley and hunt 'of a wish to see him undervalued' as early as february ; but his 'irritable morbidity' when 'hopeless of recovering his health' belongs to a later date, say the spring and summer of . it is said that in the spring of shelley and keats agreed that each of them would undertake an epic, to be written in a space of six months: shelley produced _the revolt of islam_ (originally entitled _laon and cythna_), and keats produced _endymion_. shelley's poem, the longer of the two, was completed by the early autumn, while keats's occupied him until the winter which opened . on th october, , keats wrote to a friend, 'i refused to visit shelley, that i might have my own unfettered scope; meaning presumably that he wished to finish _endymion_ according to his own canons of taste and execution, without being hampered by any advice from shelley. there is also a letter from keats to his two brothers, nd december, , saying: 'shelley's poem _laon and cythna_ is out, and there are words about its being objected to as much as _queen mab_ was. poor shelley, i think he has his quota of good qualities.' as late as february he wrote, 'i have not yet read shelley's poem.' on rd january of the same year he had written: 'the fact is, he [hunt] and shelley are hurt, and perhaps justly, at my not having showed them the affair [_endymion_ in ms.] officiously; and, from several hints i have had, they appear much disposed to dissect and anatomize any trip or slip i may have made.' it was at nearly the same date, th february, that keats, shelley, and hunt wrote each a sonnet on _the nile_: in my judgment, shelley's is the least successful of the three. soon after their marriage, shelley and his second wife settled at great marlow, in buckinghamshire. they were shortly disturbed by a chancery suit, whereby mr. westbrook sought to deprive shelley of the custody of his two children by harriet, ianthe and charles. towards march , lord chancellor eldon pronounced judgment against shelley, on the ground of his culpable conduct as a husband, carrying out culpable opinions upheld in his writings. the children were handed over to dr. hume, an army-physician named by shelley: he had to assign for their support a sum of £ per annum, brought up to £ by a supplement from mr. westbrook. about the same date he suffered from an illness which he regarded as a dangerous pulmonary attack, and he made up his mind to quit england for italy; accompanied by his wife, their two infants william and clara, miss clairmont, and her infant allegra, who was soon afterwards consigned to lord byron in venice. mr. charles cowden clarke, who was keats's friend from boyhood, writes: 'when shelley left england for italy, keats told me that he had received from him an invitation to become his guest, and in short to make one of his household. it was upon the purest principle that keats declined his noble proffer, for he entertained an exalted opinion of shelley's genius--in itself an inducement. he also knew of his deeds of bounty, and from their frequent social intercourse he had full faith in the sincerity of his proposal.... keats said that, in declining the invitation, his sole motive was the consciousness, which would be ever prevalent with him, of his being, in its utter extent, not a free agent, even within such a circle as shelley's--he himself nevertheless being the most unrestricted of beings.' mr. clarke seems to mean in this passage that shelley, _before_ starting for italy, invited keats to accompany him thither--a fact, if such it is, of which i find no trace elsewhere. it is however just possible that clarke was only referring to the earlier invitation, previously mentioned, for keats to visit at great marlow; or he may most probably, with some confusion as to dates and details, be thinking of the message which shelley, when already settled in italy for a couple of years, addressed to his brother-poet--of which more anon. shelley and his family--including for the most part miss clairmont--wandered about a good deal in italy. they were in milan, leghorn, the bagni di lucca, venice and its neighbourhood, rome, naples, florence, pisa, the bagni di pisa, and finally (after shelley had gone to ravenna by himself) in a lonely house named casa magni, between lerici and san terenzio, on the bay of spezzia. their two children died; but in another was born, the sir percy florence shelley who lived on till november . they were often isolated or even solitary. among their interesting acquaintances at one place or another were, besides byron, mr. and mrs. gisborne (the latter had previously been mrs. reveley, and had been sought in marriage by godwin after the death of mary wollstonecraft in ); the contessina emilia viviani, celebrated in shelley's poem of _epipsychidion_; captain medwin, shelley's cousin and schoolfellow; the greek prince, alexander mavrocordato; lieutenant and mrs. williams, who joined them at casa magni; and edward john trelawny, an adventurous and daring sea-rover, who afterwards accompanied byron to greece. it was only towards the summer of that shelley read the _endymion_. he wrote of it thus in a letter to his publisher, mr. ollier, september , . 'i have read ... keats's poem.... much praise is due to me for having read it, the author's intention appearing to be that no person should possibly get to the end of it. yet it is full of some of the highest and the finest gleams of poetry: indeed, everything seems to be viewed by the mind of a poet which is described in it. i think, if he had printed about fifty pages of fragments from it, i should have been led to admire keats as a poet more than i ought--of which there is now no danger.' shelley regarded the hymn to pan, in the first book of _endymion_, as affording 'the surest promise of ultimate excellence.' the health of keats having broken down, and consumption having set in, shelley wrote to him from pisa urging him to come over to italy as his guest. keats did not however go to pisa, but, along with the young painter joseph severn, to naples, and thence to rome. i here subjoin shelley's letter. 'pisa-- july, . 'my dear keats, 'i hear with great pain the dangerous accident you have undergone [recurrence of blood-spitting from the lungs], and mr. gisborne, who gives me the account of it, adds that you continue to wear a consumptive appearance. this consumption is a disease particularly fond of people who write such good verses as you have done, and with the assistance of an english winter, it can often indulge its selection. i do not think that young and amiable poets are bound to gratify its taste: they have entered into no bond with the muses to that effect. but seriously (for i am joking on what i am very anxious about) i think you would do well to pass the winter in italy, and avoid so tremendous an accident; and, if you think it as necessary as i do, so long as you continue to find pisa or its neighbourhood agreeable to you, mrs. shelley unites with myself in urging the request that you would take up your residence with us. you might come by sea to leghorn (france is not worth seeing, and the sea is particularly good for weak lungs)--which is within a few miles of us. you ought, at all events, to see italy; and your health, which i suggest as a motive, may be an excuse to you. i spare declamation about the statues and paintings and ruins, and (what is a greater piece of forbearance) about the mountains and streams, the fields, the colours of the sky, and the sky itself. 'i have lately read your _endymion_ again, and even with a new sense of the treasures of poetry it contains--though treasures poured forth with indistinct profusion. this people in general will not endure; and that is the cause of the comparatively few copies which have been sold. i feel persuaded that you are capable of the greatest things, so you but will. i always tell ollier to send you copies of my books. _prometheus unbound_ i imagine you will receive nearly at the same time with this letter. _the cenci_ i hope you have already received: it was studiously composed in a different style. "below the _good_ how far! but far above the _great_[ ]!" in poetry i have sought to avoid system and mannerism. i wish those who excel me in genius would pursue the same plan. 'whether you remain in england, or journey to italy, believe that you carry with you my anxious wishes for your health and success--wherever you are, or whatever you undertake--and that i am 'yours sincerely, 'p.b. shelley.' keats's reply to shelley ran as follows:-- 'hampstead--august , . 'my dear shelley, 'i am very much gratified that you, in a foreign country, and with a mind almost over-occupied, should write to me in the strain of the letter beside me. if i do not take advantage of your invitation, it will be prevented by a circumstance i have very much at heart to prophesy[ ]. there is no doubt that an english winter would put an end to me, and do so in a lingering hateful manner. therefore i must either voyage or journey to italy, as a soldier marches up to a battery. my nerves at present are the worst part of me: yet they feel soothed that, come what extreme may, i shall not be destined to remain in one spot long enough to take a hatred of any four particular bedposts. 'i am glad you take any pleasure in my poor poem--which i would willingly take the trouble to unwrite if possible, did i care so much as i have done about reputation. 'i received a copy of _the cenci_, as from yourself, from hunt. there is only one part of it i am judge of--the poetry and dramatic effect, which by many spirits nowadays is considered the mammon. a modern work, it is said, must have a purpose; which may be the god. an artist must serve mammon: he must have "self-concentration"--selfishness perhaps. you, i am sure, will forgive me for sincerely remarking that you might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore. the thought of such discipline must fall like cold chains upon you, who perhaps never sat with your wings furled for six months together. and is not this extraordinary talk for the writer of _endymion_, whose mind was like a pack of scattered cards? i am picked up and sorted to a pip. my imagination is a monastery, and i am its monk. 'i am in expectation of _prometheus_ every day. could i have my own wish effected, you would have it still in manuscript, or be but now putting an end to the second act. i remember you advising me not to publish my first blights, on hampstead heath[ ]. i am returning advice upon your hands. most of the poems in the volume i send you [this was the volume containing _lamia, hyperion_, &c.] have been written above two years[ ], and would never have been published but for hope of gain: so you see i am inclined enough to take your advice now. 'i must express once more my deep sense of your kindness, adding my sincere thanks and respects for mrs. shelley. in the hope of soon seeing you i remain 'most sincerely yours, 'john keats.' it may have been in the interval between writing his note of invitation to keats, and receiving the reply of the latter, that shelley penned the following letter to the editor of the _quarterly review_--the periodical which had taken (or had shared with _blackwood's magazine_) the lead in depreciating _endymion_. the letter, however, was left uncompleted, and was not dispatched. (i omit such passages as are not directly concerned with keats):-- 'sir, 'should you cast your eye on the signature of this letter before you read the contents, you might imagine that they related to a slanderous paper which appeared in your review some time since.... i am not in the habit of permitting myself to be disturbed by what is said or written of me.... the case is different with the unfortunate subject of this letter, the author of _endymion_, to whose feelings and situation i entreat you to allow me to call your attention. i write considerably in the dark; but, if it is mr. gifford that i am addressing, i am persuaded that, in an appeal to his humanity and justice, he will acknowledge the _fas ab hoste doceri_. i am aware that the first duty of a reviewer is towards the public; and i am willing to confess that the _endymion_ is a poem considerably defective, and that perhaps it deserved as much censure as the pages of your review record against it. but, not to mention that there is a certain contemptuousness of phraseology, from which it is difficult for a critic to abstain, in the review of _endymion_, i do not think that the writer has given it its due praise. surely the poem, with all its faults, is a very remarkable production for a man of keats's age[ ]; and the promise of ultimate excellence is such as has rarely been afforded even by such as have afterwards attained high literary eminence. look at book , line , &c., and book , lines to ; read down that page, and then again from line [ ]. i could cite many other passages to convince you that it deserved milder usage. why it should have been reviewed at all, excepting for the purpose of bringing its excellences into notice, i cannot conceive; for it was very little read, and there was no danger that it should become a model to the age of that false taste with which i confess that it is replenished. 'poor keats was thrown into a dreadful state of mind by this review, which, i am persuaded, was not written with any intention of producing the effect--to which it has at least greatly contributed--of embittering his existence, and inducing a disease from which there are now but faint hopes of his recovery. the first effects are described to me to have resembled insanity, and it was by assiduous watching that he was restrained from effecting purposes of suicide. the agony of his sufferings at length produced the rupture of a blood-vessel in the lungs, and the usual process of consumption appears to have begun. he is coming to pay me a visit in italy; but i fear that, unless his mind can be kept tranquil, little is to be hoped from the mere influence of climate. 'but let me not extort anything from your pity. i have just seen a second volume, published by him evidently in careless despair. i have desired my bookseller to send you a copy: and allow me to solicit your especial attention to the fragment of a poem entitled _hyperion_, the composition of which was checked by the review in question. the great proportion of this piece is surely in the very highest style of poetry. i speak impartially, for the canons of taste to which keats has conformed in his other compositions are the very reverse of my own. i leave you to judge for yourself: it would be an insult to you to suppose that, from motives however honourable, you would lend yourself to a deception of the public.' the question arises, how did shelley know what he here states--that keats was thrown, by reading the _quarterly_ article, into a state resembling insanity, that he contemplated suicide, &c.? not any document has been published whereby this information could have been imparted to shelley: his chief informant on the subject appears to have been mr. gisborne, who had now for a short while returned to england, and some confirmation may have come from hunt. as to the statements themselves, they have, ever since the appearance in of lord houghton's _life of keats_, been regarded as very gross exaggerations: indeed, i think the tendency has since then been excessive in the reverse direction, and the vexation occasioned to keats by hostile criticism has come to be underrated. shelley addressed to keats in naples another letter, 'anxiously enquiring about his health, offering him advice as to the adaptation of diet to the climate, and concluding with an urgent invitation to pisa, where he could assure him every comfort and attention.' shelley did not, however, re-invite keats to his own house on the present occasion; writing to miss clairmont, 'we are not rich enough for that sort of thing.' the letter to miss clairmont is dated february, , and appears to have been almost simultaneous with the one sent to keats. in that case, keats cannot be supposed to have received the invitation; for he had towards the middle of november quitted naples for rome, and by february he was almost at his last gasp. shelley's feeling as to keats's final volume of poems is further exhibited in the following extracts, (to thomas love peacock, november, .) 'among the modern things which have reached me is a volume of poems by keats; in other respects insignificant enough, but containing the fragment of a poem called _hyperion_, i dare say you have not time to read it; but it is certainly an astonishing piece of writing, and gives me a conception of keats which i confess i had not before.' (to mrs. leigh hunt, november, .) 'keats's new volume has arrived to us, and the fragment called _hyperion_ promises for him that he is destined to become one of the first writers of the age. his other things are imperfect enough[ ], and, what is worse, written in the bad sort of style which is becoming fashionable among those who fancy that they are imitating hunt and wordsworth.... where is keats now? i am anxiously expecting him in italy, when i shall take care to bestow every possible attention on him. i consider his a most valuable life, and i am deeply interested in his safety. i intend to be the physician both of his body and his soul,--to keep the one warm, and to teach the other greek and spanish. i am aware indeed, in part, that i am nourishing a rival who will far surpass me; and this is an additional motive, and will be an added pleasure.' (to peacock, february, .) 'among your anathemas of the modern attempts in poetry do you include keats's _hyperion_? i think it very fine. his other poems are worth little; but, if the _hyperion_ be not grand poetry, none has been produced by our contemporaries.' there is also a phrase in a letter to mr. ollier, written on may, , before the actual publication of the _lamia_ volume: 'keats, i hope, is going to show himself a great poet; like the sun, to burst through the clouds which, though dyed in the finest colours of the air, obscured his rising.' keats died in rome on february, . soon afterwards shelley wrote his _adonais_. he has left various written references to _adonais_, and to keats in connexion with it: these will come more appropriately when i speak of that poem itself. but i may here at once quote from the letter which shelley addressed on june, , to mr. gisborne, who had sent on to him a letter from colonel finch[ ], giving a very painful account of the last days of keats, and especially (perhaps in more than due proportion) of the violence of temper which he had exhibited. shelley wrote thus: 'i have received the heartrending account of the closing scene of the great genius whom envy and ingratitude[ ] scourged out of the world. i do not think that, if i had seen it before, i could have composed my poem. the enthusiasm of the imagination would have overpowered the sentiment. as it is, i have finished my elegy; and this day i send it to the press at pisa. you shall have a copy the moment it is completed, i think it will please you. i have dipped my pen in consuming fire for his destroyers: otherwise the style is calm and solemn[ ]. as i have already said, the last residence of shelley was on the gulf of spezzia. he had a boat built named the ariel (by byron, the don juan), boating being his favourite recreation; and on july, , he and lieut. williams, along with a single sailor-lad, started in her for leghorn, to welcome there leigh hunt. the latter had come to italy with his family, on the invitation of byron and shelley, to join in a periodical to be called _the liberal_. on july shelley, with his two companions, embarked to return to casa magni. towards half-past six in the evening a sudden and tremendous squall sprang up. the ariel sank, either upset by the squall, or (as some details of evidence suggest) run down near viareggio by an italian fishing-boat, the crew of which had plotted to plunder her of a sum of money. the bodies were eventually washed ashore; and on august the corpse of shelley was burned on the beach under the direction of trelawny. in the pocket of his jacket had been found two books--a sophocles, and the _lamia_ volume, doubled back as if it had at the last moment been thrust aside. his ashes were collected, and, with the exception of the heart which was delivered to mrs. shelley, were buried in rome, in the new protestant cemetery. the corpse of shelley's beloved son william had, in , been interred hard by, and in that of keats, in the old cemetery--a space of ground which had, by , been finally closed. the enthusiastic and ideal fervour which marks shelley's poetry could not possibly be simulated--it was a part, the most essential part, of his character. he was remarkably single-minded, in the sense of being constantly ready to do what he professed as, in the abstract, the right thing to be done; impetuous, bold, uncompromising, lavishly generous, and inspired by a general love of humankind, and a coequal detestation of all the narrowing influences of custom and prescription. pity, which included self-pity, was one of his dominant emotions. if we consider what are the uses, and what the abuses, of a character of this type, we shall have some notion of the excellences and the defects of shelley. in person he was well-grown and slim; more nearly beautiful than handsome; his complexion brilliant, his dark-brown but slightly grizzling hair abundant and wavy, and his eyes deep-blue, large, and fixed. his voice was high-pitched--at times discordant, but capable of agreeable modulation; his general aspect uncommonly youthful. the roll of shelley's publications is a long one for a man who perished not yet thirty years of age. i append a list of the principal ones, according to date of publication, which was never very distant from that of composition. several minor productions remain unspecified. . zastrozzi, a romance. puerile rubbish. " original poetry, by victor and cazire. withdrawn, and ever since unknown. " posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson. balderdash, partly (it would appear) intended as burlesque. . st. irvyne, or the rosicrucian, a romance. no better than zastrozzi. . queen mab. didactic and subversive. . alastor, or the spirit of solitude, and other poems. the earliest volume fully worthy of its author. . laon and cythna--reissued as the revolt of islam. an epic of revolution and emancipation in the spenserian stanza. . rosalind and helen, a modern eclogue, and other poems. the character of 'lionel' is an evident idealisation of shelley himself. . the cenci, a tragedy. has generally been regarded as the finest english tragedy of modern date. " prometheus unbound, a lyrical drama, and other poems. the prometheus ranks as at once the greatest and the most thoroughly characteristic work of shelley. . oedipus tyrannus, or swellfoot the tyrant. a satirical drama on the trial of queen caroline. . epipsychidion. a poem of ideal love under a human personation. " adonais. . hellas. a drama on the grecian war of liberation. . posthumous poems. include julian and maddalo, written in , the witch of atlas, , the triumph of life, , and many other compositions and translations. the _masque of anarchy_ and _peter bell the third_, both written by shelley in , were published later on; also various minor poems, complete or fragmentary. _peter bell the third_ has a certain fortuitous connexion with keats. it was written in consequence of shelley's having read in _the examiner_ a notice of _peter bell, a lyrical ballad_ (the production of john hamilton reynolds): and this notice, as has very recently been proved, was the handiwork of keats. shelley cannot have been aware of that fact. his prose _essays and letters_, including _the defence of poetry_, appeared in . the only known work of shelley, extant but yet unpublished, is the _philosophical view of reform_: an abstract of it, with several extracts, was printed in the _fortnightly review_ in . memoir of keats. the parents of john keats were thomas keats, and frances, daughter of mr. jennings, who kept a large livery-stable, the swan and hoop, in the pavement, moorfields, london. thomas keats was the principal stableman or assistant in the same business. john, a seven months' child, was born at the swan and hoop on october, . three other children grew up--george, thomas, and fanny, john is said to have been violent and ungovernable in early childhood. he was sent to a very well-reputed school, that of the rev. john clarke, at enfield: the son charles cowden clarke, whom i have previously mentioned, was an undermaster, and paid particular attention to keats. the latter did not show any remarkable talent at school, but learned easily, and was 'a very orderly scholar,' acquiring a fair amount of latin but no greek. he was active, pugnacious, and popular among his school-fellows. the father died of a fall from his horse in april, : the mother, after re-marrying, succumbed to consumption in february, . before the close of the same year john left school, and he was then apprenticed, to a surgeon at edmonton. in july, , he passed with credit the examination at apothecaries' hall. in keats read for the first time spenser's _faery queen_, and was fascinated with it to a singular degree. this and other poetic reading made him flag in his surgical profession, and finally he dropped it, and for the remainder of his life had no definite occupation save that of writing verse. from his grandparents he inherited a certain moderate sum of money--not more than sufficient to give him a tolerable start in life. he made acquaintance with leigh hunt, then editor of the _examiner_, john hunt, the publisher, charles wentworth dilke who became editor of the _athenaeum_, the painter haydon, and others. his first volume of poems (memorable for little else than the sonnet _on reading chapman's homer_) was published in . it was followed by _endymion_ in april, . in june of the same year keats set off with his chief intimate, charles armitage brown (a retired russia merchant who afterwards wrote a book on shakespeare's sonnets), on a pedestrian tour in scotland, which extended into north ireland as well. in july, in the isle of mull, he got a bad sore throat, of which some symptoms had appeared also in earlier years: it may be regarded as the beginning of his fatal malady. he cut short his tour and returned to hampstead, where he had to nurse his younger brother tom, a consumptive invalid, who died in december of the same year. at the house of the dilkes, in the autumn of , keats made the acquaintance of miss fanny brawne, the orphan daughter of a gentleman of independent means: he was soon desperately in love with her, having 'a swooning admiration of her beauty:' towards the spring of they engaged to marry, with the prospect of a long engagement. on the night of february, , on returning to the house at hampstead which he shared with mr. brown, the poet had his first attack, a violent one, of blood-spitting from the lungs. he rallied somewhat, but suffered a dangerous relapse in june, just prior to the publication of his final volume, containing all his best poems--_isabella, hyperion, the eve of st. agnes, lamia_, and the leading odes. his doctor ordered him off, as a last chance, to italy; previously to this he had been staying in the house of mrs. and miss brawne, who tended him affectionately. keats was now exceedingly unhappy. his passionate love, his easily roused feelings of jealousy of miss brawne, and of suspicious rancour against even the most amicable and attached of his male intimates, the general indifference and the particular scorn and ridicule with which his poems had been received, his narrow means and uncertain outlook, and the prospect of an early death closing a painful and harassing illness--all preyed upon his mind with unrelenting tenacity. the worst of all was the sense of approaching and probably final separation from fanny brawne. on september, , he left england for italy, in company with mr. joseph severn, a student of painting in the royal academy, who, having won the gold medal, was entitled to spend three years abroad for advancement in his art. they travelled by sea to naples; reached that city late in october; and towards the middle of november went on to rome. here keats received the most constant and kind attention from dr. (afterwards sir james) clark. but all was of no avail: after continual and severe suffering, devotedly watched by severn, he expired on february, . he was buried in the old protestant cemetery of rome, under a little altar-tomb sculptured with a greek lyre. his name was inscribed, along with the epitaph which he himself had composed in the bitterness of his soul, 'here lies one whose name was writ in water.' keats was an undersized man, little more than five feet high. his face was handsome, ardent, and full of expression; the hair rich, brown, and curling; the hazel eyes 'mellow and glowing--large, dark, and sensitive.' he was framed for enjoyment; but with that acuteness of feeling which turned even enjoyment into suffering, and then again extracted a luxury out of melancholy. he had vehemence and generosity, and the frankness which belongs to these qualities, not unmingled, however, with a strong dose of suspicion. apart from the overmastering love of his closing years, his one ambition was to be a poet. his mind was little concerned either with the severe practicalities of life, or with the abstractions of religious faith. his poems, consisting of three successive volumes, have been already referred to here. the first volume, the _poems_ of , is mostly of a juvenile kind, containing only scattered suggestions of rich endowment and eventual excellence. _endymion_ is lavish and profuse, nervous and languid, the wealth of a prodigal scattered in largesse of baubles and of gems. the last volume--comprising the _hyperion_--is the work of a noble poetic artist, powerful and brilliant both in imagination and in expression. of the writings published since their author's death, the only one of first-rate excellence is the fragmentary _eve of st. mark_. there is also the drama of _otho the great_, written in co-operation with armitage brown; and in keats's letters many admirable thoughts are admirably worded. as to the relations between shelley and keats, i have to refer back to the preceding memoir of shelley. adonais: its composition and bibliography. for nearly two months after the death of keats, february, , shelley appears to have remained in ignorance of the event: he knew it on or before april. the precise date when he began his elegy does not seem to be recorded: one may suppose it to have been in the latter half of may. on june he wrote to mr. and mrs. gisborne: 'i have been engaged these last days in composing a poem on the death of keats, which will shortly be finished; and i anticipate the pleasure of reading it to you, as some of the very few persons who will be interested in it and understand it. it is a highly wrought piece of art, and perhaps better, in point of composition, than anything i have written.' a letter to mr. ollier followed immediately afterwards. 'pisa, june th, , 'you may announce for publication a poem entitled _adonais_. it is a lament on the death of poor keats, with some interspersed stabs on the assassins of his peace and of his fame; and will be preceded by a criticism on _hyperion_, asserting the due claims which that fragment gives him to the rank which i have assigned him. my poem is finished, and consists of about forty spenser stanzas [fifty-five as published]. i shall send it to you, either printed at pisa, or transcribed in such a manner as it shall be difficult for the reviser to leave such errors as assist the obscurity of the _prometheus_. but in case i send it printed, it will be merely that mistakes may be avoided. i shall only have a few copies struck off in the cheapest manner. if you have interest enough in the subject, i could wish that you enquired of some of the friends and relations of keats respecting the circumstances of his death, and could transmit me any information you may be able to collect; and especially as [to] the degree in which (as i am assured) the brutal attack in the _quarterly review_ excited the disease by which he perished.' the criticism which shelley intended to write on _hyperion_ remained, to all appearance, unwritten. it will be seen, from the letter of shelley to mr. severn cited further on (p. ), that, from the notion of writing a criticism on _hyperion_ to precede _adonais_, his intention developed into the project of writing a criticism and biography of keats in general, to precede a volume of his entire works; but that, before the close of november, the whole scheme was given up, on the ground that it would produce no impression on an unregardful public. in another letter to ollier, june, the poet says: 'adonais is finished, and you will soon receive it. it is little adapted for popularity, but is perhaps the least imperfect of my compositions.' shelley on june caused his elegy to be printed in pisa, 'with the types of didot': a small quarto, and a handsome one (notwithstanding his project of cheapness); the introductory matter filling five pages, and the poem itself going on from p. to p. . it appeared in blue paper wrappers, with a woodcut of a basket of flowers within an ornamental border. its price was three and sixpence: of late years £ has been given for it--perhaps more. up to july only one copy had reached the author's hands: this he then sent on to the gisbornes, at leghorn. some copies of the pisa edition were afterwards put into circulation in london: there was no separate english edition. the gisbornes having acknowledged the elegy with expressions of admiration, the poet replied as follows: 'bagni [di pisa], july . 'my dearest friends, 'i am fully repaid for the painful emotions from which some verses of my poem sprung by your sympathy and approbation; which is all the reward i expect, and as much as i desire. it is not for me to judge whether, in the high praise your feelings assign me, you are right or wrong. the poet and the man are two different natures: though they exist together, they may be unconscious of each other, and incapable of deciding on each other's powers and efforts by any reflex act. the decision of the cause whether or not i am a poet is removed from the present time to the hour when our posterity shall assemble: but the court is a very severe one, and i fear that the verdict will be "guilty--death."' a letter to mr. ollier was probably a little later. it says: 'i send you a sketch for a frontispiece to the poem _adonais_. pray let it be put into the engraver's hands immediately, as the poem is already on its way to you, and i should wish it to be ready for its arrival. the poem is beautifully printed, and--what is of more consequence--correctly: indeed, it was to obtain this last point that i sent it to the press at pisa. in a few days you will receive the bill of lading.' nothing is known as to the sketch which shelley thus sent. it cannot, i presume, have been his own production, nor yet severn's: possibly it was supplied by lieutenant williams, who had some aptitude as an amateur artist. i add some of the poet's other expressions regarding _adonais_, which he evidently regarded with more complacency than any of his previous works--at any rate, as a piece of execution. hitherto his favourite had been _prometheus unbound_: i am fain to suppose that that great effort did not now hold a second place in his affections, though he may have considered that the _adonais_, as being a less arduous feat, came nearer to reaching its goal. (to peacock, august, .) 'i have sent you by the gisbornes a copy of the elegy on keats. the subject, i know, will not please you; but the composition of the poetry, and the taste in which it is written, i do not think bad.' (to hunt, august.) 'before this you will have seen _adonais_. lord byron--i suppose from modesty on account of his being mentioned in it--did not say a word of _adonais_[ ], though he was loud in his praise of _prometheus_, and (what you will not agree with him in) censure of _the cenci_.' (to horace smith, september,) 'i am glad you like _adonais_, and particularly that you do not think it metaphysical, which i was afraid it was. i was resolved to pay some tribute of sympathy to the unhonoured dead; but i wrote, as usual, with a total ignorance of the effect that i should produce.' (to ollier, september.) 'the _adonais_, in spite of its mysticism, is the least imperfect of my compositions; and, as the image of my regret and honour for poor keats, i wish it to be so. i shall write to you probably by next post on the subject of that poem; and should have sent the promised criticism for the second edition, had i not mislaid, and in vain sought for, the volume that contains _hyperion_.' (to ollier, november.) 'i am especially curious to hear the fate of _adonais_. i confess i should be surprised if that poem were born to an immortality of oblivion.' (to ollier, january, .) 'i was also more than commonly interested in the success of _adonais_. i do not mean the sale, but the effect produced; and i should have [been] glad to have received some communication from you respecting it. i do not know even whether it has been published, and still less whether it has been republished with the alterations i sent.' as to the alterations sent nothing definite is known, but some details bearing on this point will be found in our notes, p. , &c. (to gisborne, april) 'i know what to think of _adonais_, but what to think of those who confound it with the many bad poems of the day i know not.' this expression seems to indicate that mr. gisborne had sent shelley some of the current criticisms--there were probably but few in all--upon _adonais_: to this matter i shall recur further on. (to gisborne, june.) 'the _adonais_ i wished to have had a fair chance, both because it is a favourite with me, and on account of the memory of keats--who was a poet of great genius, let the classic party say what it will.' earlier than the latest of these extracts shelley had sent to mr. severn a copy of _adonais_, along with a letter which i append. 'pisa, nov. th, . 'dear sir, 'i send you the elegy on poor keats, and i wish it were better worth your acceptance. you will see, by the preface, that it was written before i could obtain any particular account of his last moments. all that i still know was communicated to me by a friend who had derived his information from colonel finch, i have ventured [in the preface] to express as i felt the respect and admiration which _your_ conduct towards him demands. 'in spite of his transcendent genius, keats never was, nor ever will be, a popular poet; and the total neglect and obscurity in which the astonishing remains of his mind still lie was hardly to be dissipated by a writer who, however he may differ from keats in more important qualities, at least resembles him in that accidental one, a want of popularity. 'i have little hope therefore that the poem i send you will excite any attention, nor do i feel assured that a critical notice of his writings would find a single reader. but for these considerations, it had been my intention to have collected the remnants of his compositions, and to have published them with a life and criticism. has he left any poems or writings of whatsoever kind, and in whose possession are they? perhaps you would oblige me by information on this point. 'many thanks for the picture you promise me [presumably a portrait of keats, but shelley does not seem ever to have received one from severn]: i shall consider it among the most sacred relics of the past. for my part, i little expected, when i last saw keats at my friend leigh hunt's, that i should survive him. 'should you ever pass through pisa, i hope to have the pleasure of seeing you, and of cultivating an acquaintance into something pleasant, begun under such melancholy auspices. 'accept, my dear sir, the assurance of my highest esteem, and believe me 'your most sincere and faithful servant, 'percy b. shelley. 'do you know leigh hunt? i expect him and his family here every day.' it may have been observed that shelley, whenever he speaks of critical depreciation of keats, refers only to one periodical, the _quarterly review_: probably he did not distinctly know of any other: but the fact is that _blackwood's magazine_ was worse than the _quarterly_. the latter was sneering and supercilious: _blackwood_ was vulgarly taunting and insulting, and seems to have provoked keats the more of the two, though perhaps he considered the attack in the _quarterly_ to be more detrimental to his literary standing. the _quarterly_ notice is of so much import in the life and death of keats, and in the genesis of _adonais_, that i shall give it, practically _in extenso_, before closing this section of my work: with _blackwood_ i can deal at once. a series of articles _on the cockney school of poetry_ began in this magazine in october, , being directed mainly and very venomously against leigh hunt. no. of the series appeared in august, , falling foul of keats. it is difficult to say whether the priority in abusing keats should of right be assigned to _blackwood_ or to the _quarterly_: the critique in the latter review belongs to the number for april, , but this number was not actually issued until september. the writer of the _blackwood_ papers signed himself z. z. is affirmed to have been lockhart, the son-in-law of sir walter scott, and afterwards editor of the _quarterly review_: more especially the article upon keats is attributed to lockhart. a different account, as to the series in general, is that the author was john wilson (christopher north), revised by mr. william blackwood. but z. resisted more than one vigorous challenge to unmask, and some doubt as to his identity may still remain. here are some specimens of the amenity with which keats was treated in _blackwood's magazine_:-- 'his friends, we understand, destined him to the career of medicine, and he was bound apprentice some years ago to a worthy apothecary in town.... the frenzy of the _poems_ [keats's first volume, ] was bad enough in its way; but it did not alarm us half so seriously as the calm, settled, imperturbable, drivelling idiocy of _endymion_.... we hope however that, in so young a person and with a constitution originally so good, even now the disease is not utterly incurable.... mr. hunt is a small poet, but a clever man; mr. keats is a still smaller poet, and he is only a boy of pretty abilities which he has done everything in his power to spoil.... it is a better and wiser thing to be a starved apothecary than a starved poet: so back to the shop, mr. john, back to "plaster, pills, and ointment-boxes," &c. but for heaven's sake, young sangrado, be a little more sparing of extenuatives and soporifics in your practice than you have been in your poetry.' even the death of keats, in , did not abate the rancour of _blackwood's magazine_. witness the following extracts. ( ) 'keats had been dished--utterly demolished and dished--by _blackwood_ long before mr. gifford's scribes mentioned his name.... but let us hear no more of johnny keats. it is really too disgusting to have him and his poems recalled in this manner after all the world thought they had got rid of the concern.' ( ) 'mr. shelley died, it seems, with a volume of mr. keats's poetry "grasped with one hand in his bosom"--rather an awkward posture, as you will be convinced if you try it. but what a rash man shelley was to put to sea in a frail boat with jack's poetry on board!... down went the boat with a "swirl"! i lay a wager that it righted soon after ejecting jack.'... ( ) 'keats was a cockney, and cockneys claimed him for their own. never was there a young man so encrusted with conceit.' if this is the tone adopted by _blackwood's magazine_ in relation to keats living and dead, one need not be surprised to find that the verdict of the same review upon the poem of _adonais_, then newly published, ran to the following effect:-- 'locke says the most resolute liar cannot lie more than once in every three sentences. folly is more engrossing; for we could prove from the present elegy that it is possible to write two sentences of pure nonsense out of three. a more faithful calculation would bring us to ninety-nine out of every hundred; or--as the present consists of only fifty-five stanzas--leaving about five readable lines in the entire.... a mr. keats, who had left a decent calling for the melancholy trade of cockney poetry, has lately died of a consumption, after having written two or three little books of verses much neglected by the public.... the new school, however, will have it that he was slaughtered by a criticism of the _quarterly review_: "o flesh, how art thou fishified!" there is even an aggravation in this cruelty of the review--for it had taken three or four years to slay its victim, the deadly blow having been inflicted at least as long since. [this is not correct: the _quarterly_ critique, having appeared in september, , preceded the death of keats by two years and five months].... the fact is, the _quarterly_, finding before it a work at once silly and presumptuous, full of the servile _slang_ that cockaigne dictates to its servitors, and the vulgar indecorums which that grub street empire rejoiceth to applaud, told the truth of the volume, and recommended a change of manners[ ] and of masters to the scribbler. keats wrote on; but he wrote _indecently_, probably in the indulgence of his social propensities.' the virulence with which shelley, as author of _adonais_, was assailed by _blackwood's magazine_, is the more remarkable, and the more symptomatic of partizanship against keats and any of his upholders, as this review had in previous instances been exceptionally civil to shelley, though of course with some serious offsets. the notices of _alastor, rosalind and helen_, and _prometheus unbound_--more especially the first--in the years and , would be found to bear out this statement. from the dates already cited, it may be assumed that the pisan edition of _adonais_ was in london in the hands of mr. ollier towards the middle of august, , purchasable by whoever might be minded to buy it. very soon afterwards it was reprinted in the _literary chronicle and weekly review_, published by limbird in the strand-- december, : a rather singular, not to say piratical, proceeding. an editorial note was worded thus: 'through the kindness of a friend, we have been favoured with the latest production of a gentleman of no ordinary genius, mr. bysshe shelley. it is an elegy on the death of a youthful poet of considerable promise, mr. keats, and was printed at pisa. as the copy now before us is perhaps [surely not] the only one that has reached england, and the subject is one that will excite much interest, we shall print the whole of it.' this promise was not literally fulfilled, for stanzas to were omitted, not apparently with any special object. after the publication in london of the pisan edition of _adonais_, the poem remained unreprinted until . it was then issued at cambridge, at the instance of lord houghton (mr. richard monckton milnes) and mr. arthur hallam, the latter having brought from italy a copy of the original pamphlet. the cambridge edition, an octavo in paper wrappers, is now still scarcer than the pisan one. the only other separate edition of _adonais_ was that of mr. buxton forman, , corresponding substantially with the form which the poem assumes in the _complete works of shelley_, as produced by the same editor. it need hardly be said that _adonais_ was included in mrs. shelley's editions of her husband's poems, and in all other editions of any fulness: it has also appeared in most of the volumes of selections. as early as there was an italian translation of this elegy. it is named _adone, nella morte di giovanni keats, elegia di percy bishe shelley, tradotta da l. a. damaso pareto_. _genova, dalla tifografia pellas_, . in this small quarto thirty pages are occupied by a notice of the life and poetry of shelley. i shall not here enter upon a consideration of the cancelled passages of _adonais_: they will appear more appositely further on (see pp. - , &c.). i therefore conclude the present section by quoting the _quarterly review_ article upon _endymion_--omitting only a few sentences which do not refer directly to keats, but mostly to leigh hunt:-- 'reviewers have been sometimes accused of not reading the works which they affected to criticise. on the present occasion we shall anticipate the author's complaint, and honestly confess that we have not read his work. not that we have been wanting in our duty; far from it; indeed, we have made efforts, almost as superhuman as the story itself appears to be, to get through it: but, with the fullest stretch of our perseverance, we are forced to confess that we have not been able to struggle beyond the first of the four books of which this poetic romance consists. we should extremely lament this want of energy, or whatever it may be, on our parts, were it not for one consolation--namely, that we are no better acquainted with the meaning of the book through which we have so painfully toiled than we are with that of the three which we have not looked into. 'it is not that mr. keats (if that be his real name, for we almost doubt that any man in his senses would put his real name to such a rhapsody)--it is not, we say, that the author has not powers of language, rays of fancy, and gleams of genius. he has all these: but he is unhappily a disciple of the new school of what has been somewhere called "cockney poetry," which may be defined to consist of the most incongruous ideas in the most uncouth language. 'of this school mr. leigh hunt, as we observed in a former number, aspires to be the hierophant.... this author is a copyist of mr. hunt, but he is more unintelligible, almost as rugged, twice as diffuse, and ten times more tiresome and absurd, than his prototype, who, though he impudently presumed to seat himself in the chair of criticism, and to measure his own poetry by his own standard, yet generally had a meaning. but mr. keats had advanced no dogmas which he was bound to support by examples. his nonsense, therefore, is quite gratuitous; he writes it for its own sake, and, being bitten by mr. leigh hunt's insane criticism, more than rivals the insanity of his poetry. 'mr. keats's preface hints that his poem was produced under peculiar circumstances. "knowing within myself." he says, "the manner in which this poem has been produced, it is not without a feeling of regret that i make it public. what manner i mean will be quite clear to the reader, who must soon perceive great inexperience, immaturity, and every error denoting a feverish attempt rather than a deed accomplished." we humbly beg his pardon, but this does not appear to us to be "quite so clear"; we really do not know what he means. but the next passage is more intelligible. "the two first books, and indeed the two last, i feel sensible, are not of such completion as to warrant their passing the press." thus "the two first books" are, even in his own judgment, unfit to appear, and "the two last" are, it seems, in the same condition; and, as two and two make four, and as that is the whole number of books, we have a clear, and we believe a very just, estimate of the entire work. 'mr. keats, however, deprecates criticism on this "immature and feverish work" in terms which are themselves sufficiently feverish; and we confess that we should have abstained from inflicting upon him any of the tortures of the "fierce hell" of criticism[ ] which terrify his imagination if he had not begged to be spared in order that he might write more; if we had not observed in him a certain degree of talent which deserves to be put in the right way, or which at least ought to be warned of the wrong; and if finally he had not told us that he is of an age and temper which imperiously require mental discipline. 'of the story we have been able to make out but little. it seems to be mythological, and probably relates to the loves of diana and endymion; but of this, as the scope of the work has altogether escaped us, we cannot speak with any degree of certainty, and must therefore content ourselves with giving some instances of its diction and versification. and here again we are perplexed and puzzled. at first it appeared to us that mr. keats had been amusing himself and wearying his readers with an immeasurable game at _bouts rimés_; but, if we recollect rightly, it is an indispensable condition at this play that the rhymes, when filled up, shall have a meaning; and our author, as we have already hinted, has no meaning. he seems to us to write a line at random, and then he follows, not the thought excited by this line, but that suggested by the _rhyme_ with which it concludes. there is hardly a complete couplet enclosing a complete idea in the whole book. he wanders from one subject to another, from the association, not of ideas, but of sounds; and the work is composed of hemistichs which, it is quite evident, have forced themselves upon the author by the mere force of the catchwords on which they turn. 'we shall select, not as the most striking instance, but as that least liable to suspicion, a passage from the opening of the poem;-- "such the sun, the moon, trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon for simple sheep; and such are daffodils, with the green world they live in; and clear rills that for themselves a cooling covert make 'gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms; and such too is the grandeur of the dooms we have imagined for the mighty dead," &c. here it is clear that the word, and not the idea, _moon_, produces the simple sheep and their shady _boon_, and that "the _dooms_ of the mighty dead" would never have intruded themselves but for the "fair musk-rose _blooms_." 'again:-- "for 'twas the morn. apollo's upward fire made every eastern cloud a silvery pyre of brightness so unsullied that therein a melancholy spirit well might win oblivion, and melt out his essence fine into the winds. rain-scented eglantine gave temperate sweets to that well-wooing sun; the lark was lost in him; cold springs had run to warm their chilliest bubbles in the grass; man's voice was on the mountains; and the mass of nature's lives and wonders pulsed tenfold to feel this sunrise and its glories old." here apollo's _fire_ produces a _pyre_--a silvery pyre--of clouds, _wherein_ a spirit might _win_ oblivion, and melt his essence _fine_; and scented _eglantine_ gives sweets to the _sun_, and cold springs had _run_ into the _grass_; and then the pulse of the _mass_ pulsed _tenfold_ to feel the glories _old_ of the new-born day, &c. 'one example more:-- "be still the unimaginable lodge for solitary thinkings, such as dodge conception to the very bourne of heaven, then leave the naked brain; be still the leaven that spreading in this dull and clodded earth, gives it a touch ethereal--a new birth." _lodge, dodge--heaven, leaven--earth, birth_--such, in six words, is the sum and substance of six lines. 'we come now to the author's taste in versification. he cannot indeed write a sentence, but perhaps he may be able to spin a line. let us see. the following are specimens of his prosodial notions of our english heroic metre:-- "dear as the temple's self, so does the moon, the passion poesy, glories infinite. "so plenteously all weed-hidden roots. "of some strange history, potent to send. "before the deep intoxication. "her scarf into a fluttering pavilion. "the stubborn canvas for my voyage prepared. "endymion, the cave is secreter than the isle of delos. echo hence shall stir no sighs but sigh-warm kisses, or light noise of thy combing hand, the while it travelling cloys and trembles through my labyrinthine hair." 'by this time our readers must be pretty well satisfied as to the meaning of his sentences and the structure of his lines. we now present them with some of the new words with which, in imitation of mr. leigh hunt, he adorns our language. 'we are told that turtles _passion_ their voices; that an arbour was _nested_, and a lady's locks _gordianed_ up; and, to supply the place of the nouns thus verbalized, mr. keats, with great fecundity, spawns new ones, such as men-slugs and human _serpentry_, the _honey-feel_ of bliss, wives prepare _needments_, and so forth. 'then he has formed new verbs by the process of cutting off their natural tails, the adverbs, and affixing them to their foreheads. thus the wine out-sparkled, the multitude up-followed, and night up-took: the wind up-blows, and the hours are down-sunken. but, if he sinks some adverbs in the verbs, he compensates the language with adverbs and adjectives which he separates from the parent stock. thus a lady whispers _pantingly_ and close, makes _hushing_ signs, and steers her skiff into a _ripply_ cove, a shower falls _refreshfully_, and a vulture has a _spreaded_ tail. 'but enough of mr. leigh hunt and his simple neophyte. if any one should be bold enough to purchase this poetic romance, and so much more patient than ourselves as to get beyond the first book, and so much more fortunate as to find a meaning, we entreat him to make us acquainted with his success. we shall then return to the task which we now abandon in despair, and endeavour to make all due amends to mr. keats and to our readers.' this criticism is not, i think, exactly what shelley called it in the preface to _adonais_--'savage:' it is less savage than contemptuous, and is far indeed from competing with the abuse which was from time to time, and in various reviews, poured forth upon shelley himself. it cannot be denied that some of the blemishes which it points out in _endymion_ are real blemishes, and very serious ones. the grounds on which one can fairly object to the criticism are that its tone is purposely ill-natured; its recognition of merits scanty out of all proportion to its censure of defects; and its spirit that of prepense disparagement founded not so much on the poetical errors of keats as on the fact that he was a friend of leigh hunt, the literary and also the political antagonist of the _quarterly review_. the editor, mr. gifford, seems always to have been regarded as the author of this criticism--i presume, correctly so. that keats was a friend of leigh hunt in the earlier period of his own poetical career is a fact; but not long after the appearance of the _quarterly review_ article he conceived a good deal of dislike and even animosity against this literary ally. possibly the taunts of the _quarterly review_, and the alienation of keats from hunt, had some connexion as cause and effect. in a letter from john keats to his brother george and his sister-in-law occurs the following passage[ ], dated towards the end of : 'hunt has asked me to meet tom moore some day--so you shall hear of him. the night we went to novello's there was a complete set-to of mozart and punning. i was so completely tired of it that, if i were to follow my own inclinations, i should never meet any one of that set again; not even hunt, who is certainly a pleasant fellow in the main, when you are with him--but in reality he is vain, egotistical, and disgusting in matters of taste, and in morals. he understands many a beautiful thing; but then, instead of giving other minds credit for the same degree of perception as he himself professes, he begins an explanation in such a curious manner that our taste and self-love are offended continually. hunt does one harm by making fine things petty, and beautiful things hateful. through him i am indifferent to mozart, i care not for white busts; and many a glorious thing, when associated with him, becomes a nothing. this distorts one's mind--makes one's thoughts bizarre--perplexes one in the standard of beauty.' for the text of _adonais_ in the present edition i naturally have recourse to the original pisan edition, but without neglecting such alterations as have been properly introduced into later issues; these will be fully indicated and accounted for in my notes. in the minor matters of punctuation, &c., i do not consider myself bound to reproduce the first or any other edition, but i follow the plan which appears to myself most reasonable and correct; any point worthy of discussion in these details will also receive attention in the notes. adonais: its argument. the poem of _adonais_ can of course be contemplated from different points of view. its biographical relations have been already considered in our preceding sections: its poetical structure and value, its ideal or spiritual significance, and its particular imagery and diction, will occupy us much as we proceed. at present i mean simply to deal with the argument of _adonais_. it has a thread--certainly a slender thread--of narrative or fable; the personation of the poetic figure adonais, as distinct from the actual man john keats, and the incidents with which that poetic figure is associated. the numerals which i put in parentheses indicate the stanzas in which the details occur. ( ) adonais is now dead: the hour which witnessed his loss mourns him, and is to rouse the other hours to mourn. ( ) he was the son of the widowed urania, ( ) her youngest and dearest son. ( ) he was slain by a nightly arrow--'pierced by the shaft which flies in darkness.' at the time of his death urania was in her paradise (pleasure-garden), slumbering, while echoes listened to the poems which he had written as death was impending. ( ) urania should now wake and weep; yet wherefore? 'he is gone where all things wise and fair descend.' ( ) nevertheless let her weep and lament. ( ) adonais had come to rome. ( ) death and corruption are now in his chamber, but corruption delays as yet to strike. ( ) the dreams whom he nurtured, as a herdsman tends his flock, mourn around him, ( ) one of them was deceived for a moment into supposing that a tear shed by itself came from the eyes of adonais, and must indicate that he was still alive. ( ) another washed his limbs, and a third clipped and shed her locks upon his corpse, &c. ( ) then came others--desires, adorations, fantasies, &c. ( to ) morning lamented, and echo, and spring. ( ) aibion wailed. may 'the curse of cain light on his head who pierced thy innocent breast,' and scared away its angel soul! ( ) can it be that the soul alone dies, when nothing else is annihilated? ( ) misery aroused urania: urged by dreams and echoes, she sprang up, and ( ) sought the death-chamber of adonais, ( ) enduring much suffering from 'barbèd tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they.' ( ) as she arrived, death was shamed for a moment, and adonais breathed again: but immediately afterwards 'death rose and smiled, and met her vain caress.' ( ) urania would fain have died along with adonais; but, chained as she was to time, this was denied her. ( ) she reproached adonais for having, though defenceless, dared the dragon in his den. had he waited till the day of his maturity, 'the monsters of life's waste' would have fled from him, as ( ) the wolves, ravens, and vultures had fled from, and fawned upon, 'the pythian of the age.' ( ) then came the mountain shepherds, bewailing adonais: the pilgrim of eternity, the lyrist of lerne, and ( ) among others, one frail form, a pard-like spirit. ( ) urania asked the name of this last shepherd: he then made bare his branded and ensanguined brow, which was like cain's or christ's. ( ) another mountain shepherd, 'the gentlest of the wise,' leaned over the deathbed. ( ) adonais has drunk poison. some 'deaf and viperous murderer' gave him the envenomed draught. [i must here point out a singular discrepancy in the poem of _adonais_, considered as a narrative or apologue. hitherto we had been told that adonais was killed by an arrow or dart--he was 'pierced by the shaft which flies in darkness,' and the man who 'pierced his innocent breast' had incurred the curse of cain: he had 'a wound' (stanza ). there was also the alternative statement that adonais, unequipped with the shield of wisdom or the spear of scorn, had been so rash as to 'dare the unpastured dragon in his den'; and from this the natural inference is that not any 'shaft which flies in darkness,' but the dragon himself, had slaughtered the too-venturous youth. but now we hear that he was done to death by poison. certainly when we look beneath the symbol into the thing symbolized, we can see that these divergent allegations represent the same fact, and the readers of the elegy are not called upon to form themselves into a coroner's jury to determine whether a 'shaft' or a 'dragon' or 'poison' was the instrument of murder: nevertheless the statements in the text are neither identical nor reconcileable for purposes of mythical narration, and it seems strange that the author should not have taken this into account. it will be found as we proceed (see p. ) that the reference to 'poison' comes into the poem as a direct reproduction from the elegy of moschus upon bion--being the passage which forms the second of the two mottoes to _adonais_.] ( ) this murderer, a 'nameless worm,' was alone callous to the prelude of the forthcoming song. ( ) let him live on in remorse and self-contempt. ( ) neither should we weep that adonais has 'fled far from these carrion-kites that scream below.' his spirit flows back to its fountain, a portion of the eternal. ( ) indeed, he is not dead nor sleeping, but 'has awakened from the dream of life.' not he decays, but we. ( ) let not us, nor the powers of nature, mourn for _adonais_. ( ) he is made one with nature. ( ) in 'the unapparent' he was welcomed by chatterton, sidney, lucan, and ( ) many more immortals, and was hailed as the master of a 'kingless sphere' in a 'heaven of song.' ( ) let any rash mourner go to rome, and ( ) visit the cemetery. ( ) and thou, my heart, why linger and shrink? adonais calls thee: be no longer divided from him. ( ) the soul of adonais beacons to thee 'from the abode where the eternal are.' this may he the most convenient place for raising a question of leading importance to the argument of _adonais_--who is the personage designated under the name urania?--a question which, so far as i know, has never yet been mooted among the students of shelley. who is urania? why is she represented as the mother of adonais (keats), and the chief mourner for his untimely death? in mythology the name urania is assigned to two divinities wholly distinct. the first is one of the nine muses, the muse of astronomy: the second is aphrodite (venus). we may without any hesitation assume that shelley meant one of these two: but a decision, as to which of the two becomes on reflection by no means so obvious as one might at first suppose. we will first examine the question as to the muse urania. to say that the poet keats, figured as adonais, was son to one of the muses, appears so natural and straightforward a symbolic suggestion as to command summary assent. but why, out of the nine sisters, should the muse of astronomy be selected? keats never wrote about astronomy, and had no qualifications and no faintest inclination for writing about it: this science, and every other exact or speculative science, were highly alien from his disposition and turn of mind. and yet, on casting about for a reason, we can find that after all and in a certain sense there is one forthcoming, of some considerable amount of relevancy. in the eyes of shelley, keats was principally and above all the poet of _hyperion_; and _hyperion_ is, strictly speaking, a poem about the sun. in like manner, _endymion_ is a poem about the moon. thus, from one point of view--i cannot see any other--keats might be regarded as inspired by, or a son of, the muse of astronomy. a subordinate point of some difficulty arises from stanza , where adonais is spoken of as 'the nursling of thy [urania's] widowhood'--which seems to mean, son of urania, born after the father's death. urania is credited in mythology with the motherhood of two sons--linus, her offspring by amphimacus, who was a son of poseidon, and hymenaeus, her offspring by apollo. it might be idle to puzzle over this question of urania's 'widowhood,' or to attempt to found upon it (on the assumption that urania the muse is referred to) any theory as to who her deceased consort could have been: for it is as likely as not that the phrase which i have cited from the poem is not really intended to define with any sort of precision the parentage of the supposititious adonais, but, practically ignoring adonais, applies to keats himself, and means simply that keats, as the son of the muse, was born out of time--born in an unpoetical and unappreciative age. many of my readers will recollect that milton, in the elaborate address which opens book of _paradise lost_, invokes urania. he is careful however to say that he does not mean the muse urania, but the spirit of 'celestial song,' sister of eternal wisdom, both of them well-pleasing to the 'almighty father.' thus far for urania the muse. i now come to aphrodite urania. this deity is to be carefully distinguished from the cyprian or pandemic aphrodite: she is different, not only in attribute and function, but even in personality and origin. she is the daughter of heaven (uranus) and light; her influence is heavenly: she is heavenly or spiritual love, as distinct from earthly or carnal love. if the personage in shelley's elegy is to be regarded, not as the muse urania, but as aphrodite urania, she here represents spiritual or intellectual aspiration, the love of abstract beauty, the divine element in poesy or art. as such, aphrodite urania would be no less appropriate than urania or any other muse to be designated as the mother of adonais (keats). but the more cogent argument in favour of aphrodite urania is to be based upon grounds of analogy or transfer, rather than upon any reasons of antecedent probability. the part assigned to urania in shelley's elegy is very closely modelled upon the part assigned to aphrodite in the elegy of bion upon adonis (see the section in this volume, _bion and moschus_). what aphrodite cypris does in the _adonis_, that urania does in the _adonais_. the resemblances are exceedingly close, in substance and in detail: the divergences are only such as the altered conditions naturally dictate. the cyprian aphrodite is the bride of adonis, and as such she bewails him: the uranian aphrodite is the mother of adonais, and she laments him accordingly. carnal relationship and carnal love are transposed into spiritual relationship and spiritual love. the hands are the hands, in both poems, of aphrodite: the voices are respectively those of cypris and of urania. it is also worth observing that the fragmentary poem of shelley named _prince athanase_, written in , was at first named _pandemos and urania_; and was intended, as mrs. shelley informs us, to embody the contrast between 'the earthly and unworthy venus,' and the nobler ideal of love, the heaven-born or heaven-sent venus. the poem would thus have borne a certain relation to _alastor_, and also to _epipsychidion_. the use of the name 'urania' in this proposed title may help to confirm us in the belief that there is no reason why shelley should not have used the same name in _adonais_ with the implied meaning of aphrodite urania. on the whole i am strongly of opinion that the urania of _adonais_ is aphrodite, and not the muse. adonais: general exposition. the consideration which, in the preceding section, we have bestowed upon the 'argument' of _adonais_ will assist us not a little in grasping the full scope of the poem. it may be broadly divided into three currents of thought, or (as one might say) into three acts of passion. i. the sense of grievous loss in the death of john keats the youthful and aspiring poet, cut short as he was approaching his prime; and the instinctive impulse to mourning and desolation. . the mythical or symbolic embodiment of the events in the laments of urania and the mountain shepherds, and in the denunciation of the ruthless destroyer of the peace and life of adonais. . the rejection of mourning as one-sided, ignorant, and a reversal of the true estimate of the facts; and a recognition of the eternal destiny of keats in the world of mind, coupled with the yearning of shelley to have done with the vain shows of things in this cycle of mortality, and to be at one with keats in the mansions of the everlasting. such is the evolution of this elegy; from mourning to rapture: from a purblind consideration of deathly phenomena to the illumination of the individual spirit which contemplates the eternity of spirit as the universal substance. shelley raises in his poem a very marked contrast between the death of adonais (keats) as a mortal man succumbing to 'the common fate,' and the immortality of his spirit as a vital immaterial essence surviving the death of the body: he uses terms such as might be adopted by any believer in the doctrine of 'the immortality of the soul,' in the ordinary sense of that phrase. it would not however be safe to infer that shelley, at the precise time when he wrote _adonais_, was really in a more definite frame of mind on this theme than at other periods of his life, or of a radically different conviction. as a fact, his feelings on the great problems of immortality were acute, his opinions regarding them vague and unsettled. he certainly was not an adherent of the typical belief on this subject; the belief that a man on this earth is a combination of body and soul, in a state--his sole state--of 'probation'; that, when the body dies and decays, the soul continues to be the same absolute individual identity; and that it passes into a condition of eternal and irreversible happiness or misery, according to the faith entertained or the deeds done in the body. his belief amounted more nearly to this: that a human soul is a portion of the universal soul, subjected, during its connexion with the body, to all the illusions, the dreams and nightmares, of sense; and that, after the death of the body, it continues to be a portion of the universal soul, liberated, from those illusions, and subsisting in some condition which the human reason is not capable of defining as a state either of personal consciousness or of absorption. and, so far as the human being exercised, during the earthly life, the authentic functions of soul, that same exercise of function continues to be the permanent record of the soul in the world of mind. if any reader thinks that this seems a vague form of belief, the answer is that the belief of shelley was indeed a vague one. in the poem of _adonais_ it remains, to my apprehension, as vague as in his other writings: but it assumes a shape of greater definition, because the poem is, by its scheme and intent, a personating poem, in which the soul of keats has to be greeted by the soul of chatterton, just as the body of adonais has to be caressed and bewailed by urania. using language of a semi-emblematic kind, we might perhaps express something of shelley's belief thus:--mankind is the microcosm, as distinguished from the rest of the universe, which forms the macrocosm; and, as long as a man's body and soul remain in combination, his soul pertains to the microcosm: when this combination ceases with the death of the body, his soul, in whatever sense it may be held to exist, lapses into the macrocosm, but there is neither knowledge as to the mode of its existence, nor speech capable of recording this. as illustrating our poet's conceptions on these mysterious subjects, i append extracts from three of his prose writings. the first extract comes from his fragment _on life_, which may have been written (but this is quite uncertain) towards ; the second from his fragment _on a future state_, for which some similar date is suggested; the third from the notes to his drama of _hellas_, written in , later than _adonais_. ( ) 'the most refined abstractions of logic conduct to a view of life which, though startling to the apprehension, is in fact that which the habitual sense of its repeated combinations has extinguished in us. it strips, as it were, the painted curtain from this scene of things. i confess that i am one of those who am unable to refuse my assent[ ] to the conclusions of those philosophers who assert that nothing exists but as it is perceived. it is a decision against which all our persuasions struggle--and we must be long convicted before we can be convinced that the solid universe of external things is "such stuff as dreams are made of." the shocking absurdities of the popular philosophy of mind and matter, its fatal consequences in morals, and their [? the] violent dogmatism concerning the source of all things, had early conducted me to materialism. this materialism is a seducing system to young and superficial minds: it allows its disciples to talk, and dispenses them from thinking. but i was discontented with such a view of things as it afforded. man is a being of high aspirations, "looking both before and after," whose "thoughts wander through eternity," disclaiming alliance with transcience and decay; incapable of imagining to himself annihilation; existing but in the future and the past; being, not what he is, but what he has been and shall be. whatever may be his true and final destination, there is a spirit within him at enmity with nothingness and dissolution. this is the character of all life and being. each is at once the centre and the circumference; the point to which all things are referred, and the line in which all things are contained. such contemplations as these materialism, and the popular philosophy of mind and matter, alike forbid: they are only consistent with the intellectual system.... the view of life presented by the most refined deductions of the intellectual philosophy is that of unity. nothing exists but as it is perceived. the difference is merely nominal between those two classes of thought which are vulgarly distinguished by the names of "ideas" and of "external objects." pursuing the same thread of reasoning, the existence of distinct individual minds, similar to that which is employed in now questioning its own nature, is likewise found to be a delusion. the words "i, you, they," are not signs of any actual difference subsisting between the assemblage of thoughts thus indicated, but are merely marks employed to denote the different modifications of the one mind. let it not be supposed that this doctrine conducts to the monstrous presumption that i, the person who now write and think, am that one mind. i am but a portion of it.' ( ) 'suppose however that the intellectual and vital principle differs in the most marked and essential manner from all other known substances; that they have all some resemblance between themselves which _it_ in no degree participates. in what manner can this concession be made an argument for its imperishability? all that we see or know perishes[ ] and is changed. life and thought differ indeed from everything else: but that it survives that period beyond which we have no experience of its existence such distinction and dissimilarity affords no shadow of proof, and nothing but our own desires could have led us to conjecture or imagine. have we existed before birth? it is difficult to conceive the possibility of this.... if we have _not_ existed before birth; if, at the period when the parts of our nature on which thought and life depend seem to be woven together, they _are_ woven together; if there are no reasons to suppose that we have existed before that period at which our existence apparently commences; then there are no grounds for supposition that we shall continue to exist after our existence has apparently ceased. so far as thought and life is concerned, the same will take place with regard to us, individually considered, after death, as had place before our birth. it is said that it is possible that we should continue to exist in some mode totally inconceivable to us at present. this is a most unreasonable presumption.... such assertions ... persuade indeed only those who desire to be persuaded. this desire to be for ever as we are--the reluctance to a violent and unexperienced change which is common to all the animated and inanimate combinations of the universe--is indeed the secret persuasion which has given birth to the opinions of a future state.' ( . note to the chorus, 'worlds on worlds are rolling ever,' &c.) 'the first stanza contrasts the immortality of the living and thinking beings which inhabit the planets and (to use a common and inadequate phrase) clothe themselves in matter, with the transcience of the noblest manifestations of the external world. the concluding verses indicate a progressive state of more or less exalted existence, according to the degree of perfection which every distinct intelligence may have attained. let it not be supposed that i mean to dogmatise upon a subject concerning which all men are equally ignorant, or that i think the gordian knot of the origin of evil can be disentangled by that or any similar assertions.... that there is a true solution of the riddle, and that in our present state that solution is unattainable by us, are propositions which may be regarded as equally certain: meanwhile, as it is the province of the poet to attach himself to those ideas which exalt and ennoble humanity, let him be permitted to have conjectured the condition of that futurity towards which we are all impelled by an inextinguishable thirst for immortality. until better arguments can be produced than sophisms which disgrace the cause, this desire itself must remain the strongest and the only presumption that eternity is the inheritance of every thinking being.' the reader will perceive that in these three passages the dominant ideas, very briefly stated, are as follows:--( ) mind is the aggregate of all individual minds; ( ) man has no reason for expecting that his mind or soul will be immortal; ( ) no reason, except such as inheres in the very desire which he feels for immortality. these opinions, deliberately expressed by shelley at different dates as a theorist in prose, should be taken into account if we endeavour to estimate what he means when, as a poet, he speaks, whether in _hellas_ or in _adonais_, of an individual, his mind and his immortality. when shelley calls upon us to regard keats (adonais) as mortal in body but immortal in soul or mind, his real intent is probably limited to this: that keats has been liberated, by the death of the body, from the dominion and delusions of the senses; and that he, while in the flesh, developed certain fruits of mind which survive his body, and will continue to survive it indefinitely, and will form a permanent inheritance of thought and of beauty to succeeding generations. keats himself, in one of his most famous lines, expressed a like conception, 'a thing of beauty is a joy for ever.' shelley was faithful to his canons of highest literary or poetical form in giving a greek shape to his elegy on keats; but it may be allowed to his english readers, or at any rate to some of them, to think that he hereby fell into a certain degree of artificiality of structure, undesirable in itself, and more especially hampering him in a plain and self-consistent expression both of his real feeling concerning keats, and of his resentment against those who had cut short, or were supposed to have cut short, the career and the poetical work of his friend. moreover shelley went beyond the mere recurrence to greek forms of impersonation and expression: he took two particular greek authors, and two particular greek poems, as his principal model. these two poems are the elegy of bion on adonis, and the elegy of moschus on bion. to imitate is not to plagiarize; and shelley cannot reasonably be called a plagiarist because he introduced into _adonais_ passages which are paraphrased or even translated from bion and moschus. it does seem singular however that neither in the _adonais_ volume nor in any of his numerous written remarks upon the poem does shelley ever once refer to this state of the facts. possibly in using the name 'adonais' he intended to refer the reader indirectly to the 'adonis' of bion; and he prefixed to the preface of his poem, as a motto, four verses from the elegy of moschus upon bion. this may have been intended for a hint to the reader as to the grecian sources of the poem. the whole matter will receive detailed treatment in our next section, as well as in the notes. the passages of _adonais_ which can be traced back to bion and moschus are not the finest things in the poem: mostly they fill out its fabular 'argument' with brilliancy and suavity, rather than with nerve and pathos. the finest things are to be found in the denunciation of the 'deaf and viperous murderer;' in the stanzas concerning the 'mountain shepherds,' especially the figure representing shelley himself; and in the solemn and majestic conclusion, where the poet rises from the region of earthly sorrow into the realm of ideal aspiration and contemplation. shelley is generally--and i think most justly--regarded as a peculiarly melodious versifier: but it must not be supposed that he is rigidly exact in his use of rhyme. the contrary can be proved from the entire body of his poems. _adonais_ is, in this respect, neither more nor less correct than his other writings. it would hardly be reasonable to attribute his laxity in rhyming to either carelessness, indifference, or unskilfulness: but rather to a deliberate preference for a certain variety in the rhyme-sounds--as tending to please the ear, and availing to satisfy it in the total effect, without cloying it by any tight-drawn uniformity. such a preference can be justified on two grounds: firstly, that the general effect of the slightly varied sounds is really the more gratifying of the two methods, and i believe that, practised within reasonable limits, it is so; and secondly, that the requirements of sense are superior to those of sound, and that, in the effort after severely exact rhyming, a writer would often, be compelled to sacrifice some delicacy of thought, or some grace or propriety of diction. looking through the stanzas of _adonais_, i find the following laxities of rhyming: compeers, dares; anew, knew (this repetition of an identical syllable as if it were a rhyme is very frequent with shelley, who evidently considered it to be permissible, and even right--and in this view he has plenty of support): god; road; last, waste; taught, not; break, cheek (two instances); ground, moaned; both, youth; rise, arise; song, stung; steel, fell; light, delight; part, depart; wert, heart; wrong, tongue; brow, so; moan, one; crown, tone; song, unstrung; knife, grief; mourn, burn; dawn, moan; bear, bear; blot, thought; renown, chatterton; thought, not; approved, reproved; forth, earth; nought, not; home, tomb; thither, together; wove, of; riven, heaven. these are instances of irregularity. the number of stanzas in _adonais_ is : therefore there is more than one such irregularity for every two stanzas. it may not be absolutely futile if we bestow a little more attention upon the details of these laxities of rhyme. the repetition of an identical syllable has been cited times. in instances the sound of _taught_ is assimilated to that of _not_ (i take here no account of differences of spelling, but only of the sounds); in , the sound of _ground_ and of _renown_ to that of _moaned_, or of _chatterton_; in , the sound of _o_ in _road, both_, and _wove_, to that in _god, youth_, and _of_; in , the sound of _song_ to that of _stung_; in , the sound of _ee_ in _compeers, steel, cheek_, and _grief_, to that in _dares, fell, break_ and _knife_; in , the sound of _e_ in _wert_ and _earth_ to that in _heart_ and _forth_; in , the sound of _o_ in _moan_ and _home_ to that in _one, dawn_, and _tomb_; in , the sound of _thither_ to that of _together_. the other cases which i have cited have only a single instance apiece. it results therefore that the vowel-sound subjected to the most frequent variations is that of _o_, whether single or in combination. shelley may be considered to allow himself more than an average degree of latitude in rhyming: but it is a fact that, if the general body of english poetry is scrutinized, it will be found to be more or less lax in this matter. this question is complicated by another question--that of how words were pronounced at different periods in our literary history: in order to exclude the most serious consequent difficulties, i shall say nothing here about any poet prior to milton. i take at haphazard four pages of rhymed verse from each of the following six poets, and the result proves to be as follows:-- _milton._--pass, was; feast, rest; come, room; still, invisible; vouchsafe, safe; moon, whereon; ordained, land. instances. _dryden._--alone, fruition; guard, heard; pursued, good: procured, secured, instances. _pope._--given, heaven; steer, character; board, lord; fault, thought; err, singular. instances. _gray._--beech, stretch; borne, thorn; abode, god; broke, rock, instances. _coleridge._--not a single instance. _byron._--given, heaven; moore, yore; look, duke; song, tongue; knot, not; of, enough; bestowed, mood. instances. in all these cases, as in that of shelley's _adonais_, i have taken no count of those instances of lax sound-rhyme which are correct letter-rhyme--such as the coupling of _move_ with _love_, or of _star_ with _war_; for these, however much some more than commonly purist ears may demur to them, appear to be part and parcel of the rhyming system of the english language. i need hardly say that, if these cases had been included, my list would in every instance have swelled considerably; nor yet that i am conscious how extremely partial and accidental is the test, as to comparative number of laxities, which i have here supplied. the spenserian metre, in which _adonais_ is written, was used by shelley in only one other instance--his long ideal epic _the revolt of islam_. bion and moschus. the relation of shelley's elegy of _adonais_ to the two elegies written by bion and by moschus must no doubt have been observed, and been more or less remarked upon, as soon as _adonais_ obtained some currency among classical readers; captain medwin, in his _shelley papers_, , referred to it. i am not however aware that the resemblances had ever been brought out in detail until mr. g.s.d. murray, of christ church, oxford, noted down the passages from bion, which were published accordingly in my edition of shelley's poems, . since then, , lieut.-colonel hime, r.a., issued a pamphlet (dulau & co.) entitled _the greek materials of shelley's adonais, with remarks on the three great english elegies_, entering into further, yet not exhaustive, particulars on the same subject. shelley himself made a fragmentary translation from the elegy of bion on adonis: it was first printed in mr. forman's edition of shelley's poems, . i append here those passages which are directly related to _adonais_:-- 'i mourn adonis dead--loveliest adonis-- dead, dead adonis--and the loves lament. sleep no more, venus, wrapped in purple woof-- wake, violet-stoled queen, and weave the crown of death,--'tis misery calls,--for he is dead. ... aphrodite with hair unbound is wandering through the woods, wildered, ungirt, unsandalled--the thorns pierce her hastening feet, and drink her sacred blood. * * * * * the flowers are withered up with grief. * * * * * echo resounds, . . "adonis dead!" * * * * * she clasped him, and cried ... "stay, adonis! stay, dearest one,... and mix my lips with thine! wake yet a while, adonis--oh but once!-- that i may kiss thee now for the last time-- but for as long as one short kiss may live!" the reader familiar with _adonais_ will recognise the passages in that poem of which we here have the originals. to avoid repetition, i do not cite them at the moment, but shall call attention to them successively in my notes at the end of the volume. for other passages, also utilised by shelley, i have recourse to the volume of mr. andrew lang (macmillan & co. ), _theocritus, bion, and moschus, rendered into english prose_. and first, from bion's elegy on adonis:-- 'the flowers flush red for anguish.... this kiss will i treasure, even as thyself, adonis, since, ah ill-fated! thou art fleeing me,... while wretched i yet live, being a goddess, and may not follow thee. persephone, take thou my lover, my lord, for thyself art stronger than i, and all lovely things drift down to thee.... for why ah overbold! didst thou follow the chase, and, being so fair, why wert thou thus over-hardy to fight with beasts?... a tear the paphian sheds for each blood-drop of adonis, and tears and blood on the earth are turned to flowers.... ah even in death he is beautiful, beautiful in death, as one that hath fallen on sleep.... all things have perished in his death, yea all the flowers are faded.... he reclines, the delicate adonis, in his raiment of purple, and around him the loves are weeping and groaning aloud, clipping their locks for adonis. and one upon his shafts, another on his bow, is treading, and one hath loosed the sandal of adonis, and another hath broken his own feathered quiver, and one in a golden vessel bears water, and another laves the wound, and another, from behind him, with his wings is fanning adonis.... thou must again bewail him, again must weep for him another year.... he does not heed them [the muses]; not that he is doth to hear, but that the maiden of hades doth not let him go.' the next-ensuing passages come from the elegy of moschus for bion:-- 'ye flowers, now in sad clusters breathe yourselves away. now redden, ye roses, in your sorrow, and now wax red, ye wind-flowers; now, thou hyacinth, whisper the letters on thee graven, and add a deeper ai ai to thy petals: he is dead, the beautiful singer.... ye nightingales that lament among the thick leaves of the trees, tell ye to the sicilian waters of arethusa the tidings that bion the herdsman is dead.... thy sudden doom, o bion, apollo himself lamented, and the satyrs mourned thee, and the priapi in sable raiment, and the panes sorrow for thy song, and the fountain-fairies in the wood made moan, and their tears turned to rivers of waters. and echo in the rocks laments that thou art silent, and no more she mimics thy voice. and in sorrow for thy fall the trees cast down their fruit, and all the flowers have faded.... nor ever sang so sweet the nightingale on the cliffs,... nor so much, by the grey sea-waves, did ever the sea-bird sing, nor so much in the dells of dawn did the bird of memnon bewail the son of the morning, fluttering around his tomb, as they lamented for bion dead.... echo, among the reeds, doth still feed upon thy songs.... this, o most musical of rivers, is thy second sorrow,--this, meles, thy new woe. of old didst thou lose homer:... now again another son thou weepest, and in a new sorrow art thou wasting away.... nor so much did pleasant lesbos mourn for alcaeus, nor did the teian town so greatly bewail her poet,... and not for sappho but still for thee doth mitylene wail her musical lament.... ah me! when the mallows wither in the garden, and the green parsley, and the curled tendrils of the anise, on a later day they live again, and spring in another year: but we men, we the great and mighty or wise, when once we have died, in hollow earth we sleep, gone down into silence.... poison came, bion, to thy mouth--thou didst know poison. to such lips as thine did it come, and was not sweetened? what mortal was so cruel that could mix poison for thee, or who could give thee the venom that heard thy voice? surely he had no music in his soul,... but justice hath overtaken them all.' bion was born in smyrna, or in a neighbouring village named phlossa, and may have died at some date not far from b.c. the statement of moschus that bion was poisoned by certain enemies appears to be intended as an assertion of actual fact. of moschus nothing distinct is known, beyond his being a native of sicily. adonais; an elegy on the death of john keats, author of _endymion, hyperion,_ etc. [greek: astaer prin men elampes eni zooisin eoos. nun de thanon lampeis esperos en phthimenois.] plato. preface. [greek: pharmakon aelthe bion poti son stoma, pharmakon eides. pos teu tois cheilessi potedrame kouk eglukanthae; tis de brotos tossouton anameros ae kerasai toi, ae dounai laleonti to pharmakon; ekphugen odan.] moschus, epitaph. bion. it is my intention to subjoin to the london edition of this poem a criticism upon the claims of its lamented object to be classed among the writers of the highest genius who have adorned our age. my known repugnance to the narrow principles of taste on which several of his earlier compositions were modelled proves at least that i am an impartial judge. i consider the fragment of _hyperion_ as second to nothing that was ever produced by a writer of the same years. john keats died at rome of a consumption, in his twenty-fourth year, on the [ rd] of [february] ; and was buried in the romantic and lonely cemetery of the protestants in that city, under the pyramid which is the tomb of cestius, and the massy walls and towers, now mouldering and desolate, which formed the circuit of ancient rome. the cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. it might make one in love with death to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place. the genius of the lamented person to whose memory i have dedicated these unworthy verses was not less delicate and fragile than it was beautiful; and, where canker-worms abound, what wonder if its young flower was blighted in the bud? the savage criticism on his _endymion_ which appeared in the _quarterly review_ produced the most violent effect on his susceptible mind. the agitation thus originated ended in the rupture of a blood-vessel in the lungs; a rapid consumption ensued; and the succeeding acknowledgments, from more candid critics, of the true greatness of his powers, were ineffectual to heal the wound thus wantonly inflicted. it may be well said that these wretched men know not what they do. they scatter their insults and their slanders without heed as to whether the poisoned shaft lights on a heart made callous by many blows, or one, like keats's, composed of more penetrable stuff. one of their associates is, to my knowledge, a most base and unprincipled calumniator. as to _endymion_, was it a poem, whatever might be its defects, to be treated contemptuously by those who had celebrated with various degrees of complacency and panegyric _paris_, and _woman_ and _a syrian tale_, and mrs. lefanu, and mr. barrett, and mr. howard payne, and a long list of the illustrious obscure? are these the men who, in their venal good-nature, presumed to draw a parallel between the rev. mr. milman and lord byron? what gnat did they strain at here, after having swallowed all those camels? against what woman taken in adultery dares the foremost of these literary prostitutes to cast his opprobrious stone? miserable man! you, one of the meanest, have wantonly defaced one of the noblest, specimens of the workmanship of god. nor shall it be your excuse that, murderer as you are, you have spoken daggers, but used none. the circumstances of the closing scene of poor keats's life were not made known to me until the elegy was ready for the press. i am given to understand that the wound which his sensitive spirit had received from the criticism of _endymion_ was exasperated by the bitter sense of unrequited benefits; the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from the stage of life, no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise of his genius than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his care. he was accompanied to rome, and attended in his last illness, by mr. severn, a young artist of the highest promise, who, i have been informed, 'almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every prospect to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend.' had i known these circumstances before the completion of my poem, i should have been tempted to add my feeble tribute of applause to the more solid recompense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own motives. mr. severn can dispense with a reward from 'such stuff as dreams are made of.' his conduct is a golden augury of the success of his future career. may the unextinguished spirit of his illustrious friend animate the creations of his pencil, and plead against oblivion for his name! adonais. . i weep for adonais--he is dead! oh weep for adonais, though our tears thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! and thou, sad hour selected from all years to mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, and teach them thine own sorrow! say: 'with me died adonais! till the future dares forget the past, his fate and fame shall be an echo and a light unto eternity.' . where wert thou, mighty mother, when he lay, when thy son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies in darkness? where was lorn urania when adonais died? with veilèd eyes, 'mid listening echoes, in her paradise she sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath, rekindled all the fading melodies with which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, he had adorned and hid the coming bulk of death. . oh weep for adonais--he is dead! wake, melancholy mother, wake and weep!-- yet wherefore? quench within their burning bed thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep, like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep; for he is gone where all things wise and fair descend. oh dream not that the amorous deep will yet restore him to the vital air; death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair. . most musical of mourners, weep again! lament anew, urania!--he died who was the sire of an immortal strain, blind, old, and lonely, when his country's pride the priest, the slave, and the liberticide, trampled and mocked with many a loathèd rite of lust and blood. he went unterrified into the gulf of death; but his clear sprite yet reigns o'er earth, the third among the sons of light. . most musical of mourners, weep anew! not all to that bright station dared to climb: and happier they their happiness who knew, whose tapers yet burn through that night of time in which suns perished. others more sublime, struck by the envious wrath of man or god, have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime; and some yet live, treading the thorny road which leads, through toil and hate, to fame's serene abode. . but now thy youngest, dearest one has perished, the nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished, and fed with true love tears instead of dew. most musical of mourners, weep anew! thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last, the bloom whose petals, nipt before they blew, died on the promise of the fruit, is waste; the broken lily lies--the storm is overpast. . to that high capital where kingly death keeps his pale court in beauty and decay he came; and bought, with price of purest breath, a grave among the eternal.--come away! haste, while the vault of blue italian day is yet his fitting charnel-roof, while still he lies as if in dewy sleep he lay. awake him not! surely he takes his fill of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill. . he will awake no more, oh never more! within the twilight chamber spreads apace the shadow of white death, and at the door invisible corruption waits to trace his extreme way to her dim dwelling-place; the eternal hunger sits, but pity and awe soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface so fair a prey, till darkness and the law of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw. . oh weep for adonais!--the quick dreams, the passion-wingèd ministers of thought, who were his flocks, whom near the living streams of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught the love which was its music, wander not-- wander no more from kindling brain to brain, but droop there whence they sprung; and mourn their lot round the cold heart where, after their sweet pain, they ne'er will gather strength or find a home again. . and one with trembling hands clasps his cold head, and fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries, 'our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead! see, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies a tear some dream has loosened from his brain,' lost angel of a ruined paradise! she knew not 'twas her own,--as with no stain she faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain. . one from a lucid urn of starry dew washed his light limbs, as if embalming them; another dipt her profuse locks, and threw the wreath upon him, like an anadem which frozen tears instead of pearls begem; another in her wilful grief would break her bow and wingèd reeds, as if to stem a greater loss with one which was more weak, and dull the barbèd fire against his frozen cheek. . another splendour on his mouth alit, that mouth whence it was wont to draw the breath which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit, and pass into the panting heart beneath with lightning and with music: the damp death quenched its caress upon his icy lips; and, as a dying meteor stains a wreath of moonlight vapour which the cold night clips, it flushed through his pale limbs, and passed to its eclipse. . and others came,--desires and adorations, wingèd persuasions, and veiled destinies, splendours, and glooms, and glimmering incarnations of hopes and fears, and twilight phantasies; and sorrow, with her family of sighs, and pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam of her own dying smile instead of eyes, came in slow pomp;--the moving pomp might seem like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream. . all he had loved, and moulded into thought from shape and hue and odour and sweet sound. lamented adonais. morning sought her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound, wet with the tears which should adorn the ground, dimmed the aerial eyes that kindle day; afar the melancholy thunder moaned, pale ocean in unquiet slumber lay, and the wild winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay. . lost echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, and feeds her grief with his remembered lay, and will no more reply to winds or fountains, or amorous birds perched on the young green spray, or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day; since she can mimic not his lips, more dear than those for whose disdain she pined away into a shadow of all sounds:--a drear murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear. . grief made the young spring wild, and she threw down her kindling buds, as if she autumn were, or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown, for whom should she have waked the sullen year? to phoebus was not hyacinth so dear, nor to himself narcissus, as to both thou, adonais; wan they stand and sere amid the faint companions of their youth, with dew all turned to tears,--odour, to sighing ruth. . thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale, mourns not her mate with such melodious pain; not so the eagle, who like thee could scale heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain her mighty young with morning, doth complain, soaring and screaming round her empty nest, as albion wails for thee: the curse of cain light on his head who pierced thy innocent breast, and scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest! . ah woe is me! winter is come and gone, but grief returns with the revolving year. the airs and streams renew their joyous tone; the ants, the bees, the swallows, re-appear; fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead seasons' bier; the amorous birds now pair in every brake, and build their mossy homes in field and brere; and the green lizard and the golden snake, like unimprisoned flames, out of their trance awake. . through wood and stream and field and hill and ocean, a quickening life from the earth's heart has burst, as it has ever done, with change and motion, from the great morning of the world when first god dawned on chaos. in its steam immersed, the lamps of heaven flash with a softer light; all baser things pant with life's sacred thirst, diffuse themselves, and spend in love's delight the beauty and the joy of their renewèd might. . the leprous corpse, touched by this spirit tender, exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath; like incarnations of the stars, when splendour is changed to fragrance, they illumine death, and mock the merry worm that wakes beneath. nought we know dies: shall that alone which knows be as a sword consumed before the sheath by sightless lightning? th' intense atom glows a moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose. . alas that all we loved of him should be, but for our grief, as if it had not been, and grief itself be mortal! woe is me! whence are we, and why are we? of what scene the actors or spectators? great and mean meet massed in death, who lends what life must borrow. as long as skies are blue and fields are green, evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow. . _he_ will awake no more, oh never more! 'wake thou,' cried misery, 'childless mother; rise out of thy sleep, and slake in thy heart's core a wound more fierce than his, with tears and sighs.' and all the dreams that watched urania's eyes, and all the echoes whom their sister's song had held in holy silence, cried 'arise!' swift as a thought by the snake memory stung, from her ambrosial rest the fading splendour sprung. . she rose like an autumnal night that springs out of the east, and follows wild and drear the golden day, which on eternal wings, even as a ghost abandoning a bier, had left the earth a corpse. sorrow and fear so struck, so roused, so rapt, urania; so saddened round her like an atmosphere of stormy mist; so swept her on her way, even to the mournful place where adonais lay. . out of her secret paradise she sped, through camps and cities rough with stone and steel and human hearts, which, to her aery tread yielding not, wounded the invisible palms of her tender feet where'er they fell. and barbèd tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they, rent the soft form they never could repel, whose sacred blood, like the young tears of may, paved with eternal flowers that undeserving way. . in the death-chamber for a moment death, shamed by the presence of that living might, blushed to annihilation, and the breath revisited those lips, and life's pale light flashed through those limbs so late her dear delight. 'leave me not wild and drear and comfortless, as silent lightning leaves the starless night! leave me not!' cried urania. her distress roused death: death rose and smiled, and met her vain caress. . 'stay yet awhile! speak to me once again! kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live! and in my heartless breast and burning brain that word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive, with food of saddest memory kept alive, now thou art dead, as if it were a part of thee, my adonais! i would give all that i am, to be as thou now art:-- but i am chained to time, and cannot thence depart. 'o gentle child, beautiful as thou wert, why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart dare the unpastured dragon in his den? defenceless as thou wert, oh where was then wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear?-- or, hadst thou waited the full cycle when thy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere, the monsters of life's waste had fled from thee like deer. . 'the herded wolves bold only to pursue, the obscene ravens clamorous o'er the dead, the vultures to the conqueror's banner true, who feed where desolation first has fed, and whose wings rain contagion,--how they fled, when like apollo, from his golden bow, the pythian of the age one arrow sped, and smiled!--the spoilers tempt no second blow, they fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low. . 'the sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn: he sets, and each ephemeral insect then is gathered into death without a dawn, and the immortal stars awake again. so is it in the world of living men: a godlike mind soars forth, in its delight making earth bare and veiling heaven; and, when it sinks, the swarms that dimmed or shared its light leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful night.' . thus ceased she: and the mountain shepherds came, their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent. the pilgrim of eternity, whose fame over his living head like heaven is bent, an early but enduring monument, came, veiling all the lightnings of his song in sorrow. from her wilds ierne sent the sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, and love taught grief to fall like music from his tongue. . 'midst others of less note came one frail form, a phantom among men, companionless as the last cloud of an expiring storm whose thunder is its knell. he, as i guess, had gazed on nature's naked loveliness actaeon-like; and now he fled astray with feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, and his own thoughts along that rugged way pursued like raging hounds their father and their prey. . a pard-like spirit beautiful and swift-- a love in desolation masked--a power girt round with weakness; it can scarce uplift the weight of the superincumbent hour. it is a dying lamp, a falling shower, a breaking billow;--even whilst we speak is it not broken? on the withering flower the killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek the life can burn in blood even while the heart may break. . his head was bound with pansies overblown, and faded violets, white and pied and blue; and a light spear topped with a cypress cone, round whose rude shaft dark ivy tresses grew yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew, vibrated, as the ever-beating heart shook the weak hand that grasped it. of that crew he came the last, neglected and apart; a herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's dart. . all stood aloof, and at his partial moan smiled through their tears; well knew that gentle band who in another's fate now wept his own; as in the accents of an unknown land he sang new sorrow; sad urania scanned the stranger's mien, and murmured 'who art thou?' he answered not, but with a sudden hand made bare his branded and ensanguined brow, which was like cain's or christ's--oh that it should be so! . what softer voice is hushed over the dead? athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown? what form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed, in mockery of monumental stone, the heavy heart heaving without a moan? if it be he who, gentlest of the wise, taught, soothed, loved, honoured, the departed one. let me not vex with inharmonious sighs the silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice. . our adonais has drunk poison--oh what deaf and viperous murderer could crown life's early cup with such a draught of woe? the nameless worm would now itself disown; it felt, yet could escape, the magic tone whose prelude held all envy, hate, and wrong, but what was howling in one breast alone, silent with expectation of the song whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung. . live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame! live! fear no heavier chastisement from me, thou noteless blot on a remembered name! but be thyself, and know thyself to be! and ever at thy season be thou free to spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow; remorse and self-contempt shall cling to thee, hot shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, and like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt--as now. . nor let us weep that our delight is fled far from these carrion kites that scream below. he wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead; thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. dust to the dust: but the pure spirit shall flow back to the burning fountain whence it came, a portion of the eternal, which must glow through time and change, unquenchably the same, whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame. . peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep! he hath awakened from the dream of life. 'tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife, and in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife invulnerable nothings. _we_ decay like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief convulse us and consume us day by day, and cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay. . he has outsoared the shadow of our night. envy and calumny and hate and pain, and that unrest which men miscall delight, can touch him not and torture not again. from the contagion of the world's slow stain he is secure; and now can never mourn a heart grown cold, a head grown grey in vain-- nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, with sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn. . he lives, he wakes--'tis death is dead, not he; mourn not for adonais.--thou young dawn, turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee the spirit thou lamentest is not gone! ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan! cease, ye faint flowers and fountains! and thou air, which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown o'er the abandoned earth, now leave it bare even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair! . he is made one with nature. there is heard his voice in all her music, from the moan of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird. he is a presence to be felt and known in darkness and in light, from herb and stone, spreading itself where'er that power may move which has withdrawn his being to its own, which wields the world with never wearied love, sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above. . he is a portion of the loveliness which once he made more lovely. he doth bear his part, while the one spirit's plastic stress sweeps through the dull dense world; compelling there all new successions to the forms they wear; torturing th' unwilling dross, that checks its flight, to its own likeness, as each mass may bear; and bursting in its beauty and its might from trees and beasts and men into the heaven's light. . the splendours of the firmament of time may be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; like stars to their appointed height they climb, and death is a low mist which cannot blot the brightness it may veil. when lofty thought lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, and love and life contend in it for what shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there, and move like winds of light on dark and stormy air. . the inheritors of unfulfilled renown rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought, far in the unapparent. chatterton rose pale, his solemn agony had not yet faded from him; sidney, as he fought and as he fell and as he lived and loved sublimely mild, a spirit without spot, arose; and lucan, by his death approved;-- oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved. . and many more, whose names on earth are dark but whose transmitted effluence cannot die so long as fire outlives the parent spark, rose, robed in dazzling immortality. 'thou art become as one of us,' they cry; 'it was for thee yon kingless sphere has long swung blind in unascended majesty, silent alone amid an heaven of song. assume thy wingèd throne, thou vesper of our throng!' . who mourns for adonais? oh come forth, fond wretch, and know thyself and him aright. clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous earth; as from a centre, dart thy spirit's light beyond all worlds, until its spacious might satiate the void circumference: then shrink even to a point within our day and night; and keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink when hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to the brink. . or go to rome, which is the sepulchre, oh not of him, but of our joy. 'tis nought that ages, empires, and religions, there lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; for such as he can lend--they borrow not glory from those who made the world their prey: and he is gathered to the kings of thought who waged contention with their time's decay, and of the past are all that cannot pass away. . go thou to rome,--at once the paradise, the grave, the city, and the wilderness; and where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, and flowering weeds and fragrant copses dress the bones of desolation's nakedness, pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead thy footsteps to a slope of green access, where, like an infant's smile, over the dead a light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread. . and grey walls moulder round, on which dull time feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand; and one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, pavilioning the dust of him who planned this refuge for his memory, doth stand like flame transformed to marble; and beneath a field is spread, on which a newer band have pitched in heaven's smile their camp of death, welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath. . here pause. these graves are all too young as yet to have outgrown the sorrow which consigned its charge to each; and, if the seal is set here on one fountain of a mourning mind, break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find thine own well full, if thou returnest home, of tears and gall. from the world's bitter wind seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. what adonais is why fear we to become? . the one remains, the many change and pass; heaven's light for ever shines, earth's shadows fly; life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, stains the white radiance of eternity, until death tramples it to fragments.--die, if thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! follow where all is fled!--rome's azure sky, flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak the glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. . why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my heart? thy hopes are gone before: from all things here they have departed; thou shouldst now depart! a light is past from the revolving year, and man and woman; and what still is dear attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. the soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near: 'tis adonais calls! oh hasten thither! no more let life divide what death can join together. . that light whose smile kindles the universe, that beauty in which all things work and move, that benediction which the eclipsing curse of birth can quench not, that sustaining love which, through the web of being blindly wove by man and beast and earth and air and sea, burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of the fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, consuming the last clouds of cold mortality. . the breath whose might i have invoked in song descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven far from the shore, far from the trembling throng whose sails were never to the tempest given. the massy earth and spherèd skies are riven! i am borne darkly, fearfully, afar! whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven, the soul of adonais, like a star, beacons from the abode where the eternal are. cancelled passages of adonais, and of its preface. the expression of my indignation and sympathy. i will allow myself a first and last word on the subject of calumny as it relates to me. as an author i have dared and invited censure. if i understand myself, i have written neither for profit nor for fame: i have employed my poetical compositions and publications simply as the instruments of that sympathy between myself and others which the ardent and unbounded love i cherished for my kind incited me to acquire. i expected all sorts of stupidity and insolent contempt from those.... these compositions (excepting the tragedy of _the cenci_, which was written rather to try my powers than to unburden my full heart) are insufficiently.... commendation then perhaps they deserve, even from their bitterest enemies; but they have not obtained any corresponding popularity. as a man, i shrink from notice and regard: the ebb and flow of the world vexes me: i desire to be left in peace. persecution, contumely, and calumny, have been heaped upon me in profuse measure; and domestic conspiracy and legal oppression have violated in my person the most sacred rights of nature and humanity. the bigot will say it was the recompense of my errors--the man of the world will call it the result of my imprudence: but never upon one head.... reviewers, with some rare exceptions, are a most stupid and malignant race. as a bankrupt thief turns thief-taker in despair, so an unsuccessful author turns critic. but a young spirit panting for fame, doubtful of its powers, and certain only of its aspirations, is ill-qualified to assign its true value to the sneer of this world. he knows not that such stuff as this is of the abortive and monstrous births which time consumes as fast as it produces. he sees the truth and falsehood, the merits and demerits, of his case, inextricably entangled.... no personal offence should have drawn from me this public comment upon such stuff. the offence of this poor victim seems to have consisted solely in his intimacy with leigh hunt, mr. hazlitt, and some other enemies of despotism and superstition. my friend hunt has a very hard skull to crack, and will take a deal of killing. i do not know much of mr. hazlitt, but.... i knew personally but little of keats; but, on the news of his situation, i wrote to him, suggesting the propriety of trying the italian climate, and inviting him to join me. unfortunately he did not allow me. * * * * * . and the green paradise which western waves embosom in their ever-wailing sweep,-- talking of freedom to their tongueless caves, or to the spirits which within them keep a record of the wrongs which, though they sleep, die not, but dream of retribution,--heard his hymns, and echoing them from steep to steep, kept-- * * * * * . and ever as he went he swept a lyre of unaccustomed shape, and ... strings now like the ... of impetuous fire which shakes the forest with its murmurings, now like the rush of the aërial wings of the enamoured wind among the treen, whispering unimaginable things, and dying on the streams of dew serene which feed the unmown meads with ever-during green. . and then came one of sweet and earnest looks, whose soft smiles to his dark and night-like eyes were as the clear and ever-living brooks are to the obscure fountains whence they rise, showing how pure they are: a paradise of happy truth upon his forehead low lay, making wisdom lovely, in the guise of earth-awakening morn upon the brow of star-deserted heaven while ocean gleams below. . his song, though very sweet, was low and faint, a simple strain. * * * * * . a mighty phantasm, half concealed in darkness of his own exceeding light, which clothed his awful presence unrevealed, charioted on the ... night of thunder-smoke, whose skirts were chrysolite. . and like a sudden meteor which outstrips the splendour-wingèd chariot of the sun, ... eclipse the armies of the golden stars, each one pavilioned in its tent of light--all strewn over the chasms of blue night-- notes. preface. line . _adonais_. there is nothing to show positively why shelley adopted the name adonais as a suitable hellenic name for john keats. i have already suggested (p. ) that he may perhaps have wished to indicate, in this indirect way, that his poem was founded partly upon the elegy of bion for adonis. i believe the name adonais was not really in use among the greeks, and is not anywhere traceable in classical grecian literature. it has sometimes been regarded as a doricized form of the name adonis: mr. william cory says that it is not this, but would properly be a female form of the same name. dr. furnivall has suggested to me that adonais is 'shelley's variant of adonias, the women's yearly mourning for adonis.' disregarding details, we may perhaps say that the whole subject of his elegy is treated by shelley as a transposition of the lament, as conceived by bion, of the cyprian aphrodite for adonis; and that, as he changes the cyprian into the uranian aphrodite, so he changes the dead youth from adonis into adonais. . . _motto from the poet plato_. this motto has been translated by shelley himself as follows: 'thou wert the morning star among the living, ere thy fair light had fled:-- now, having died, thou art as hesperus, giving new splendour to the dead.' . . _motto from moschus_. translated on p. , 'poison came, bion,' &c. . . _it is my intention to subjoin to the london edition of this poem a criticism_, &c. as to the non-fulfilment of this intention see p. . . . _my known repugnance ... proves at least_. in the pisa edition the word is printed 'prove' (not 'proves'). shelley was far from being an exact writer in matters of this sort. . . _john keats died ... in his twenty-fourth year, on the [ rd] of [february]_ . keats, at the time of his death, was not really in his twenty-fourth, but in his twenty-sixth year: the date of his birth was october, . in the pisa edition of _adonais_ the date of death is given thus--'the----of---- ': for shelley, when he wrote his preface, had no precise knowledge of the facts. in some later editions, 'the th of december ' was erroneously substituted. shelley's mistake in supposing that keats, in , was aged only twenty-three, may be taken into account in estimating his previous observation, 'i consider the fragment of _hyperion_ as second to nothing that was ever produced by a writer of the same years.' keats, writing in august, , had told shelley (see p. ) that some of his poems, perhaps including _hyperion_, had been written 'above two years' preceding that date. if shelley supposed that keats was twenty-three years old at the beginning of , and that _hyperion_ had been written fully two years prior to august, , he must have accounted that poem to be the product of a youth of twenty, or at most twenty-one, which would indeed be a marvellous instance of precocity. as a matter of fact, _hyperion_ was written by keats when in his twenty-fourth year. this diminishes the marvel, but does not make shelley's comment on the poem any the less correct. . . _was buried in the romantic and lonely cemetery of the protestants in that city, under the pyramid which is the tomb of cestius._ as to the burial of the ashes of shelley himself in a separate portion of the same cemetery, see p. . shelley lies nearer than keats to the pyramid of c. cestius. . . _the savage criticism on his_ endymion _which appeared in the_ quarterly review. as to this matter see the prefatory memoirs of shelley and of keats, and especially, at p. &c., a transcript of the criticism. . . _the agitation thus originated ended in the rupture of a blood vessel in the lungs._ see pp. and , the _quarterly_ critique was published in september , and the first rupture of a blood-vessel occurred in february . whether the mortification felt by keats at the critique was small (as is now generally opined) or great (as shelley thought), it cannot reasonably be propounded that this caused, or resulted in, the rupture of the pulmonary blood-vessel. keats belonged to a consumptive family; his mother died of consumption, and also his younger brother: and the preliminaries of his mortal illness (even if we do not date them farther back, for which some reason appears) began towards the middle of july , when, in very rough walking in the island of mull, he caught a severe and persistent attack of sore throat. . . _the succeeding acknowledgments, from more candid critics, of the true greatness of his powers._ the notice here principally referred to is probably that which appeared in the _edinburgh review_ in august , written by lord jeffrey. . . _whether the poisoned shaft lights on a heart made callous by many blows._ shelley, in this expression, has no doubt himself in view. he had had serious reason for complaining of the treatment meted out to him by the _quarterly review_: see the opening (partially cited at p. ) of his draft-letter to the editor. . . _one of their associates is, to my knowledge, a most base and unprincipled calumniator._ shelley here refers to the writer of the critique in the _quarterly review_ of his poem _laon and cythna (the revolt of islam)_. at first he supposed the writer to be southey; afterwards, the rev. mr. (dean) milman. his indignant phrase is therefore levelled at milman. but shelley was mistaken, for the article was in fact written by mr. (afterwards judge) coleridge. . . _those who had celebrated with various degrees of complacency and panegyric_ paris, _and_ woman, _and_ a syrian tale, _and mrs. lefanu, and mr. barrett, and mr. howard payne._ i presume that most readers of the present day are in the same position as i was myself--that of knowing nothing about these performances and their authors. in order to understand shelley's allusion, i looked up the _quarterly review_ from april to april , and have ascertained as follows, ( ) the _quarterly_ of april contains a notice of _paris in , a poem_. the author's name is not given, nor do i know it. the poem, numbering about a thousand lines, is in the spenserian stanza, varied by the heroic metre, and perhaps by some other rhythms. numerous extracts are given, sufficient to show that the poem is at any rate a creditable piece of writing. some of the critical dicta are the following:--'the work of a powerful and poetic imagination.... the subject of the poem is a desultory walk through paris, in which the author observes, with very little regularity but--with great force, on the different objects which present themselves.... sketching with the hand of a master.... in a strain of poetry and pathos which we have seldom seen equalled.... an admirable mirable poet.' ( ) _woman_ is a poem by the mr. barrett whom shelley names, termed on the title-page 'the author of _the heroine._' it was noticed in the _quarterly_ for april , the very same number which contained the sneering critique of _endymion_. this poem is written in the heroic metre; and the extracts given do certainly comprise some telling and felicitous lines. such are-- 'the beautiful rebuke that looks surprise. the gentle vengeance of averted eyes;' also (a line which has borne, and may yet bear, frequent re-quoting) 'last at his cross, and earliest at his grave.' for critical utterances we have the ensuing:--'a strain of patriotism pure, ardent, and even sublime.... versification combining conciseness and strength with a considerable degree of harmony.... both talent and genius.... some passages of it, and those not a few, are of the first order of the pathetic and descriptive.' ( ) _a syrian tale._ of this book i have failed to find any trace in the _quarterly review_, or in the catalogue of the british museum. ( ) mrs. lefanu. neither can i trace this lady in the _quarterly_. mrs. alicia lefanu, who is stated to have been a sister of richard brinsley sheridan, and also her daughter, miss alicia lefanu, published books during the lifetime of shelley. the former printed _the flowers, a fairy tale_, , and _the sons of erin, a comedy_, . to the latter various works are assigned, such as _rosard's chain, a poem_. ( ) mr. john howard payne was author of _brutus, or the fall of tarquin, an historical tragedy_, criticized in the _quarterly_ for april, . i cannot understand why shelley should have supposed this criticism to be laudatory: it is in fact unmixed censure. as thus:--'he appears to us to have no one quality which we should require in a tragic poet.... we cannot find in the whole play a single character finely conceived or rightly sustained, a single incident well managed, a single speech--nay a single sentence--of good poetry.' it is true that the same article which reviews payne's _brutus_ notices also, and with more indulgence, sheil's _evadne_: possibly shelley glanced at the article very cursorily, and fancied that any eulogistic phrases which he found in it applied to payne. . . _a parallel between the rev. mr. milman and lord byron._ i have not succeeded in finding this parallel. the _quarterly_ _review_ for july contains a critique of milman's poem, _samor, lord of the bright city_; and the number for may , a critique of milman's _fall of jerusalem_. neither of these notices draws any parallel such as shelley speaks of. . . _what gnat did they strain at here_. the word 'here' will be perceived to mean 'in _endymion_,' or 'in reference to _endymion_'; but it is rather far separated from its right antecedent. . . _the circumstances of the closing scene of poor keats's life were not made known to me until the elegy was ready for the press_. see p. . . . _the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from the stage of life, no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise of his genius than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his care_. this statement of shelley is certainly founded upon a passage in the letter (see p. ) addressed by colonel finch to mr. gisborne. colonel finch said that keats had reached italy, 'nursing a deeply rooted disgust to life and to the world, owing to having been infamously treated by the very persons whom his generosity had rescued from want and woe.' the colonel's statement seems (as i have previously intimated) to be rather haphazard; and shelley's recast of it goes to a further extreme. . . _'almost risked his own life'_ &c. the substance of the words in inverted commas is contained in colonel finch's letter, but shelley does not cite verbatim. * * * * * +stanza ,+ . . _i weep for adonais--he is dead._ modelled on the opening of bion's elegy for adonis. see p. . . . _the frost which binds so dear a head_: sc. the frost of death. . , . _and thou, sad hour,... rouse thy obscure compeers._ the compeers are clearly the other hours. why they should be termed 'obscure' is not quite manifest. perhaps shelley means that the weal or woe attaching to these hours is obscure or uncertain; or perhaps that they are comparatively obscure, undistinguished, as not being marked by any such conspicuous event as the death of adonais. . , . _his fate and fame shall be an echo and a light unto eternity._ by 'eternity' we may here understand, not absolute eternity as contradistinguished from time, but an indefinite space of time, the years and the centuries. his fate and fame shall be echoed on from age to age, and shall be a light thereto. +stanza ,+ . . _where wert thou, mighty mother._ aphrodite urania. see pp. , . shelley constantly uses the form 'wert' instead of 'wast.' this phrase may be modelled upon two lines near the opening of milton's _lycidas_-- 'where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless deep closed o'er the head of your loved lycidas?' . . _the shaft which flies in darkness._ as adonis was mortally wounded by a boar's tusk, so (it is here represented) was adonais slain by an insidiously or murderously launched dart: see p. . the allusion is to the truculent attack made upon keats by the _quarterly review_. it is true that 'the shaft which flies in darkness' might be understood in merely a general sense, as the mysterious and unforeseen arrow of death: but i think it clear that shelley used the phrase in a more special sense. . . _with veiled eyes_, &c. urania is represented as seated in her paradise (pleasure-ground, garden-bower), with veiled eyes-- downward-lidded, as in slumber: an echo chaunts or recites the 'melodies,' or poems, which adonais had composed while death was rapidly advancing towards him: urania is surrounded by other echoes, who hearken, and repeat the strain. a hostile reviewer might have been expected to indulge in one of the most familiar of cheap jokes, and to say that urania had naturally fallen asleep over keats's poems: but i am not aware that any critic of _adonais_ did actually say this. the phrase, 'one with soft enamoured breath,' means 'one of the echoes'; this is shown in stanza , 'all the echoes whom _their sister's song_.' +stanza ,+ . , . _for he is gone where all things wise and fair descend._ founded on bion (p. ), 'persephone,... all lovely things drift down to thee.' . , _the amorous deep._ the depth of earth, or region of the dead; amorous, because, having once obtained possession of adonais, it retains him in a close embrace, and will not restore him to the land of the living. this passage has a certain analogy to that of bion (p. ), 'not that he is loth to hear, but that the maiden of hades will not let him go.' +stanza ,+ . . _most musical of mourners._ this phrase, applying to urania, is one of those which might seem to favour the assumption that the deity here spoken of is the muse urania, and not aphrodite urania, but on this point see pp. to . . . _weep again._ the poem seems to indicate that urania, slumbering, is not yet aware of the death of adonais. therefore she cannot as yet have wept for his death: but she may have wept in anticipation that he would shortly die, and thus can be now adjured to 'weep _again_.' (see also p. .) . . _he died._ milton. . . _when his country's pride,_ &c. construe: when the priest, the slave, and the liberticide, trampled his country's pride, and mocked [it] with many a loathèd rite of lust and blood. this of course refers to the condition of public affairs and of court-life in the reign of charles ii. the inversion in this passage is not a very serious one, although, for the sense, slightly embarrassing. occasionally shelley conceded to himself great latitude in inversion: as for instance in the _revolt of islam_, canto , st. , 'and the swift boat the little waves which bore were cut by its keen keel, though slantingly,' which means 'and the little waves, which bore the swift boat, were cut,' &c.; also in the _ode to naples_, strophe , 'florence, beneath the sun, of cities fairest one, blushes within her bower for freedom's expectation.' . . _his clear sprite._ to substitute the word 'sprite' for 'spirit,' in an elevated passage referring to milton, appears to me one of the least tolerable instances of make-rhyme in the whole range of english poetry. 'sprite' is a trivial and distorted misformation of 'spirit'; and can only, i apprehend, be used with some propriety (at any rate, in modern poetry) in a more or less bantering sense. the tricksy elf puck may be a sprite, or even the fantastic creation ariel; but neither milton's satan nor milton's ithuriel, nor surely milton himself, could possibly be a sprite, while the limits of language and of common sense are observed. . . _the third among the sons of light._ at first sight this phrase might seem to mean 'the third-greatest poet of the world': in which case one might suppose homer and shakespear to be ranked as the first and second. but it may be regarded as tolerably clear that shelley is here thinking only of _epic_ poets; and that he ranges the epic poets according to a criterion of his own, which is thus expressed in his _defence of poetry_ (written in the same year as _adonais_, ): 'homer was the first and dante the second epic poet; that is, the second poet the series of whose creations bore a defined and intelligible relation to the knowledge and sentiment and religion of the age in which he lived, and of the ages which followed it--developing itself in correspondence with their development....milton was the third epic poet.' the poets whom shelley admired most were probably homer, aeschylus, sophocles, lucretius, dante, shakespear, and milton; he took high delight in the _book of job_, and presumably in some other poetical books of the old testament; calderon also he prized greatly; and in his own time goethe, byron, and (on some grounds) wordsworth and coleridge. +stanza ,+ . . _not all to that bright station dared to climb._ the conception embodied in the diction of this stanza is not quite so clear as might be wished. the first statement seems to amount to this--that some poets, true poets though they were, did not aspire so high, nor were capable of reaching so high, as homer, dante, and milton, the typical epic poets. a statement so obviously true that it hardly extends, in itself, beyond a truism. but it must be read as introductory to what follows. . . _and happier they their happiness who knew._ clearly a recast of the phrase of vergil, 'o fortunati nimium sua si bona nôrint agricolae.' but vergil speaks of men who did not adequately appreciate their own happiness; shelley (apparently) of others who did so. he seems to intimate that the poetical temperament is a happy one, in the case of those poets who, unconcerned with the greatest ideas and the most arduous schemes of work, pour forth their 'native wood-notes wild.' i think it possible however that shelley intended, his phrase to be accepted with the same meaning as vergil's--'happier they, supposing they had known their happiness.' in that case, the only reason implied why these minor poets were the happier is that their works have endured the longer. . , . _whose tapers yet burn through that night of time in which suns perished._ shelley here appears to say that the minor poets have left works which survive, while some of the works of the very greatest poets have disappeared: as, for instance, his own lyrical models in _adonais_, bion and moschus, are still known by their writings, while many of the master-pieces of aeschylus and sophocles are lost. some _tapers_ continue to burn; while some _suns_ have perished. . - . _others more sublime, struck by the envious wrath of man or god, have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime._ these others include keats (adonais) himself, to whom the phrase, 'struck by the envious wrath of man,' may be understood as more peculiarly appropriated. and generally the 'others' may be regarded as nearly identical with 'the inheritors of unfulfilled renown' who appear (some of them pointed out by name) in stanza . the word god is printed in the pisan edition with a capital letter: it may be questioned whether shelley meant to indicate anything more definite than 'some higher power--fate.' . , . _and some yet live, treading the thorny road which leads, through toil and hate, to fame's serene abode._ byron must be supposed to be the foremost among these; also wordsworth and coleridge; and doubtless shelley himself should not he omitted. +stanza ,+ . . _the nursling of thy widowhood._ as to this expression see p. . i was there speaking only of the muse urania; but the observations are equally applicable to aphrodite urania, and i am unable to carry the argument any further. . , . _like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished, and fed with true love tears instead of dew._ it seems sufficiently clear that shelley is here glancing at a leading incident in keats's poem of _isabella, or the pot of basil_, founded upon a story in boccaccio's _decameron_. isabella unburies her murdered lover lorenzo; preserves his head in a pot of basil; and (as expressed in st. of the poem) 'hung over her sweet basil evermore, and moistened it with tears unto the core.' i give shelley's words 'true love tears' as they appear in the pisan edition: 'true-love tears' might be preferable. . . _the broken lily lies--the storm is overpast._ as much as to say: the storm came, and shattered the lily; the storm has now passed away, but the lily will never revive. +stanza ,+ . i. _to that high capital where kingly death_, &c. the capital is rome (where keats died). death is figured as the king of rome, who there 'keeps his pale court in beauty and decay,'--amid the beauties of nature and art, and amid the decay of monuments and institutions. . , . _and bought, with price of purest breath, a grave among the eternal._ keats, dying in rome, secured sepulture among the many illustrious persons who are there buried. this seems to be the only meaning of 'the eternal' in the present passage: the term does not directly imply (what is sufficiently enforced elsewhere) keats's own poetic immortality. . . _come away!_ this call is addressed in fancy to any persons present in the chamber of death. they remain indefinite both to the poet and to the reader. the conclusion of the stanza, worded with great beauty and delicacy, amounts substantially to saying--'take your last look of the dead adonais while he may still seem to the eye to be rather sleeping than dead.' . . _he lies as if in dewy sleep he lay._ see bion (p. ), 'beautiful in death, as one that hath fallen on sleep.' the term 'dewy sleep' means probably 'sleep which refreshes the body as nightly dew refreshes the fields.' this phrase is followed by the kindred expression 'liquid rest.' +stanza ,+ . . _the shadow of white death_, &c. the use of 'his' and 'her' in this stanza is not wholly free from ambiguity. in st. death was a male impersonation--'kingly death' who 'keeps his pale court.' it may be assumed that he is the same in the present stanza. corruption, on the other hand, is a female impersonation: she (not death) must be the same as 'the eternal hunger,' as to whom it is said that 'pity and awe soothe _her_ pale rage.' premising this, we read:--'within the twilight chamber spreads apace the shadow of white death, and at the door invisible corruption waits to trace his [adonais's] extreme way to her [corruption's] dim dwelling-place; the eternal hunger [corruption] sits [at the door], but pity and awe soothe her pale rage, nor dares she,' &c. the unwonted phrase 'his extreme way' seems to differ in meaning little if at all from the very ordinary term 'his last journey.' the statement in this stanza therefore is that corruption does not assail adonais lying on his deathbed; but will shortly follow his remains to the grave, the dim [obscure, lightless] abode of corruption itself. . , . _till darkness and the law of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw._ until the darkness of the grave and the universal law of change and dissolution shall draw the curtain of death over his sleep--shall prove his apparent sleep to be veritable death. the prolonged interchange in _adonais_ between the ideas of death and of sleep may remind us that shelley opened with a similar contrast or approximation his first considerable (though in part immature) poem _queen mab_-- 'how wonderful is death,-- death, and his brother sleep!' &c. the mind may also revert to the noble passage in byron's _giaour_-- 'he who hath bent him o'er the dead ere the first day of death is fled,' &c.-- though the idea of actual sleep is not raised in this admirably beautiful and admirably realistic description. perhaps the poem, of all others, in which the conception of death is associated with that of sleep with the most poignant pathos, is that of edgar poe entitled _for annie_-- 'thank heaven, the crisis, the danger, is past, and the lingering illness is over at last, and the fever called living is conquered at last,' &c.-- where real death is spoken of throughout, in a series of exquisite and thrilling images, as being real sleep. in shelley's own edition of _adonais_, the lines which we are now considering are essentially different. they run 'till darkness and the law of mortal change shall fill the grave which is her maw.' this is comparatively poor and rude. the change to the present reading was introduced by mrs. shelley in her edition of shelley's poems in . she gives no information as to her authority: but there can be no doubt that at some time or other shelley himself made the improvement. see p. . +stanza ,+ . i. _the quick dreams._ with these words begins a passage of some length, which is closely modelled upon the passage of bion (p. ), 'and around him the loves are weeping,' &c.: modelled upon it, and also systematically transposed from it. the transposition goes on the same lines as that of adonis into adonais, and of the cyprian into the uranian aphrodite; i.e. the personal or fleshly loves are spiritualized into dreams (musings, reveries, conceptions) and other faculties or emotions of the mind. it is to be observed, moreover, that the trance of adonis attended by cupids forms an incident in keats's own poem of _endymion_, book ii-- 'for on a silken couch of rosy pride, in midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth of fondest beauty; fonder, in fair sooth, than sighs could fathom or contentment reach. * * * * * ... hard by stood serene cupids, watching silently. one, kneeling to a lyre, touched the strings, muffling to death the pathos with his wings, and ever and anon uprose to look at the youth's slumber; while another took a willow-bough distilling odorous dew, and shoot it on his hair; another flew in through the woven roof, and fluttering-wise rained violets upon his sleeping eyes.' . . _the passion-winged ministers of thought._ the 'dreams' are here defined as being thoughts (or ministers of thought) winged with passion; not mere abstract cogitations, but thoughts warm with the heart's blood, emotional conceptions--such thoughts as subserve the purposes of poetry, and enter into its structure: in a word, poetic thoughts. . . _who were his flocks_, &c. these dreams were in fact the very thoughts of adonais, as conveyed in his poems. he being dead, they cannot assume new forms of beauty in any future poems, and cannot be thus diffused from mind to mind, but they remain mourning round their deceased herdsman, or master. it is possible that this image of a flock and a herdsman is consequent upon the phrase in the elegy of moschus for bion--'bion the herdsman is dead' (p. ). +stanza ,+ . . _and fans him with her moonlight wings._ see bion (p. ), 'and another, from behind him, with his wings is fanning adonis.' the epithet 'moonlight' may indicate either delicacy of colour, or faint luminosity--rather the latter, . . _a tear some dream has loosened from his brain._ i follow shelley's edition in printing dream with a capital letter. i do not however think this helpful to the right sense. the capitalized dream might appear to be one of those impersonated dreams to whom these stanzas relate: but in the present line the word 'dream' would be more naturally construed as meaning simply 'thought, mental conception.' . . _lost angel of a ruined paradise._ the ruined paradise is the mind, now torpid in death, of adonais. the 'dream' which has been speaking is a lost angel of this paradise, in the sense of being a messenger or denizen of the mind of adonais, incapacitated for exercising any further action: indeed, the dream forthwith fades, and is for ever extinct. . . _with no stain._ leaving no trace behind. the rhyme has entailed the use of the word 'stain,' which is otherwise a little arbitrary in this connexion. . . _she faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain._ a rain-cloud which has fully discharged its rain would no longer constitute a cloud--it would be dispersed and gone. the image is therefore a very exact one for the dream which, having accomplished its function and its life, now ceases to be. there appears to be a further parallel intended--between the dream whose existence closes in a _tear_, and the rain-cloud which has discharged its _rain_: this is of less moment, and verges upon a conceit. this passage in _adonais_ is not without some analogy to one in keats's _endymion_ (quoted on p. )-- 'therein a melancholy spirit well might win oblivion, and melt out his essence fine into the winds.' stanza + . , . _one from a lucid urn of starry dew washed his light limbs, as if embalming them._ see the passage from bion (p. ), 'one in a golden vessel bears water, and another laves the wound.' the expression 'starry dew' is rather peculiar: the dew may originally have 'starred' the grass, but, when collected into an urn, it must have lost this property: perhaps we should rather understand, nocturnal dew upon which the stars had been shining. it is difficult to see how the act of washing the limbs could simulate the process of embalming. . . _another clipt her profuse locks._ see bion (p. ), 'clipping their locks for adonis.' 'profuse' is here accented on the first syllable; although indeed the line can be read with the accent, as is usual, on the second syllable. . - . _and threw the wreath upon him like an anadem which frozen tears instead of pearls begem._ the wreath is the lock of hair--perhaps a plait or curl, for otherwise the term wreath is rather wide of the mark. the idea that the tears shed by this dream herself (or perhaps other dreams) upon the lock are 'frozen,' and thus stand in lieu of pearls upon an anadem or circlet, seems strained, and indeed incongruous: one might wish it away. . , . _another in her wilful grief would break her bow and wingèd reeds._ follows bion closely--'and one upon his shafts, another on his bow, is treading' (p. ). this is perfectly appropriate for the loves, or cupids: not equally so for the dreams, for it is not so apparent what concern they have with bows and arrows. these may however be 'winged thoughts' or 'winged words'--[greek: epea pteroenta]. mr. andrew lang observes (introduction to his theocritus volume), 'in one or other of the sixteen pompeian pictures of venus and adonis, the loves are breaking their bows and arrows for grief, as in the hymn of bion.' . , . _as if to stem a greater loss with one which was more weak._ 'to stem a loss' is a very lax phrase--and more especially 'to stem a loss with another loss.' 'to stem a torrent--or, the current of a river,' is a well-known expression, indicating one sort of material force in opposition to another. hence we come to the figurative expression, 'to stem the torrent of his grief,' &c. shelley seems to have yielded to a certain analogy in the sentiment, and also to the convenience of a rhyme, and thus to have permitted himself a phrase which is neither english nor consistent with sense. line seems to me extremely feeble throughout. . . _and dull the barbèd fire against his frozen cheek._ the construction runs--'another would break, &c., and [would] dull, &c.' the term 'the barbèd fire' represents of course 'the winged reeds,' or arrows: actual reeds or arrows are now transmuted into flame-tipped arrows (conformable to the spiritual or immaterial quality of the dreams): the fire is to be quenched against the frost of the death-cold cheek of adonais. 'frozen tears--frozen cheek:' shelley would scarcely, i apprehend, have allowed this repetition, but for some inadvertence. i am free to acknowledge that i think the whole of this stanza bad. its _raison d'être_ is a figurative but perfectly appropriate and straightforward passage in bion: shelley has attempted to turn that into a still more figurative passage suitable for _adonais_, with a result anything but happy. he fails to make it either straightforward or appropriate, and declines into the super-subtle or wiredrawn. +stanza ,+ . . _another splendour._ another luminous dream. . . _that mouth whence it was wont to draw the breath,_ &c. adonais (keats), as a poet, is here figured as if he were a singer; consequently we are referred to his 'mouth' as the vehicle of his thoughts or poetic imaginings--not to his hand which recorded them. . . _to pierce the guarded wit._ to obtain entry into the otherwise unready minds of others--the hearers (or readers) of the poet. . , . _the damp death quenched its caress upon his icy lips._ this phrase is not very clear. i understand it to mean--the damps of death [upon the visage of adonais] quenched the caress of the splendour [or dream] imprinted on his icy lips. it might however be contended that the term 'the damp death' is used as an energetic synonym for the 'splendour' itself. in this case the sense of the whole passage may be amplified thus: the splendour, in imprinting its caress upon the icy lips of adonais, had its caress quenched by the cold, and was itself converted into dampness and deathliness: it was no longer a luminous splendour, but a vaporous and clammy form of death. the assumption that 'the damp death' stands as a synonym for the 'splendour' obtains some confirmation from the succeeding phrase about the '_dying_ meteor'--for this certainly seems used as a simile for the 'splendour.' . . _'and, as a dying meteor,'_ &c. the dying meteor, in this simile, must represent the splendour; the wreath of moonlight vapour stands for the pale limbs of adonais; the cold night may in a general way symbolize the night of death. . . _it flushed through his pale limbs, and passed to its eclipse._ the splendour flushed through the limbs of adonais, and so became eclipsed,--faded into nothingness. this terminates the episode of the 'quick dreams,' beginning with stanza . +stanza ,+ . . _and others came,--desires and adorations,_ &c. this passage is the first in which shelley has direct recourse, no longer to the elegy of bion for adonis, but to the elegy of moschus for bion. as he had spiritualized the impersonations of bion, so he now spiritualizes those of moschus. the sicilian lyrist gives us (see p. ) apollo, satyrs, priapi, panes, and fountain-fairies. shelley gives us desires, adorations, persuasions, destinies, splendours, glooms, hopes, fears, phantasies, sorrow, sighs, and pleasure. all these 'lament adonais' (stanza ): they are such emotional or abstract beings as 'he had loved, and moulded into thought from shape and hue and odour and sweet sound.' the adjectival epithets are worth noting for their poetic felicity: wingèd persuasions (again hinting at [greek: epea pteroenta]), veiled destinies, glimmering hopes and fears, twilight phantasies. . . _and pleasure, blind with tears_, &c. the rev. stopford brooke, in an eloquent lecture delivered to the shelley society in june, , dwelt at some length upon the singular mythopoeic gift of the poet. these two lines are an instance in point, of a very condensed kind. pleasure, heart-struck at the death of adonais, has abrogated her own nature, and has become blinded with tears; her eyes can therefore serve no longer to guide her steps. her smile too is dying, but not yet dead; it emits a faint gleam which, in default of eyes, serves to distinguish the path. if one regards this as a mere image, it may be allowed to approach close to a conceit; but it suggests a series of incidents and figurative details which may rather count as a compendious myth. . . _came in slow pomp:--the moving pomp might seem._ the repetition of the word 'pomp' gives a certain poverty to the sound of this line; it can hardly, i think, have been deliberately intended. in other respects this stanza is one of the most melodious in the poem. +stanza +, . , . _morning sought her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound_, &c. whether shelley wished the reader to attribute any distinct naturalistic meaning to the 'hair' of morning is a question which may admit of some doubt. if he did so, the 'hair unbound' is probably to be regarded as streaks of rain-cloud; these cloudlets ought to fertilize the soil with their moisture; but, instead of that, they merely dim the eyes of morning, and dull the beginnings of day. in this instance, and in many other instances ensuing, shelley represents natural powers or natural objects--morning, echo, flowers, &c.--as suffering some interruption or decay of essence or function, in sympathy with the stroke which has cut short the life of adonais. it need hardly be said that, in doing this, he only follows a host of predecessors. he follows, for example, his special models bion and moschus. they probably followed earlier models; but i have failed in attempting to trace how far back beyond them this scheme of symbolism may have extended; something of it can be found in theocritus. the legend--doubtless a very ancient one--that the sisters of phaeton wept amber for his fall belongs to the same order of ideas (as a learned friend suggests to me). . . _pale ocean_. as not only the real keats, but also the figurative adonais, died in rome, the ocean cannot be a feature in the immediate scene; it lies in the not very remote distance, felt rather than visible to sight. of course too, ocean (as well as thunder and winds) is personated in this passage; he is a cosmic deity, lying pale in unquiet slumber. +stanza +, . . _lost echo sits_, &c. echo is introduced into both the grecian elegies, that of moschus as well as that of bion. bion (p. ) simply says that 'echo resounds, "adonis dead!"' but moschus (p. ), whom shelley substantially follows, sets forth that 'echo in the rocks laments that thou [bion] art silent, and no more she mimics thy voice'; also, 'echo, among the reeds, doth still feed upon thy songs.' it will be observed that in this stanza echo is a single personage--the nymph known to mythological fable: but in stanza we had various 'echoes,' spirits of minor account, who, in the paradise of urania, were occupied with the poems of adonais. . - . _his lips, more dear than those for whose disdain she pined away into a shadow of all sounds._ echo is, in mythology, a nymph who was in love with narcissus. he, being enamoured of his own beautiful countenance, paid no heed to echo, who consequently 'pined away into a shadow of all sounds.' in this expression one may discern a delicate double meaning. ( ) echo pined away into (as the accustomed phrase goes) 'a mere shadow of her former self.' ( ) just as a solid body, lighted by the sun, casts, as a necessary concomitant, a shadow of itself, so a sound, emitted under the requisite conditions, casts an echo of itself; echo is, in relation to sound, the same sort of thing as shadow in relation to substance. . , . _a drear murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear._ echo will not now repeat the songs of the woodmen; she merely murmurs some snatches of the 'remembered lay' of adonais. +stanza +, . . _grief made the young spring wild._ this introduction of spring may be taken as implying that shelley supposed keats to have died in the spring: but in fact he died in the winter-- february. as to this point see pp. and . . - . _and she threw down her kindling buds, as if she autumn were, or they dead leaves._ this corresponds to a certain extent with the phrases in bion, 'the flowers are withered up with grief,' and 'yea all the flowers are faded' (p. ); and in moschus, 'and in sorrow for thy fall the trees cast down their fruit, and all the flowers have faded' (p. ). it may be worth observing that shelley says--'as if she autumn were, _or_ they dead leaves' (not '_and_ they dead leaves'). he therefore seems to present the act of spring from two separate points of view: ( ) she threw down the buds, as if she had been autumn, whose office it is to throw down, and not to cherish and develope; ( ) she threw down the buds as if they had been, not buds of the nascent year, but such dead leaves of the olden year as still linger on the spray when spring arrives, . . _for whom should she have waked the sullen year?_ the year, beginning on january, may in a certain sense be conceived as sleeping until roused by the call of spring. but more probably shelley here treats the year as beginning on march--which date would witness its awakening, and practically its first existence. . - . _to phoebus was not hyacinth so dear, nor to himself narcissus, as to both thou, adonais; wan they stand and sere_, &c. this passage assimilates two sections in the elegy of moschus, p. : 'now, thou hyacinth, whisper the letters on thee graven, and add a deeper ai ai to thy petals: he is dead, the beautiful singer.... nor so much did pleasant lesbos mourn for alcaeus,' &c. the passage of shelley is rather complicated in its significance, because it mixes up the personages hyacinthus and narcissus with the flowers hyacinth and narcissus. the beautiful youth hyacinthus was dear to phoebus; on his untimely death (he was slain by a quoit which phoebus threw, and which the jealous zephyrus blew aside so that it struck hyacinthus on the head), the god changed his blood into the flower hyacinth, which bears markings interpreted by the grecian fancy into the lettering [greek: ai ai] (alas, alas!). the beautiful youth narcissus, contemplating himself in a streamlet, became enamoured of his own face; and pining away, was converted into the flower narcissus. this accounts for the lines, 'to phoebus was not hyacinth so dear, nor to himself narcissus.' but, when we come to the sequence, 'as to both thou, adonais.' we have to do, no longer with the youths hyacinthus and narcissus, but with the flowers hyacinth and narcissus: it is the flowers which (according to shelley) loved adonais better than the youths were loved, the one by phoebus and the other by himself. these flowers--being some of the kindling buds which spring had thrown down--stand 'wan and sere.' (this last point is rather the reverse of a phrase in bion's elegy, p. , 'the flowers flush red for anguish.') it may perhaps be held that the transition from the youths to the flowers, and from the emotions of phoebus and of narcissus to those assigned to the flowers, is not very happily managed by shelley: it is artificial, and not free from confusion. as to the hyacinth, the reader will readily perceive that a flower which bears markings read off into [greek: ai ai] (or [greek: ai ai] seems more correct) cannot be the same which we now call hyacinth. ovid says that in form the hyacinth resembles a lily, and that its colour is 'purpureus,' or deep red. john martyn, who published in _the georgicks of virgil with an english translation_, has an elaborate note on the subject. he concludes thus: 'i am pretty well satisfied that the flower celebrated by the poets is what we now are acquainted with under the name 'lilium floribus reflexis,' or martagon, and perhaps may be that very species which we call imperial martagon. the flowers of most sorts of martagons have many spots of a deeper colour: and sometimes i have seen these spots run together in such a manner as to form the letters ai in several places.' shelley refers to the hyacinth in another passage (_prometheus unbound_, act , sc. ) which seems to indicate that he regarded the antique hyacinth as being the same as the modern hyacinth,-- 'as the _blue bells_ of hyacinth tell apollo's written grief.' . . _amid the faint companions of their youth._ in shelley's edition the words are 'amid the drooping comrades,' &c. the change was made under the same circumstances as noted on p. . whether it is a change for the better may admit of some question. the faint companions of the youth of the hyacinth and the narcissus must be other flowers, such as spring had thrown down. . . _with dew all turned to tears,--odour, to sighing ruth._ the dew upon the hyacinth and narcissus is converted into tears: they exhale sighs, instead of fragrance. all this is in rather a _falsetto_ tone. it has some resemblance to the more simple and touching phrase in the elegy by moschus (p. ): 'ye flowers, now in sad clusters breathe yourselves away.' +stanza +, . . _thy spirits sister, the lorn nightingale, mourns not her mate_, &c. the reason for calling the nightingale the sister of the spirit of keats (adonais) does not perhaps go beyond this--that, as the nightingale is a supreme songster among birds, so was keats a supreme songster among men. it is possible however--and one willingly supposes so--that shelley singled out the nightingale for mention, in recognition of the consummate beauty of keats's _ode to the nightingale_, published in the same volume with _hyperion_. the epithet 'lorn' may also be noted in the same connexion; as keats's ode terminates with a celebrated passage in which 'forlorn' is the leading word (but not as an epithet for the nightingale itself)-- 'forlorn!--the very word is as a knell,' &c. the nightingale is also introduced into the elegy of moschus for bion; 'ye nightingales that lament,' &c. (p. ), and 'nor ever sang so sweet the nightingale on the cliffs.' poets are fond of speaking of the nightingale as being the hen-bird, and shelley follows this precedent. it is a fallacy, for the songster is always the cock-bird. . . _not so the eagle_, &c. the general statement in these lines is that albion wails for the death of keats more melodiously than the nightingale mourning for her lost mate, and more passionately than the eagle robbed of her young. this statement has proved true enough in the long run: when shelley wrote, it was only prospectively or potentially true, for the death of keats excited no immediate widespread concern in england. it should be observed that, by introducing albion as a figurative personage in his elegy, shelley disregards his emblematic grecian youth adonais, and goes straight to the actual englishman keats. this passage, taken as a whole, is related to that of moschus (p. ) regarding the nightingale, the sea-bird, and the bird of memnon; see also the passage, 'and not for sappho, but still for thee,' &c. . , . _could nourish in the sun's domain her mighty youth with morning._ this phrase seems to have some analogy to that of milton in his _areopagitica_: 'methinks i see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep and shaking her invincible locks. methinks i see her as an eagle muing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam--purging and unsealing her long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance.' . , . _the curse of cain light on his head_, &c. an imprecation against the critic of keats's _endymion_ in the _quarterly review_: see especially p. , &c. the curse of cain was that he should be 'a fugitive and a vagabond,' as well as unsuccessful in tilling the soil. shelley probably pays no attention to these details, but simply means 'the curse of murder.' +stanza ,+ . , . _ah woe is me! winter is come and gone, but grief returns with the revolving year_, &c. see the passage in moschus (p. ): 'ah me! when the mallows wither,' &c. the phrase in bion has also a certain but restricted analogy to this stanza: 'thou must again bewail him, again must weep for him another year' (p. ). as to the phrase 'winter is come and gone,' see the note (p. ) on 'grief made the young spring wild.' . . _fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead seasons' bier._ this phrase is barely consistent with the statement (st. ) as to spring throwing down her kindling buds. perhaps, moreover, it was an error of print to give 'seasons' in the plural: 'season's' (meaning winter) would seem more accurate. a somewhat similar idea is conveyed in one of shelley's lyrics, _autumn, a dirge_, written in :-- 'and the year on the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, is lying.' . . _brere._ an antiquated form of the word briar. . . _like unimprisoned flames._ flames which, after being pent up within some substance or space, finally find a vent. +stanza ,+ . . _a quickening life_, &c. the present stanza is generally descriptive of the effects of springtime upon the earth. this reawakening of nature (shelley says) has always taken place, in annual recurrence, since 'the great morning of the world when first god dawned on chaos.' this last expression must be construed with a certain latitude. the change from an imagined chaos into a divinely-ordered cosmos is not necessarily coincident with the interchange of seasons, and especially the transition from winter to spring, upon the planet earth. all that can be safely propounded on such a subject is that the sequence of seasons is a constant and infallible phenomenon of nature in that condition of our planet with which alone we have, or can have, any acquaintance. . . _in its steam immersed_: i.e. in the steam--or vapour or exhalation--of the 'quickening life.' +stanza ,+ . , . _the leprous corpse, touched by this spirit tender, exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath._ 'this spirit tender' is the 'quickening life' of the renascent year; or briefly the spring. by 'the leprous corpse' shelley may mean, not the corpse of an actual leper, but any corpse in a loathsome state of decay. even so abhorrent an object avails to fertilize the soil, and thus promotes the growth of odorous flowers. . . _like incarnations of the stars_, &c. these flowers--star-like blossoms--illumine death and the grave: the light which would belong to them as stars is converted into the fragrance proper to them as flowers. this image is rather confused, and i think rather stilted: moreover, 'incarnation' (or embodiment in _flesh_) is hardly the right word for the vegetative nature of flowers. as forms of life, the flowers mock or deride the grave-worm which battens or makes merry on corruption. the appropriateness of the term 'merry worm' seems very disputable. . . _nought we know dies._ this affirmation springs directly out of the consideration just presented to us--that even the leprous corpse does not, through various stages of decay, pass into absolute nothingness: on the contrary, its constituents take new forms, and subserve a re-growth of life, as in the flowers which bedeck the grave. from this single and impressive instance the poet passes to the general and unfailing law--no material object of which we have cognizance really dies: all such objects are in a perpetual cycle of change. this conception has been finely developed in a brace of early poems of lord tennyson, _all things will die_, and _nothing will die_:-- 'the stream will cease to flow, the wind will cease to blow, the clouds will cease to fleet, the heart will cease to beat-- for all things must die. * * * * * 'the stream flows, the wind blows, the cloud fleets, the heart beats, nothing will die. nothing will die; all things will change through eternity.' . - . _shall that alone which knows be as a sword consumed before the sheath by sightless lightning?_ from the axiom 'nought we know dies'--an axiom which should be understood as limited to what we call material objects (which shelley however considered to be indistinguishable, in essence, from ideas, see p, )--he proceeds to the question, 'shall that alone which knows'--i.e. shall the mind alone--die and be annihilated? if the mind were to die, while the body continues extant (not indeed in the form of a human body, but in various phases of ulterior development), then the mind would resemble a sword which, by the action of lightning, is consumed (molten, dissolved) within its sheath, while the sheath itself remains unconsumed. this is put as a question, and shelley does not supply an answer to it here, though the terms in which his enquiry is couched seem intended to suggest a reply to the effect that the mind shall _not_ die. the meaning of the epithet 'sightless,' as applied to lightning, seems disputable. of course the primary sense of this word is 'not-seeing, blind'; but shelley would probably not have scrupled to use it in the sense of 'unseen.' i incline to suppose that shelley means 'unseen'; not so much that the lightning is itself unseen as that its action in fusing the sword, which remains concealed within the sheath, is unseen. but the more obvious sense of 'blind, unregardful,' could also be justified. . , . _th' intense atom glows a moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose._ the term 'th' intense atom' is a synonym for 'that which knows,' or the mind. by death it is 'quenched in a most cold repose': but the repose is not necessarily extinction. +stanza ,+ . , . _alas that all we loved of him should be, but for our grief, as if it had not been._ 'all we loved of him' must be the mind and character--the mental and personal endowments--of adonais: his bodily frame is little or not at all in question here. by these lines therefore shelley seems to intimate that the mind or soul of adonais is indeed now and for ever extinct: it lives no longer save in the grief of the survivors. but it does not follow that this is a final expression of shelley's conviction on the subject: the passage should be read as in context with the whole poem. . , . _great and mean meet massed in death, who lends what life must borrow._ the meaning of the last words is far from clear to me. i think shelley may intend to say that, in this our mortal state, death is the solid and permanent fact; it is rather a world of death than of life. the phenomena of life are but like a transitory loan from the great emporium, death. shelley no doubt wanted a rhyme for 'morrow' and 'sorrow': he has made use of 'borrow' in a compact but not perspicuous phrase. +stanza ,+ . . _'wake thou,' cried misery, 'childless mother!'_ we here return to urania, of whom we had last heard in st. . see the passage translated by shelley from bion (p. ), 'sleep no more, venus:... 'tis misery calls,' &c.; but here the phrase, ''tis misery calls,' is shelley's own. he more than once introduces misery (in the sense of unhappiness, tribulation) as an emblematic personage. there is his lyric named _misery_, written in , which begins-- 'come, be happy,--sit by me, shadow-vested misery: coy, unwilling, silent bride, mourning in thy robe of pride, desolation deified.' there is also the briefer lyric named _death_, , which begins-- 'they die--the dead return not. misery sits near an open grave, and calls them over, a youth with hoary hair and haggard eye.' . , . _'slake in thy hearts core a wound--more fierce than his, with tears and sighs.'_ construe: slake with tears and sighs a wound in thy heart's core--a wound more fierce than his.' see (p. ) the remarks, apposite to st. , upon the use of inversion by shelley. . . _all the dreams that watched urania's eyes._ we had not hitherto heard of 'dreams' in connexion with urania, but only in connexion with adonais himself. these 'dreams that watched urania's eyes' appear to be dreams in the more obvious sense of that word-visions which had haunted the slumbers of urania. . . _swift as a thought by the snake memory stung._ the context suggests that the 'thought' here in question is a grievous thought, and the term 'the snake memory' conveys therefore a corresponding impression of pain. shelley however had not the usual feeling of repulsion or abhorrence for snakes and serpents. various passages could be cited to prove this; more especially canto of _the revolt of islam,_ where the spirit of good is figured under the form of a serpent. . . _front her ambrosial rest the fading splendour sprung._ urania. she is in her own nature a splendour, or celestial deity: at the present moment her brightness is 'fading,' as being overcast by sorrow and dismay. 'her ambrosial rest' does not appear to signify anything more precise than 'her rest, proper to an immortal being.' the forms 'sprung, sung,' &c. are constantly used by shelley instead of 'sprang, sang,' &c. +stanza ,+ . . _had left the earth a corpse._ shelley, in this quasi-greek poem, takes no count of the fact that the sun, when it ceases to illumine one part of the earth, is shining upon another part. he treats the unillumined part as if it were the whole earth--which has hereby become 'a corpse.' +stanza ,+ . , _through camps and cities_, &c. in highly figurative language, this stanza pictures the passage of urania from 'her secret paradise' to the death-chamber of adonais in rome, as if the spiritual essence and external form of the goddess were wounded by the uncongenial atmosphere of human malice and detraction through which she has to pass. the whole description is spiritualized from that of bion (p. ):-- 'wildered, ungirt, unsandalled--the thorns pierce her hastening feet, and drink her sacred blood.' . , . _the invisible palms of her tender feet._ shelley more than once uses 'palms' for 'soles' of the feet. see _prometheus unbound_, act :-- 'our feet now, every palm, are sandalled with calm'; and _the triumph of life_:-- 'as she moved under the mass of the deep cavern, and, with palms so tender their tread broke not the mirror of the billow, glided along the river.' perhaps shelley got this usage from the italian: in that language the web-feet of aquatic birds are termed 'palme.' . , . _whose sacred blood, like the young tears of may, paved with eternal flowers that undeserving way._ the tears of may are rain-drops; young, because the year is not far advanced. 'that undeserving way' seems a very poor expression. see (p. ) the passage from bion: 'a tear the paphian sheds for each blood-drop of adonis, and tears and blood on the earth are turned to flowers.' +stanza ,+ . . _death ... blushed to annihilation._ this very daring hyperbole will hardly bear--nor does it want--manipulation into prose. briefly, the nature of death is to be pallid: therefore death, in blushing, abnegates his very nature, and almost ceases to be death. . , . _the breath revisited those lips_, &c. as death tended towards 'annihilation,' so adonais tended towards revival. . . _'silent lightning.'_ this means, i suppose, lightning unaccompanied by thunder--summer lightning. +stanza ,+ . . _'stay yet awhile.'_ see bion (p. ): 'stay, adonis! stay, dearest one!' . , _'kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live.'_ see as above:-- 'that i may kiss thee now for the last time-- but for as long as one short kiss may live!' . . _'my heartless breast.'_ urania's breast will henceforth be heartless, in the sense that, having bestowed her whole heart upon adonais, she will have none to bestow upon any one else: so i understand the epithet. . . _'that word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive,'_ &c. see bion (p. ): 'this kiss will i treasure,' &c. . - . _'i would give all that i am, to be as thou now art:--but i am chained to time, and cannot thence depart.'_ founded on bion (p. ): 'while wretched i yet live, being a goddess, and may not follow thee.' the alteration of phrase is somewhat remarkable. in bion's elegy the cyprian aphrodite is 'a goddess,' and therefore immortal. in shelley's elegy the uranian aphrodite does not speak of herself under any designation of immortality or eternity, but as 'chained to _time_,' and incapable of departing from time. as long as time lives and operates, urania must do the same. the dead have escaped from the dominion of time: this urania, cannot do. there is a somewhat similar train of thought in _prometheus unbound_,--where prometheus the titan, after enduring the torture of the furies (act ), says-- 'peace is in the grave: the grave holds all things beautiful and good, i am a god, and cannot find it _there_.' +stanza ,+ . - . _'o gentle child, beautiful as thou wert, why didst thou leave,'_ &c. this is founded on--and as usual spiritualized from--the passage in bion (p. ); 'for why, ah overbold! didst thou follow the chase, and, being so fair, why wert thou thus over-hardy to fight with beasts?' . . _'dare the unpastured dragon in his den.'_ this phrase must no doubt be interpreted, not only in relation to the figurative adonais. but also to the actual keats, keats had dared the unpastured dragon in his den, in the sense that he made a bold adventure into the poetical field, under conditions certain to excite the ire of adherents of the old school, whether in literature or in politics. . . _'wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear.'_ urania arraigns keats for having made his inroad upon the dragon, unguarded by wisdom or by scorn. his want of wisdom was shown (we may assume) by the grave blemishes and defects in his _endymion_, the wilful faults and perverse excesses and extravagances which mark its composition, and wantonly invited attack. his want of scorn was (according to shelley's view of the facts), clear enough: he had not been equal to despising a spiteful attack, but had fretted himself to death under it. in terming these two defensive weapons, wisdom and scorn, a mirrored shield and a spear, shelley was, i apprehend, thinking of the orlando furioso of ariosto. in that poem we read of a magic shield which casts a supernatural and intolerable splendour, whereby every gazer is cast into a trance; and of a spear whose lightest touch overthrows every opponent. a sea-monster--not a dragon, so far as i recollect--becomes one of the victims of the 'mirrored shield.' . , . _'the full cycle when thy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere.'_ the spirit of keats is here assimilated to the moon, which grows from a crescent into a spherical form. . . _'the monsters of life's waste.'_ the noxious creatures which infest the wilderness of human life. +stanza ,+ . . _'the herded wolves,'_ &c. these same 'monsters' are now pictured under three aspects. they are herded wolves, which will venture to pursue a traveller, but will not face him if he turns upon them boldly; and obscene ravens, which make an uproar over dead bodies, or dead reputations; and vultures, which follow in the wake of a conqueror, and gorge upon that which is already overthrown. in the succeeding stanza, , two other epithetal similes are bestowed upon the monsters--they become 'reptiles' and 'ephemeral insects.' all these repulsive images are of course here applied to critics of wilfully obtuse or malignant mind, such as shelley accounted the _quarterly_ reviewer of keats to be. . , &c. _'how they fled when, like apollo,'_ &c. the allusion is to perfectly well-known incidents in the opening poetic career of lord byron. his lordship, in earliest youth, published a very insignificant volume of verse named _hours of idleness_. the _edinburgh review_--rightly in substance, but with some superfluous harshness of tone--pronounced this volume to be poor stuff. byron retaliated by producing his satire entitled _english bards and scotch reviewers_. with this book he scored a success. his next publication was the generally and enthusiastically admired commencement of _childe harold_, ; after which date the critics justly acclaimed him as a poet--although in course of time they grew lavishly severe upon him from the point of view of morals and religion. i reproduce from the pisan edition the punctuation--'when like apollo, from his golden bow'; but i think the exact sense would be better brought out if we read--'when, like apollo from his golden bow, the pythian,' &c. . , . _'the pythian of the age one arrow sped, and smiled.'_ byron is here assimilated to apollo pythius--apollo the python-slayer. the statue named apollo belvedere is regarded as representing the god at the moment after he has discharged his arrow at the python (serpent), his countenance irradiated with a half-smile of divine scorn and triumph. the terms employed by shelley seem to glance more particularly at that celebrated statue: this was the more appropriate as byron had devoted to the same figure two famous stanzas in the th canto of _childe harold_-- 'or view the lord of the unerring bow, the god of life and poesy and light,' &c. . . _'they fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low.'_ in the pisan edition we read 'that spurn them as they go.' no doubt the change (introduced as in other instances named on pp. and ) must be shelley's own. the picture presented to the mind is more consistent, according to the altered reading. the critics, as we are told in this stanza, had at first 'fled' from byron's arrow; afterwards they 'fawned on his proud feet.' in order to do this, they must have paused in their flight, and returned; and, in the act of fawning on byron's feet, they must have crouched down, or were 'lying low.' (mr. forman, in his edition of shelley, pointed this out.) with the words 'as they go' the image was not self-consistent: for the critics could not be 'going,' or walking away, at the same time when they were fawning on the poet's feet. this last remark assumes that the words 'as they go' mean 'as the critics go ': but perhaps (and indeed i think this is more than probable) the real meaning was 'as the feet of byron go'--as byron proceeds disdainfully on his way. if this was shelley's original meaning, he probably observed after a while that the words 'as _they_ go' seem to follow on with '_they_ fawn,' and not with 'the proud feet'; and, in order to remove the ambiguity, he substituted the expression 'lying low.' +stanza ,+ . - . _'the sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn; he sets, and each ephemeral insect then is gathered into death.'_ the spawning of a reptile (say a lizard or toad), and the death of an insect (say a beetle or gnat), are two things totally unconnected. shelley however seems to link them together, as if this spawning were the origin of the life, the brief life, of the insect. he appears therefore to use 'reptile,' not in the defined sense which we commonly attach to the word, but in the general sense of 'a creeping creature,' such for instance as a grub or caterpillar, the first form of an insect, leading on to its final metamorphosis or development. even so his natural history is curiously at fault: for no grub or caterpillar can spawn--which is the function of the fully-developed insect itself, whether 'ephemeral' or otherwise. can shelley have been ignorant of this? . . _'and the immortal stars awake again.'_ the imagery of this stanza (apart from the 'reptiles' and 'ephemeral insects') deserves a little consideration. the sun (says shelley) arises, and then sets: when it sets, the immortal stars awake again. similarly, a godlike mind (say the mind of keats) appears, and its light illumines the earth, and veils the heaven: when it disappears, 'the spirit's awful night' is left to 'its kindred lamps.' this seems as much as to say that the splendour of a new poetic genius appears to contemporaries to throw preceding poets into obscurity; but this is only a matter of the moment, for, when the new genius sinks in death, the others shine forth again as stars of the intellectual zenith, to which the new genius is kindred indeed, but not superior. with these words concludes the speech of urania, which began in stanza . +stanza ,+ . . _the mountain shepherds_. these are contemporary british poets, whom shelley represents as mourning the death of keats. shepherds are such familiar figures in poetry--utilized for instance in milton's _lycidas_, as well as by many poets of antiquity--that the introduction of them into shelley's elegy is no matter for surprise. why they should be '_mountain_ shepherds' is not so clear. perhaps shelley meant to indicate a certain analogy between the exalted level at which the shepherds dwelt and the exalted level at which the poets wrote. as the shepherds do not belong to the low-country, so neither do the poets belong to the flats of verse. shelley may have written with a certain degree of reference to that couplet in _lycidas_-- 'for we were nursed upon the self-same _hill_, fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill.' . . _their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent._ the garlands or chaplets of the mountain shepherds have become sere because (it may be presumed) the wearers, in their grief for the mortal illness and death of adonais, have for some little while left them unrenewed. or possibly the garlands withered at the moment when spring 'threw down her kindling buds' (stanza ), i do not well understand the expression 'magic mantles.' there seems to be no reason why the mantles of the shepherds, considered as shepherds, should be magic. even when we contemplate the shepherds as poets, we may fail to discern why any magical property should be assigned to their mantles. by the use of the epithet 'magic' shelley must have intended to bridge over the gap between the nominal shepherds and the real poets, viewed as inspired singers: for this purpose he has adopted a bold verbal expedient, but not i think an efficient one. it may be noticed that the 'uncouth swain' who is represented in _lycidas_ as singing the dirge (in other words, milton himself) is spoken of as having a mantle--it is a 'mantle blue' (see the penultimate line of that poem). . . _the pilgrim of eternity._ this is lord byron. as inventor of the personage childe harold, the hero and so-called 'pilgrim' of the poem _childe harold's pilgrimage_, and as being himself to a great extent identical with his hero, byron was frequently termed 'the pilgrim.' shelley adopts this designation, which he magnifies into 'the pilgrim of eternity,' he admired byron most enthusiastically as a poet, and was generally on easy--sometimes on cordial--terms with him as a man. he has left us a fine and discriminating portrait of byron in the 'count maddalo' of his poem _julian and maddalo_, written in . at times however shelley felt and expressed great indignation against byron, especially in reference to the ungenerous and cruel conduct of the latter towards miss clairmont. see some brief reference to this matter at p. . . - . _whose fame over his living head like heaven is bent, an early but enduring monument._ these phrases are not very definite. when fame is spoken of as being bent over byron's head, we must conceive of fame as taking a form cognizable by the senses. i think shelley means to assimilate it to the rainbow; saying substantially--fame is like an arc bent over byron's head, as the arc of the rainbow is bent over the expanse of heaven. the ensuing term 'monument' applies rather to fame in the abstract than to any image of fame as an arc. . , . _came, veiling all the lightnings of his song in sorrow._ no doubt it would have been satisfactory to shelley if he could have found that byron entertained or expressed any serious concern at keats's premature death, and at the hard measure which had been meted out to him by critics. byron did in fact admire _hyperion_; writing (in november , not long after the publication of _adonais_)--'his fragment of _hyperion_ seems actually inspired by the titans, and is as sublime as aeschylus'; and other utterances of his show that--being with difficulty persuaded to suppose that keats's health and life had succumbed to the attack in the _quarterly_--he fittingly censured the want of feeling or want of reflection on the critic's part which had produced so deplorable a result. but on the whole byron's feeling towards keats was one of savage contempt during the young poet's life, and of bantering levity after his death. here are some specimens. (from a letter to mr. murray, october, ). 'there is such a trash of keats and the like upon my tables that i am ashamed to look at them.... no more keats, i entreat. flay him alive: if some of you don't, i must skin him myself. there is no bearing the drivelling idiotism of the manikin.' '"who killed john keats?" "i," says the quarterly, so savage and tartarly; "'twas one of my feats."' 'john keats, who was killed off by one critique just as he really promised something great if not intelligible, without greek contrived to talk about the gods of late, much as they might have been supposed to speak. poor fellow, his was an untoward fate! 'tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, should let itself be snuffed out by an article.' . - . _from her wilds ierne sent the sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, and love taught grief to fall like music from his tongue._ ierne (ireland) sent thomas moore, the lyrist of her wrongs--an allusion to the _irish melodies_, and some other poems. there is not, i believe, any evidence to show that moore took the slightest interest in keats, his doings or his fate: shelley is responsible for moore's love, grief, and music, in this connexion. a letter from keats has been published showing that at one time he expected to meet moore personally (see p. ). whether he did so or not i cannot say for certain, but i apprehend not: the published diary of moore, of about the same date, suggests the negative. +stanza ,+ . . _'midst others of less note._ shelley clearly means 'less note' than byron and moore--not less note than the 'one frail form.' . . _came one frail form,_ &c. this personage represents shelley himself. shelley here describes himself under a profusion of characteristics, briefly defined: it may be interesting to summarize them, apart from the other details with which they are interspersed. he is a frail form; a phantom among men; companionless; one who had gazed actaeon-like on nature's naked loveliness, and who now fled with feeble steps, hounded by his own thoughts; a pard-like spirit beautiful and swift; a love masked in desolation; a power begirt with weakness, scarcely capable of lifting the weight of the hour; a breaking billow, which may even now be broken; the last of the company, neglected and apart--a herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's dart; in keats's fate, he wept his own; his brow was branded and ensanguined. most of these attributes can be summed up under one heading--that of extreme sensitiveness and susceptibility, which meet with no response or sustainment, but rather with misjudgment, repulse, and outrage. some readers may think that shelley insists upon this aspect of his character to a degree rather excessive, and dangerously near the confines of feminine sensibility, rather than virile fortitude. apart from this predominant type of character, shelley describes his spirit as 'beautiful and swift'--which surely it was: and he says that, having gazed upon nature's naked loveliness, he had suffered the fate of a second actseon, fleeing 'o'er the world's wilderness,' and pursued by his own thoughts like raging hounds. by this expression shelley apparently means that he had over-boldly tried to fathom the depths of things and of mind, but, baffled and dismayed in the effort, suffered, as a man living among men, by the very tension and vividness of his thoughts, and their daring in expression. see what he says of himself, in prose, on p. . . , . _he, as i guess, had gazed,_ &c. the use of the verb 'guess' in the sense of 'to surmise, conjecture, infer,' is now mostly counted as an americanism. this is not correct; for the verb has often been thus used by standard english authors. such a practice was not however common in shelley's time, and he may have been guided chiefly by the rhyming. +stanza ,+ . . _the weight of the superincumbent hour._ this line is scarcely rhythmical: to bring it within the ordinary scheme of ryhthm, one would have to lay an exaggerated stress on two of its feet--'thé supérincumbent.' neither this treatment of the line, nor the line itself apart from this treatment, can easily be justified. +stanza ,+ . , . _his head was bound with pansies overblown, and faded violets._ the pansy is the flower of thought, or memory: we commonly call it heartsease, but shelley no doubt uses it here with a different, or indeed contrary, meaning. the violet indicates modesty. a stanza from one of his lyrics may be appropriately cited--_remembrance_, dated :-- 'lilies for a bridal bed, roses for a matron's head, violets for a maiden dead, pansies let _my_ flowers be. on the living grave i bear scatter them without a tear; let no friend, however dear, waste a hope, a fear, for me.' . . _a light spear topped with a cypress cone._ the funereal cypress explains itself. . . _dark ivy tresses._ the ivy indicates constancy in friendship. +stanza ,+ . . _his partial moan._ the epithet 'partial' is accounted for by what immediately follows--viz. that shelley 'in another's fate now wept his own.' he, like keats, was the object of critical virulence, and he was wont (but on very different grounds) to anticipate an early death. see (on p. ) the expression in a letter from shelley--'a writer who, however he may differ,' &c. . . _as in the accents of an unknown land he sang new sorrow._ it is not very clear why shelley should represent that he, as one of the mountain shepherds, used a language different (as one might infer) from that of his companions. all those whom he particularizes were his compatriots. perhaps however shelley merely means that the language (english) was that of a land unknown to the greek deity aphrodite urania. the phrase 'new sorrow' occurs in the elegy by moschus (p. ). by the use of this phrase shelley seems to mean not merely that the death of keats was a recent and sorrowful event, but more especially that it constituted a new sorrow--one more sorrow--to shelley himself. . , . i reproduce the punctuation of the pisan edition, with a colon after 'his own,' and a semicolon after 'sorrow.' it appears to me however that the sense would rather require either a full stop after 'his own,' and a comma after 'sorrow,' or else a comma after 'his own,' and a full stop or colon after 'sorrow.' yet it is possible that the phrase, 'as in the accents,' &c., forms a separate clause by itself, meaning, 'as _if_ in the accents of an unknown land, he sang new sorrow.' . , . _made bare his branded and ensanguined brow, which was like cain's or christ's._ shelley represents his own brow as being branded like cain's--stamped with the mark of reprobation; and ensanguined like christ's--bleeding from a crown of thorns. this indicates the extreme repugnance with which he was generally regarded, and in especial perhaps the decree of the court of chancery which deprived him of his children by his first marriage--and generally the troubles and sufferings which he had undergone. the close coupling-together, in this line, of the names of cain and christ, was not likely to conciliate antagonists; and indeed one may safely surmise that it was done by shelley more for the rather wanton purpose of exasperating them than with any other object.--in this stanza urania appears for the last time. +stanza ,+ , . _what softer voice is hushed over the dead?_ the personage here referred to is leigh hunt. see p. . . . _gentlest of the wise._ it is apparent that shelley entertained a very sincere affection and regard for leigh hunt. he dedicated to hunt the tragedy of _the cenci_, using the following expressions among others: 'had i known a person more highly endowed than yourself with all that it becomes a man to possess, i had solicited for this work the ornament of his name. one more gentle, honourable, innocent, and brave; one of more exalted toleration for all who do and think evil, and yet himself more free from evil; one who knows better how to receive and how to confer a benefit, though he must ever confer far more than he can receive; one of simpler and (in the highest sense of the word) of purer life and manners, i never knew: and i had already been fortunate in friendships when your name was added to the list.' . . _taught, soothed, loved, honoured, the departed one._ it has sometimes been maintained that hunt, whatever may have been the personal friendship which he felt for keats, did not, during the latter's lifetime, champion his literary cause with so much zeal as might have been expected from his professions. this is a point open to a good deal of discussion from both sides. mr. buxton forman, who, as editor of keats, had occasion to investigate the matter attentively, pronounces decidedly in favour of hunt. +stanza ,+ . . _our adonais has drunk poison._ founded on those lines of moschus which appear as a motto to shelley's elegy. see also p. . . . _what deaf and viperous murderer._ deaf, because insensible to the beauty of keats's verse; and viperous, because poisonous and malignant. the juxtaposition of the two epithets may probably be also partly dependent on that passage in the psalms (lviii. , ) which has become proverbial: 'they are as venomous as the poison of a serpent: even like the deaf adder that stoppeth her ears; which refuseth to hear the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.' . . _the nameless worm._ a worm, as being one of the lowest forms of life, is constantly used as a term implying contempt; but it may be assumed that shelley here uses 'worm' in its original sense, that of any crawling creature, more especially of the snake kind. there would thus be no departure from the previous epithet 'viperous.' see the remarks as to 'reptiles,' st. . . , . _the magic tone whose prelude,_ &c. shelley, it will be perceived, here figures keats as a minstrel striking the lyre, and preparing to sing. he strikes the lyre in a 'magic tone'; the very 'prelude' of this was enough to command silent expectation. this prelude is the poem of _endymion_, to which the _quarterly_ reviewer alone (according to shelley) was insensitive, owing to feelings of 'envy, hate, and wrong.' the prelude was only an induction to the 'song,'--which was eventually poured forth in the _lamia_ volume, and especially (as our poet opined) in _hyperion_. but now keats's hand is cold in death, and his lyre unstrung. as i have already observed--see p. , &c.--shelley was mistaken in supposing that the _quarterly review_ had held a monopoly of 'envy, hate, and wrong'--or, as one might now term them, detraction, spite, and unfairness--in reference to keats. +stanza ,+ . . _but be thyself, and know thyself to be!_ the precise import of this line is not, i think, entirely plain at first sight. i conceive that we should take the line as immediately consequent upon the preceding words--'live thou, live!' premising this, one might amplify the idea as follows; 'while keats is dead, be it thy doom, thou his deaf and viperous murderer, to live! but thou shalt live in thine own degraded identity, and shalt thyself be conscious how degraded thou art.' another suggestion might be that the words 'but be thyself are equivalent to 'be but thyself.' . , . _and ever at thy season be thou free to spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow._ this keeps up the image of the 'viperous' murderer--the viper. 'at thy season' can be understood as a reference to the periodical issues of the _quarterly review_. the word 'o'erflow' is, in the pisan edition, printed as two words--'o'er flow.' . . _remorse and self-contempt._ shelley frequently dwells upon self-contempt as one of the least tolerable of human distresses. thus in the _revolt of islam_ (canto , st. ): 'yes, it is hate--that shapeless fiendly thing of many names, all evil, some divine-- whom self-contempt arms with a mortal sting,' &c. and in _prometheus unbound_ (act i)-- 'regard this earth made multitudinous with thy slaves, whom thou requitest for knee-worship, prayer, and praise? and toil, and hecatombs of broken hearts, with fear and self-contempt and barren hope.' again (act ii, sc. )-- 'and self-contempt, bitterer to drink than blood.' +stanza ,+ . . _nor let us weep,_ &c. so far as the broad current of sentiment is concerned, this is the turning-point of shelley's elegy. hitherto the tone has been continuously, and through a variety of phases, one of mourning for the fact that keats, the great poetical genius, is untimely dead. but now the writer pauses, checks himself, and recognises that mourning is not the only possible feeling, nor indeed the most appropriate one. as his thought expands and his rapture rises, he soon acknowledges that, so far from grieving for keats who _is_ dead, it were far more relevant to grieve for himself who is _not_ dead. this paean of recantation and aspiration occupies the remainder of the poem. . . _these carrion kites._ a term of disparagement corresponding nearly enough to the 'ravens' and 'vultures' of st. . . . _he wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead._ with such of the dead as have done something which survives themselves. it will be observed that the phrase 'he wakes _or_ sleeps' leaves the question of personal or individual immortality quite open. as to this point see the remarks on p. , &c. . . thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. this is again addressed to the 'deaf and viperous murderer,' regarded for the moment as a 'carrion kite.' as kites are eminently high flyers, the phrase here used becomes the more emphatic. this line of shelley's is obviously adapted from a passage in milton's _paradise lost_, where satan addresses the angels in eden (book )-- 'ye knew me once, no mate for you, there sitting where ye durst not soar.' . . _the pure spirit shall flow_, &c. the spirit which once was the vital or mental essence--the soul--of adonais came from the eternal soul, and, now that he is dead, is re-absorbed into the eternal soul: as such, it is imperishable. . . _whilst thy cold embers choke_, &c. the spirit of adonais came as a flame from the 'burning fountain' of the eternal, and has now reverted thither, he being one of the 'enduring dead.' but the 'deaf and viperous murderer' must not hope for a like destiny. his spirit, after death, will be merely like 'cold embers,' cumbering the 'hearth of shame.' as a rhetorical antithesis, this serves its purpose well: no doubt shelley would not have pretended that it is a strictly reasoned antithesis as well, or furnishes a full account of the _post-mortem_ fate of the _quarterly_ reviewer. +stanza ,+ . , . _peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep! he hath awakened from the dream of life._ shelley now proceeds boldly to declare that the state which we call death is to be preferred to that which we call life. keats is neither dead nor sleeping. he used to be asleep, perturbed and tantalized by the dream which is termed life. having at last awakened from the dream, he is no longer asleep: and, if life is no more than a dream, neither does the cessation of life deserve to be named death. the transition from one emotion to another in this passage, and also in the preceding stanza, 'nor let us weep,' &c., resembles the transition towards the close of _lycidas_-- 'weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, for lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,' &c. the general view has considerable affinity to that which is expounded in a portion of plato's dialogue _phaedo_, and which has been thus summarised. 'death is merely the separation of soul and body. and this is the very consummation at which philosophy aims: the body hinders thought,--the mind attains to truth by retiring into herself. through no bodily sense does she perceive justice, beauty, goodness, and other ideas. the philosopher has a lifelong quarrel with bodily desires, and he should welcome the release of his soul.' . . _'tis we who, lost in stormy visions_, &c. we, the so-called living, are in fact merely beset by a series of stormy visions which constitute life; all our efforts are expended upon mere phantoms, and are therefore profitless; our mental conflict is an act of trance, exercised upon mere nothings. the very energetic expression, 'strike with our spirit's knife invulnerable nothings,' is worthy of remark. it will be remembered that, according to shelley's belief, 'nothing exists but as it is perceived': see p. . the view of life expressed with passionate force in this passage of _adonais_ is the same which forms the calm and placid conclusion of _the sensitive plant_, a poem written in ;-- 'but, in this life of error, ignorance, and strife, where nothing is but all things seem. and we the shadows of the dream, it is a modest creed, and yet pleasant if one considers it, to own that death itself must be, like all the rest, a mockery. that garden sweet, that lady fair, and all sweet shapes and odours there, in truth have never passed away: 'tis we, 'tis ours, are changed; not they. for love, and beauty, and delight, there is no death nor change; their might exceeds our organs, which endure no light, being themselves obscure.' . , . _we decay like corpses in a charnel_, &c. human life consists of a process of decay. while living, we are consumed by fear and grief; our disappointed hopes swarm in our living persons like worms in our corpses. +stanza ,+ . . _he has outsoared the shadow of our night._ as human life was in the last stanza represented as a dream, so the state of existence in which it is enacted is here figured as night. . . _from the contagion of the world's slow stain._ it may be said that 'the world's slow stain'--the lowering influence of the aims and associations of all ordinary human life--is the main subject-matter of shelley's latest important poem, _the triumph of life._ . . _with sparkless ashes._ see the cognate expression, 'thy cold embers,' in st. . +stanza ,+ . . _he lives, he wakes--'tis death is dead, not he._ in the preceding three stanzas adonais is contemplated as being alive, owing to the very fact that his death has awakened him 'from the dream of life'--mundane life. death has bestowed upon him a vitality superior to that of mundane life. death therefore has performed an act contrary to his own essence as death, and has practically killed, not adonais, but himself. . . _thou young dawn._ we here recur to the image in st. , 'morning sought her eastern watch-tower,' &c. . . _ye caverns and ye forests_, &c. the poet now adjures the caverns, forests, flowers, fountains, and air, to 'cease to moan.' of the flowers we had heard in st. : but the other features of nature which are now addressed had not previously been individually mentioned--except, to some extent, by implication, in st. , which refers more directly to 'echo.' the reference to the air had also been, in a certain degree, prepared for in stanza . the stars are said to smile on the earth's despair. this does not, i apprehend, indicate any despair of the earth consequent on the death of adonais, but a general condition of woe. a reference of a different kind to stars--a figurative reference--appears in st. . +stanza ,+ . . _he is made one with nature._ this stanza ascribes to keats the same phase of immortality which belongs to nature. having 'awakened from the dream of [mundane] life,' his spirit forms an integral portion of the universe. those acts of intellect which he performed in the flesh remain with us, as thunder and the song of the nightingale remain with us. . , . _where'er that power may move which has withdrawn his being to its own._ this corresponds to the expression in st. --'the pure spirit shall flow back to the burning fountain whence it came, a portion of the eternal.' . . _who wields the world with never wearied love_, &c. these two lines are about the nearest approach to definite theism to be found in any writing of shelley. the conception, which may amount to theism, is equally consistent with pantheism. even in his most anti-theistic poem, _queen mab_, shelley said in a note--'the hypothesis of a pervading spirit, co-eternal with the universe, remains unshaken.' +stanza ,+ . - . _he is a portion of the loveliness which ones he made more lovely. he doth bear his part_, &c. the conception embodied in this passage may become more clear to the reader if its terms are pondered in connexion with the passage of shelley's prose extracted on p. --'the existence of distinct individual minds,' &c. keats, while a living man, had made the loveliness of the universe more lovely by expressing in poetry his acute and subtle sense of its beauties--by lavishing on it (as we say) 'the colours of his imagination,' he was then an 'individual mind'--according to the current, but (as shelley held) inexact terminology. he has now, by death, wholly passed out of the class of individual minds; and he forms a portion of the universal mind (the 'one spirit') which is the animation of the universe. . , . _while the one spirit's plastic stress sweeps through the dull dense world_, &c. the function ascribed in these lines to the one spirit is a formative or animating function: the spirit constitutes the life of 'trees and beasts and men.' this view is strictly within the limits of pantheism. +stanza ,+ . . _the splendours of the firmament of time_, &c. as there are stars in the firmament of heaven, so are there splendours--luminous intellects--in the firmament of time. the stars, though at times eclipsed, are not extinguished; nor yet the mental luminaries. this asseveration may be considered in connexion with the passage in st. : 'others more sublime, struck by the envious wrath of man or god, have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime.' . , . _when lofty thought lifts a young heart_, &c. the sense of this passage may be paraphrased thus:--when lofty thought lifts a young heart above its mundane environments, and when its earthly doom has to be determined by the conflicting influences of love, which would elevate it, and the meaner cares and interests of life, which would drag it downwards, then the illustrious dead live again in that heart--for its higher emotions are nurtured by their noble thoughts and aspirations,--and they move, like exhalations of light along dark and stormy air. this illustrates the previous proposition, that the splendours of the firmament of time are not extinguished; and, in the most immediate application of the proposition, keats is not extinguished--he will continue an ennobling influence upon minds struggling towards the light. +stanza ,+ . . _the inheritors of unfulfilled renown rose from their thrones._ there is a grand abruptness in this phrase, which makes it--as a point of poetical or literary structure--one of the finest things in the elegy. we are to understand (but shelley is too great a master to formulate it in words) that keats, as an 'inheritor of unfulfilled renown'--i.e. a great intellect cut off by death before its maturest fruits could be produced--has now arrived among his compeers: they rise from their thrones to welcome him. in this connexion shelley chooses to regard keats as still a living spiritual personality--not simply as 'made one with nature.' he is one of those 'splendours of the firmament of time' who 'may be eclipsed, but are extinguished not.' . - . _chatterton rose pale, his solemn agony had not yet faded from him._ for precocity and exceptional turn of genius chatterton was certainly one of the most extraordinary of 'the inheritors of unfulfilled renown'; indeed, the most extraordinary: he committed suicide by poison in , before completing the eighteenth year of his age. his supposititious modern-antique _poems of rowley_ may, as actual achievements, have been sometimes overpraised: but at the lowest estimate they have beauties and excellences of the most startling kind. he wrote besides a quantity of verse and prose, of a totally different order. keats admired chatterton profoundly, and dedicated _endymion_ to his memory. i cannot find that shelley, except in _adonais_, has left any remarks upon chatterton: but he is said by captain medwin to have been, in early youth, very much impressed by his writings. . . _sidney, as he fought_, &c. sir philip sidney, author of _the countess of pembroke's arcadia_, the _apology for poetry_, and the sonnets named _astrophel and stella_, died in his thirty-second year, of a wound received in the battle of zutphen, . shelley intimates that sidney maintained the character of being 'sublimely mild' in fighting, falling (dying), and loving, as well as generally in living. the special references appear to be these. ( ) sidney, observing that the lord marshal, the earl of leicester, had entered the field of zutphen without greaves, threw off his own, and thus exposed himself to the cannon-shot which slew him. ( ) being mortally wounded, and receiving a cup of water, he handed it (according to a tradition which is not unquestionable) to a dying soldier. ( ) his series of sonnets record his love for penelope devereux, sister to the earl of essex, who married lord rich. she had at one time been promised to sidney. he wrote the sonnets towards : in he married another lady, daughter of sir francis walsingham. it has been said that shelley was wont to make some self-parade in connexion with sir philip sidney, giving it to be understood that he was himself a descendant of the hero--which was not true, although the sidney blood came into a different line of the family. of this story i have not found any tangible confirmation. . . _lucan, by his death approved._ lucan, the author of the _pharsalia_, was condemned under nero as being an accomplice in the conspiracy of piso: he caused his veins to be opened, and died magnanimously, aged about twenty-six, a.d. . shelley, in one instance, went so far as to pronounce lucan superior to vergil. +stanza ,+ . , . _and many more, whose names on earth are dark, but whose transmitted effluence cannot die_, &c. this glorious company would include no doubt, not only the recorders of great thoughts, or performers of great deeds, which are still borne in memory although the names of the authors are forgotten, but also many whose work is as totally unknown as their names, but who exerted nevertheless a bright and elevating ascendant over other minds, and who thus conduced to the greatness of human-kind. . . _it was for thee_, &c. the synod of the inheritors of unfulfilled renown here invite keats to assume possession of a sphere, or constellation, which had hitherto been 'kingless,' or unappropriated. it had 'swung blind in unascended majesty': had not been assigned to any radiant spirit, whose brightness would impart brilliancy to the sphere itself. . . _silent alone amid an heaven of song._ this phrase points primarily to 'the music of the spheres': the sphere now assigned to keats had hitherto failed to take part in the music of its fellows, but henceforward will chime in. probably there is also a subsidiary, but in its context not less prominent meaning--namely, that, while the several poets (such as chatterton, sidney, and lucan) had each a vocal sphere of his own, apposite to his particular poetic quality, the sphere which keats is now to control had hitherto remained unoccupied because no poet of that special type of genius which it demanded had as yet appeared. its affinity was for keats, and for no one else. this is an implied attestation of keats's poetic originality. . . _assume thy wingèd throne, thou vesper of our throng!_ the wingèd throne is, i think, a synonym of the 'sphere' itself--not a throne within the sphere: 'wingèd,' because the sphere revolves in space. yet the statement in stanza that 'the inheritors of unfulfilled renown rose from their thrones' (which cannot be taken to represent distinct spheres or constellations) suggests the opposite interpretation. keats is termed 'thou vesper of our throng' because he is the latest member of this glorified band--or, reckoning the lapse of ages as if they were but a day, its 'evening star.' the exceptional brilliancy of the vesper star is not, i think, implied--though it may be remotely suggested. +stanza ,+ . . _clasp with thy panting soul_, &c. the significance of this stanza--perhaps a rather obscure one--requires to be estimated as a whole. shelley summons any person who persists in mourning for adonais to realise to his own mind what are the true terms of comparison between adonais and himself. after this, he says in this stanza no more about adonais, but only about the mourner. he calls upon the mourner to consider ( ) the magnitude of the planet earth; then, using the earth as his centre, to consider ( ) the whole universe of worlds, and the illimitable void of space beyond all worlds; next he is to consider ( ) what he himself is--he is confined within the day and night of our planet, and, even within those restricted limits, he is but an infinitesimal point. after he shall have realised this to himself, and after the tension of his soul in ranging through the universe and through space shall have kindled hope after hope, wonderment and aspiration after aspiration and wonderment, then indeed will he need to keep his heart light, lest it make him sink at the contemplation of his own nullity. . . _and lured thee to the brink._ this phrase is not definitely accounted for in the preceding exposition. i think shelley means that the successive hopes kindled in the mourner by the ideas of a boundless universe of space and of spirit will have lured him to the very brink of mundane life--to the borderland between life and death: he will almost have been tempted to have done with life, and to explore the possibilities of death. +stanza ,+ . . _or go to rome._ this is still addressed to the mourner, the 'fond wretch' of the preceding stanza. he is here invited to adopt a different test for 'knowing himself and adonais aright'; namely, he is to visit rome, and muse over the grave of the youthful poet. . , . _which is the sepulchre, oh not of him, but of our joy._ keats is not entombed in rome: his poor mortal remains are there entombed, and, along with them, the joy which we felt in him as a living and breathing presence. . , . _'tis nought that ages, empires, and religions, &c._ keats, and others such as he, derive no adventitious honour from being buried in rome, amid the wreck of ages, empires, and religions: rather they confer honour. he is among his peers, the kings of thought, who, so far from being dragged down in the ruin of institutions, contended against that ruin, and are alone immortal while all the rest of the past has come to nought. this consideration may be said to qualify, but not to reverse, that which is presented in stanza , that keats 'bought, with price of purest breath, a grave among the eternal'; those eternal ones, buried in rome, include many of the 'kings of thought.' +stanza ,+ . , . _and where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, and flowering weeds_, &c. these expressions point more especially, but not exclusively, to the coliseum and the baths of caracalla. in shelley's time (and something alike was the case in , the year when the present writer saw them first) both these vast monuments were in a state wholly different from that which they now, under the hands of learned archaeologists and skilled restorers, present to the eye. shelley began, probably in , a romantic or ideal tale named _the coliseum_; and, ensconced amid the ruins of the baths of caracalla, he composed, in the same year, a large part of _promethens unbound_. a few extracts from his letters may here be given appropriately. (to t.l. peacock, december, i ). 'the coliseum is unlike any work of human hands i ever saw before. it is of enormous height and circuit, and the arches, built of massy stones, are piled, on one another, and jut into the blue air, shattered into the forms of overhanging rocks. it has been changed by time into the image of an amphitheatre of rocky hills overgrown by the wild olive, the myrtle, and the figtree, and threaded by little paths which wind among its ruined stairs and immeasurable galleries: the copsewood overshadows you as you wander through its labyrinths.'--(to the same, march, ). 'the next most considerable relic of antiquity, considered as a ruin, is the thermae of caracalla. these consist of six enormous chambers, above feet in height, and each enclosing a vast space like that of a field. there are in addition a number of towers and labyrinthine recesses, hidden and woven over by the wild growth of weeds and ivy. never was any desolation so sublime and lovely.... at every step the aërial pinnacles of shattered stone group into new combinations of effect, and tower above the lofty yet level walls, as the distant mountains change their aspect to one travelling rapidly along the plain.... around rise other crags and other peaks--all arrayed, and the deformity of their vast desolation softened down, by the undecaying investiture of nature.' . . _a slope of green access._ the old protestant cemetery. shelley described it thus in his letter to mr. peacock of december, . 'the english burying-place is a green slope near the walls, under the pyramidal tomb of cestius, and is, i think, the most beautiful and solemn cemetery i ever beheld. to see the sun shining on its bright grass, fresh, when we visited it, with the autumnal dews, and hear the whispering of the wind among the leaves of the trees which have overgrown the tomb of cestius, and the soil which is stirring in the sun-warm earth, and to mark the tombs, mostly of women and young people who were buried there, one might, if one were to die, desire the sleep they seem to sleep. such is the human mind, and so it peoples with its wishes vacancy and oblivion.'--see also pp. , . +stanza ,+ . . _one keen pyramid._ the tomb (see last note) of caius cestius, a tribune of the people. . , . _the dust of him who planned this refuge for his memory._ shelley probably means that this sepulchral pyramid alone preserves to remembrance the name of cestius: which is true enough, as next to nothing is otherwise known about him. . . _have pitched in heaven's smile their camp of death._ the practice which shelley follows in this line of making 'heaven' a dissyllable is very frequent with him. so also with 'even, higher,' and other such words. +stanza ,+ . , . _if the seal is set here on one fountain of a mourning mind._ shelley certainly alludes to himself in this line. his beloved son william, who died in june , in the fourth year of his age, was buried in this cemetery: the precise spot is not now known. . - . _too surely shalt thou find thine own well full, if thou returnest home, of tears and gall. from the world's bitter wind_, &c. the apposition between the word 'well' and the preceding word 'fountain' will be observed. the person whom shelley addresses would, on returning home from the cemetery, find more than, ample cause, of one sort or another, for distress and discomposure. hence follows the conclusion that he would do well to 'seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb': he should prefer the condition of death to that of life. and so we reach in stanza the same result which, in stanza , was deduced from a different range of considerations. +stanza ,+ . . _the one remains, the many change and pass._ see the notes on stanzas and . 'the one' is the same as 'the one spirit' in stanza --the universal mind. the universal mind has already been spoken of (stanza ) as 'the eternal.' on the other hand, 'the many' are the individuated minds which we call 'human beings': they 'change and pass'--the body perishing, the mind which informed it being (in whatever sense) reabsorbed into 'the eternal.' . . _heaven's light for ever shines, earth's shadows fly._ this is in strictness a physical descriptive image: in application, it means the same as the preceding line. . - . _life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, stains the white radiance of eternity, until death tramples it to fragments._ perhaps a more daring metaphorical symbol than this has never been employed by any poet, nor one that has a deeper or a more spacious meaning. eternity is figured as white light--light in its quintessence. life, mundane life, is as a dome of glass, which becomes many-coloured by its prismatic diffraction of the white light: its various prisms reflect eternity at different angles. death ultimately tramples the glass dome into fragments; each individual life is shattered, and the whole integer of life, constituted of the many individual lives, is shattered. if everything else written by shelley were to perish, and only this consummate image to remain--so vast in purport, so terse in form--he would still rank as a poet of lofty imagination. _ex pede herculem._ . , . _die, if thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek._ this phrase is addressed by the poet to anybody, and more especially to himself. as in stanza --'the pure spirit shall flow back to the burning fountain whence it came, a portion of the eternal.' . - . _rome's azure sky, flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak the glory thy transfuse with fitting truth to speak._ i follow here the punctuation of the pisan edition--with a comma after 'words,' as well as after 'sky, flowers,' &c. according to this punctuation, the words of rome, as well as her sky and other beautiful endowments, are too weak to declare at full the glory which they impart; and the inference from this rather abruptly introduced recurrence to rome is (i suppose), that the spiritual glory faintly adumbrated by rome can only be realised in that realm of eternity to which death gives access. taken in this sense, the 'words' of rome appear to mean 'the beautiful language spoken in rome'--the roman or latin language, as modified into modern italian. the pronunciation of italian in rome is counted peculiarly pure and rich: hence the italian axiom, 'lingua toscana in bocca romana'--tuscan tongue in roman mouth. at first sight, it would seem far more natural to punctuate thus: rome's azure sky, flowers, ruins, statues, music,--words are weak the glory, &c. the sense would then be--words are too weak to declare at full the glory inherent in the sky, flowers, &c. of rome. yet, although this seems a more straightforward arrangement for the words of the sentence, as such, it is not clear that such a comment on the beauties of rome would have any great relevancy in its immediate context. +stanza ,+ . . _thy hopes are gone before_, &c. this stanza contains some very pointed references to the state of shelley's feelings at the time when he was writing _adonais_; pointed, but not so clearly defined as to make his actual meaning transparent. we are told that his hopes are gone before (i.e. have vanished before the close of his life has come), and have departed from all things here. this may partly refer to the deaths of william shelley and of keats; but i think the purport of the phrase extends further, and implies that shelley's hopes generally--those animating conceptions which had inspired him in early youth, and had buoyed him up through many adversities--are now waning in disappointment. this is confirmed by the ensuing statement--that 'a light is past from the revolving year [a phrase repeated from stanza ], and man and woman.' next we are told that 'what still is dear attracts to crush, repels to make thee [me] wither.' the _persons_ who were more particularly dear to shelley at this time must have been (not to mention the two children percy florence shelley and allegra clairmont) his wife, miss clairmont, emilia viviani, and lieutenant and mrs. williams: byron, leigh hunt, and godwin, can hardly be in question. no doubt shelley's acute feelings and mobile sympathies involved him in some considerable agitations, from time to time, with all the four ladies here named: but the strong expressions which he uses as to attracting and repelling, crushing and withering, seem hardly likely to have been employed by him in this personal sense, in a published book. perhaps therefore we shall be safest in supposing that he alludes, not to _persons_ who are dear, but to circumstances and conditions of a more general kind--such as are involved in his self-portraiture, stanzas - . . . _'tis adonais calls! oh hasten thither!_ 'thither' must mean 'to adonais': a laxity of expression. +stanza ,+ . . _that light whose smile kindles the universe_, &c. this is again the 'one spirit' of stanza . and see, in stanza , the cognate expression, 'kindles it above.' . , . _that benediction which the eclipsing curse of birth can quench not._ the curse of birth is, i think, simply the calamitous condition of mundane life--so often referred to in this elegy as a condition of abjection and unhappiness. the curse of birth can eclipse the benediction of universal mind, but cannot quench it: in other words, the human mind, in its passage from the birth to the death of the body, is still an integral portion of the universal mind. . . _each are mirrors._ this is of course a grammatical irregularity--the verb should be 'is.' it is not the only instance of the same kind in shelley's poetry. . . _consuming the last clouds of cold mortality._ this does not imply that shelley is shortly about to die. 'cold mortality' is that condition in which the human mind, a portion of the universal mind, is united to a mortal body: and the general sense is that the universal mind at this moment beams with such effulgence upon shelley that his mind responds to it as if the mortal body no longer interposed any impediment. +stanza ,+ . . _the breath whose might i have invoked in song._ the breath or afflatus of the universal mind. it has been 'invoked in song' throughout the whole later section of this elegy, from stanza onwards. . . _my spirits bark is driven_, &c. as was observed with reference to the preceding stanza, line , this phrase does not forecast the author's death: it only re-emphasises the abnormal illumination of his mind by the universal mind--as if his spirit (like that of keats) 'had flowed back to the burning fountain whence it came, a portion of the eternal' (stanza ). nevertheless, it is very remarkable that this image of 'the spirit's _bark_,' beaconed by 'the soul of adonais,' should have been written so soon before shelley's death by drowning, which occurred on july, ,--but little more than a year after he had completed this elegy. besides this passage, there are in shelley's writings, both verse and prose, several other passages noticeable on the same account--relating to drowning, and sometimes with a strong personal application; and in various instances he was in imminent danger of this mode of death before the end came. . , . _far from the shore, far from the trembling throng whose sails were never to the tempest given._ in saying that his spirit's bark is driven far from the shore, shelley apparently means that his mind, in speculation and aspiration, ranges far beyond those mundane and material interests with which the mass of men are ordinarily concerned. 'the trembling throng' is, i think, a throng of men: though it might be a throng of barks, contrasted with 'my spirit's bark.' their sails 'were never to the tempest given,' in the sense that they never set forth on a bold ideal or spiritual adventure, abandoning themselves to the stress and sway of a spiritual storm. . . _the massy earth_, &c. as the poet launches forth on his voyage upon the ocean of mind, the earth behind him seems to gape, and the sky above him to open: his course however is still held on in darkness--the arcanum is hardly or not at all revealed. . . _whilst burning through the inmost veil_, &c. a star pilots his course: it is the soul of adonais, which, being still 'a portion of the eternal' (st. ), is in 'the abode where the eternal are,' and testifies to the eternity of mind. in this passage, and in others towards the conclusion of the poem, we find the nearest approach which shelley can furnish to an answer to that question which he asked in stanza --'shall that alone which knows be as a sword consumed before the sheath by sightless lightning?' +stanzas . to +--(i add here a note out of its due place, which would be on p. : at the time when it occurred to me to raise this point, the printing had gone too far to allow of my inserting the remark there.)--on considering these three stanzas collectively, it may perhaps be felt that the references to milton and to keats are more advisedly interdependent than my notes on the details of the stanzas suggest. shelley may have wished to indicate a certain affinity between the inspiration of milton as the poet of _paradise lost_, and that of keats as the poet of _hyperion_. urania had had to bewail the death of milton, who died old when 'the priest, the slave, and the liberticide,' outraged england. now she has to bewail the death of her latest-born, keats, who has died young, and (as shelley thought) in a similarly disastrous condition of the national affairs. had he not been 'struck by the envious wrath of man,' he might even have 'dared to climb' to the 'bright station' occupied by milton.--the phrase in st. , 'most musical of mourners, weep again,' with what follows regarding grief for the loss of milton, and again of keats, is modelled upon the passage in moschus (p. )--'this, o most musical of rivers, is thy second sorrow,--this, meles, thy new woe. of old didst thou love homer:... now again another son thou weepest.' my remark upon st. , that there shelley first had direct recourse to the elegy of moschus, should be modified accordingly. _cancelled passages of adonais, preface._ these are taken from dr. garnett's _relics of shelley_, published in . he says: 'among shelley's mss. is a fair copy of the _defence of poetry_, apparently damaged by sea-water, and illegible in many places. being prepared for the printer, it is written on one side of the paper only: on the blank pages, but frequently undecipherable for the reason just indicated, are many passages intended for, but eventually omitted from, the preface to _adonais_.' _i have employed my poetical compositions and publications simply as the instruments of that sympathy between myself and others which the ardent and unbounded love i cherished for my kind incited me to acquire._ this is an important indication of the spirit in which shelley wrote, and consequently of that in which his reader should construe his writings. he poured out his full heart, craving for 'sympathy.' loving mankind, he wished to find some love in response. _domestic conspiracy and legal oppression_, &c. the direct reference here is to the action taken by shelley's father-in-law and sister-in-law, mr. and miss westbrook, which resulted in the decree of lord chancellor eldon whereby shelley was deprived of the custody of the two children of his first marriage. see p. . _as a bankrupt thief turns thief-taker in despair, so an unsuccessful author turns critic._ various writers have said something of this kind. i am not sure how far back the sentiment can be traced; but i presume that shelley was not the first. some readers will remember a passage in the dedication to his _peter bell the third_ ( ), which forestalled macaulay's famous phrase about the 'new zealander on the ruins of london bridge.' shelley wrote: 'in the firm expectation that, when london shall be an habitation of bitterns;... when the piers of waterloo bridge shall become the nuclei of islets of reeds and osiers, and cast the jagged shadows of their broken arches on the solitary stream; some transatlantic commentator will be weighing, in the scales of some new and unimagined system of criticism, the respective merits of the bells and the fudges, and their historians, i remain,' &c. _the offence of this poor victim seems to have consisted solely in his intimacy with leigh hunt_, &c. see the remarks on p. . there can be no doubt that shelley was substantially correct in this opinion. not only the _quarterly review_, of which he knew, but also _blackwood's magazine_, which did not come under his notice, abused keats because he was personally acquainted with hunt, and was, in one degree or another, a member of the literary coterie in which hunt held a foremost place. and hunt was in bad odour with these reviews because he was a hostile politician, still more than because of any actual or assumed defects in his performances as an ordinary man of letters. _mr. hazlitt._ william hazlitt was (it need scarcely be said) a miscellaneous writer of much influence in these years, in politics an advanced liberal. a selection of his writings was issued by mr. william ireland in . keats admired hazlitt much more than hunt. _i wrote to him, suggesting the propriety_, &c. see pp. , . _cancelled passages of adonais_ (the poem). these passages also were in the first instance published in the _shelley relics_ of dr. garnett. they come, not from the same ms. which contains the prefatory fragments, but from some of shelley's notebooks. +stanza ,+ . . _and the green paradise_, &c. the green paradise is the 'emerald isle'--ireland. this stanza refers to thomas moore, and would have followed on after st. in the body of the poem. +stanza ,+ . . _and ever as he went he swept a lyre of unaccustomed shape._ 'he' has always hitherto, i think, been understood as the 'one frail form' of st --i.e. shelley himself. the lyre might be of unaccustomed shape for the purpose of indicating that shelley's poetry differs very essentially, in tone and treatment, from that of other writers. but i incline to think that shelley, in this stanza, refers not to himself but to moore. moore was termed a 'lyrist,' and here we are told about his lyre. the latter would naturally be the irish harp, and therefore 'of unaccustomed shape': the concluding reference to 'ever-during green' might again glance at the 'emerald isle.' as to shelley, he was stated in st. to be carrying 'a light spear': if he was constantly sweeping a lyre as well, he must have had his hands rather full. . . _now like the ... of impetuous fire_, &c. shelley compares the strains of the lyre--the spirit of the poetry--to two things: ( ) to a conflagration in a forest; and ( ) to the rustling of wind among the trees. the former image may be understood to apply principally to the revolutionary audacity and fervour of the ideas expressed; the latter, to those qualities of imagination, fantasy, beauty, and melody, which characterise the verse. of course all this would be more genuinely appropriate to shelley himself than to moore: still it would admit of _some_ application to moore, of whom our poet spoke highly more than once elsewhere. the image of a forest on fire is more fully expressed in a passage from the _lines written among the euganean hills_, composed by him in :-- 'now new fires from antique light spring beneath the wide world's might,-- but their spark lies dead in thee [i.e. in padua], trampled out by tyranny, as the norway woodman quells, in the depths of piny dells, one light flame among the brakes, while the boundless forest shakes, and its mighty trunks are torn, by the fire thus lowly born;-- the spark beneath his feet is dead; he starts to see the flames it fed howling through the darkened sky with a myriad tongues victoriously, and sinks down in fear;-so thou, o tyranny! beholdest now light around thee, and thou hearest the loud flames ascend, and fearest. grovel on the earth! ay, hide in the dust thy purple pride!' +stanza ,+ . . _and then came one of sweet and earnest looks._ it is sufficiently clear that this stanza, and also the fragmentary beginning of stanza , refer to leigh hunt--who, in the body of the elegy, is introduced in st. . the reader will observe, on looking back to that stanza, that the present one could not be added on to the description of hunt: it is an alternative form, ultimately rejected. its tone is ultra-sentimental, and perhaps on that account it was condemned. the simile at the close of the present stanza is ambitious, but by no means felicitous. +stanza ,+ . , . _his song, though very sweet, was low and faint, a simple strain._ it may be doubted whether this description of hunt's poetry, had it been published in _adonais_, would have been wholly pleasing to hunt. neither does it define, with any exceptional aptness, the particular calibre of that poetry. +stanza ,+ . , . _a mighty phantasm, half concealed in darkness of his own exceeding light._ it seems to have been generally assumed that shelley, in this stanza, describes one more of the 'mountain shepherds' (see st. )--viz. coleridge. no doubt, if any poet or person is here indicated, it must be coleridge: and the affirmative assumption is so far confirmed by the fact that in another poem--the _letter to maria gisborne_, --shelley spoke of coleridge in terms partly similar to these:-- 'you will see coleridge; he who sits obscure in the exceeding lustre and the pure intense irradiation of a mind which, with its own internal lightning blind, flags wearily through darkness and despair-- a cloud-encircled meteor of the air, a hooded eagle among blinking owls.' but the first question is--does this cancelled stanza relate to a mountain shepherd at all? to speak of a mountain shepherd as a 'mighty phantasm,' having an 'awful presence unrevealed,' seems to be taking a considerable liberty with language. to me it appears more likely that the stanza relates to some abstract impersonation--perhaps death, or else eternity. it is true that death figures elsewhere in _adonais_ (stanzas , , ) under an aspect with which the present phrases are hardly consistent: but, in the case of a cancelled stanza, that counts for very little. in _prometheus unbound_ (act ii, sc. ) eternity, symbolised in demo-gorgon, is described in terms not wholly unlike those which we are now debating:-- 'i see a mighty darkness filling the seat of power, and rays of gloom dart round, as light from the meridian sun, ungazed upon and shapeless. neither limb, nor form, nor outline; yet we feel it is a living spirit.' as to the phrase in the cancelled stanza, 'in darkness of his own exceeding light,' it need hardly be observed that this is modified from the expression in paradise lost (book ):-- 'dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear.' . . _thunder-smoke, whose skirts were chrysolite._ technically, chrysolite is synonymous with the precious stone peridot, or olivine--its tint is a yellowish green. but probably shelley thought only of the primary meaning of the word chrysolite, 'golden-stone,' and his phrase as a whole comes to much the same thing as 'a cloud with a golden lining.' +stanza ,+ . . _and like a sudden meteor._ we here have a fragmentary simile which may--or equally well may not--follow on as connected with st. . see on p. , for whatever it may be worth in illustration, the line relating to coleridge:-- 'a cloud-encircled meteor of the air.' . . _pavilioned in its tent of light._ shelley was fond of the word pavilion, whether as substantive or as verb. see st. : 'pavilioning the dust of him,' &c. footnotes: [ ] see the _life of mrs. shelley_, by lucy madox rossetti (_eminent women series_), published in . the connexion between the two branches of the shelley family is also set forth--incidentally, but with perfect distinctness--in collins's _peerage of england_( ), vol. iii. p. . he says that viscount lumley (who died at some date towards ) 'married frances, daughter of henry shelley, of warminghurst in sussex, esq. (a younger branch of the family seated at michaelgrove, the seat of the present sir john shelley, bart.).' [ ] i am indebted to mr. j. cordy jeaffreson for some strongly reasoned arguments, in private-correspondence, tending to harriet's disculpation. [ ] this line (should be '_beneath_ the good,' &c.) is the final line of gray's _progress of poesy_. the sense in which shelley intends to apply it to _the cenci_ may admit of some doubt. he seems to mean that _the cenci_ is not equal to really good tragedies; but still is superior to some tragedies which have recently appeared, and which bad critics have dubbed great. [ ] this phrase is not very clear to me. from the context ensuing, it might seem that the 'circumstance' which prevented keats from staying with shelley in pisa was that his nerves were in so irritable a state as to prompt him to move from place to place in italy rather than fix in any particular city or house. [ ] though shelley gave this advice, which was anything but unsound, he is said to have taken good-naturedly some steps with a view to getting the volume printed. mr. john dix, writing in , says: 'he [shelley] went to charles richards, the printer in st. martin's lane, when quite young, about the printing a little volume of keats's first poems.' [ ] this statement is not correct--so far at least as the longer poems in the volume are concerned. _isabella_ indeed was finished by april, ; but _hyperion_ was not relinquished till late in , and the _eve of st. agnes_ and _lamia_ were probably not even begun till . [ ] see p, as to shelley's under-rating of keats's age. he must have supposed that keats was only about twenty years old at the date when _endymion_ was completed. the correct age was twenty-two. [ ] the passages to which shelley refers begin thus: 'and then the forest told it in a dream;' 'the rosy veils mantling the east;' 'upon a weeded rock this old man sat.' [ ] i do not find in shelley's writings anything which distinctly modifies this opinion. however, his biographer, captain medwin, avers that shelley valued all the poems in keats's final volume; he cites especially _isabella_ and _the eve of st. agnes_. [ ] in books relating to keats and shelley the name of this gentleman appears repeated, without any explanation of who he was. in a ms. diary of dr. john polidori, byron's travelling physician (my maternal uncle), i find the following account of colonel finch, whom polidori met in milan in : 'colonel finch, an extremely pleasant, good-natured, well-informed, clever gentleman, spoke italian extremely well, and was very well read in italian literature. a ward of his gave a masquerade in london upon her coming of age. she gave to each a character in the reign of queen elizabeth to support, without the knowledge of each other; and received them in a saloon in proper style as queen elizabeth. he mentioned to me that nelli had written a life of galileo, extremely fair, which, if he had money by him, he would buy, that it might be published. finch is a great admirer of architecture in italy. mr. werthern, a gentleman most peaceable and quiet i ever saw, accompanying finch, whose only occupation [i understand this to mean the occupation of wethern, but possibly it means of finch] is, when he arrives at a town or other place, to set about sketching, and then colouring, so that he has perhaps the most complete collection of sketches of his tour possible. he invited me (taking me for an italian), in case i went to england, to see him; and, hearing i was english, he pressed me much more,' the name 'werthern' is not distinctly written: should it be 'wertheim'? [ ] 'envy' refers no doubt to hostile reviewers. 'ingratitude' refers to a statement of colonel finch that keats had 'been infamously treated by the very persons whom his generosity had rescued from want and woe.' it is not quite clear who were the persons alluded to by finch. keats's brother george (then in america) was presumably one: he is, however, regarded as having eventually cleared himself from the distressing imputation. i know of no one else, unless possibly the painter haydon may be glanced at: as to him also the charge appears to be too severe and sweeping. [ ] shelley wrote another letter on june--to miss clairmont, then in florence. it contains expressions to nearly the same purport. 'i have received a most melancholy account of the last illness of poor keats; which i will neither tell you nor send you, for it would make you too low-spirited. my elegy on him is finished. i have dipped my pen in consuming fire to chastise his destroyers; otherwise the tone of the poem is solemn and exalted. i send it to the press here, and you will soon have a copy.' [ ] as byron is introduced into _adonais_ as mourning for keats, and as in fact he cared for keats hardly at all, it seems possible that his silence was dictated by antagonism rather than by modesty. [ ] _blackwood_ seems to imply that the _quarterly_ accused _endymion_ of indecency; this is not correct. [ ] the reader of keats's preface will find that this is a misrepresentation. keats did not speak of any fierce hell of criticism, nor did he ask to remain uncriticised in order that he might write more. what he said was that a feeling critic would not fall foul of him for hoping to write good poetry in the long run, and would be aware that keats's own sense of failure in _endymion_ was as fierce a hell as he could be chastised by. [ ] this passage of the letter had remained unpublished up to . it then appeared in mr. buxton forman's volume, _poetry and prose by john keats_. some authentic information as to keats's change of feeling had, however, been published before. [ ] this phrase is lumbering and not grammatical. the words 'i confess that i am unable to refuse' would be all that the meaning requires. [ ] this seems to contradict the phrase in _adonais_ (stanza ) 'nought we know dies.' probably shelley, in the prose passage, does not intend 'perishes' to be accepted in the absolute sense of 'dies,' or 'ceases to have any existence;' he means that all things undergo a process of deterioration and decay, leading on to some essential change or transmutation. the french have the word 'dêpérir' as well as 'périr': shelley's 'perishes' would correspond to 'dépérit.' http://www.archive.org/details/shelleyandthema todhuoft shelley and marriage. of this book twenty-five copies only have been printed. shelley and the marriage question. by john todhunter, m.d., author of _notes on "the triumph of life," a study of shelley, etc._ london: printed for private circulation only. . shelley and the marriage question. now that marriage, like most other time-honoured institutions, has come to stand, a thing accused, at the bar of public opinion, it may be interesting to see what shelley has to say about it. the marriage problem is a complex one, involving many questions not very easy to answer offhand or even after much consideration. what is marriage? of divine or human institution? for what ends was it instituted? how far does it attain these ends? and a dozen others involved in these. the very idea of marriage implies some kind of bond imposed by society upon the sexual relations of its members, male and female; some kind of restriction upon the absolute promiscuity and absolute instability of these relations--such restriction taking the form of a contract between individuals, endorsed by society, and enforced with more or less stringency by public opinion. its object at first was probably simply to ensure to each male member of the tribe the quiet enjoyment of his wife or wives, and the free exploitation of the children she or they produced. the patriarchal tyranny was established, and through the sanction of primitive religion and law became a divine institution. then, as civilization progressed, the wife and children became less and less the mere slaves, more and more the respected subjects, of the patriarch. the paternal instinct (like the maternal) became developed, and family affection came into existence. at present the whirligig of time is bringing its revenges. the patriarchal tyranny begins to totter; parents are often more the slaves than the masters of their children. and even wives begin to rebel against wifedom, and threaten to revolutionize marriage in their own interest. woman, like everybody else, is beginning to strike for higher wages. there are more than the first mutterings of that revolution in the golden city of divine institutions prophesied of by shelley in _laon and cythna_. there are a good many cythnas ready to rush about on their black tartarian hobbies, of whom mrs. mona caird is the one who has recently made most noise. there is a little design of blake's in _the gates of paradise_, which represents a man standing on the earth who leans a ladder against the moon and prepares to mount; the motto underneath being: "i want! i want!" this is a type of our own age. never was such an age of discontent, never such a babel of voices crying: "i want! i want!" we have become very conscious of our pain, and are not ashamed to cry out and proclaim it on the house-tops in these hysterical times--simply because the ancient sanctions and anodynes have lost their sanctity and comfort for us. the very "priests in black gowns" who used to "walk their rounds and bind with briers our joys and desires," have been themselves corrupted with a longing for a little present happiness, and that old woman in the shoe, mrs. grundy herself, instead of whipping us all round and putting us to bed in the old summary fashion, when we venture to complain that the shoe pinches here and there, has herself become lachrymose. we cry out because, having neither the old repressions nor the old opiates to restrain us, there is no valid reason why we should hold our tongues. by crying loud enough and long enough we may get some help. we may even find some good-natured person to stop crying himself and help us; and then for very shame we may go and do likewise. in this lies the age's hope. it is really in its best aspect an unselfish age, an age in which sympathy and justice are vital forces, in which the miseries of others are felt as our own. there are thousands now who feel themselves "as nerves o'er which do creep the else unfelt oppressions of the earth." we are not wise enough yet to conceive and organize those vital adjustments between conflicting wants, interests, and principles, which shall be of deeper efficiency than mere superficial compromises; but this wisdom will come in due time, if we do not rush into anarchy through that licentious impatience which is the curse of revolutionary periods. now, of all the bitter cries ringing in the air at the present time, about the bitterest and most persistent is that not merely of women, but of woman with a capital w. it is the most appalling note of change that can pierce the ear of self-satisfied conservatism. the patient griselda has begun to protest against the tyranny of her lord and master. love's martyr has at last begun to think that her martyrdom must have its limits. it is as if the lamb, whose function we thought was to be dumb before its shearers and even sacrificers, had found a voice of protestation. it is a portent. and even men are constrained to listen to the cry; for it sounds like the birth-cry of regenerated love. not now "love self-slain in some sweet shameful way," but love the winged angel who shall finally cast out lust, the adversary. but many things must come to pass before this triumph of love can be brought about; and in many respects the horoscope looks unpropitious enough. the first effect of the birth, or coming to the surface of a higher ideal, gradually evolved by the progress of society, is apparently to make confusion worse confounded. not peace but a sword is the first gift of the prince of peace. liberty comes masked like tyranny, and cries "fraternity or death!" love goes wantonly about with the mænads of licentiousness at his heels. but the divine logos, incarnate as the son of man, always comes not to destroy but to fulfil. just now that highly moral being, man in the masculine gender, is much shocked at the strangely immoral conduct of his feminine counterpart. in the first place, she has dared to look at the realities of things with her own eyes, not through the rose-coloured spectacles with which he has been at pains to provide her; and not only that, but to peep behind the sacred veil which man has modestly cast over many ugly things. secondly, she has begun to talk openly about these ugly things, and to call them by non-euphemistic, ugly names, in a manner quite unprecedented. thirdly, she has dared to attempt her own solution of things insoluble, her own achievement of things impossible. and fourthly, she has dared to formulate a demand for liberty, equality, fraternity on her own account--a demand which every day comes more and more within the sphere of practical politics. here are pure women making common cause with prostitutes, married women crying out against the holy institution of matrimony, mothers rebelling against the tyranny of the beatific baby--nay, absolutely on strike against child-bearing, or at least demanding limited liability as regards that important function. finally, here is woman, whether as virgin, wife, or widow, demanding independence as to property and a fair share of the world's goods in return for a fair share of the general work of the world outside of her special womanly functions. "d----n it, sir, i say that women are unsexing themselves--unsexing themselves, by jove!" as major pendennis might exclaim. and the worst of it is that there are so many men, traitors to their sex, who are casting in their lot with women in this terrible women's rights movement--"unsexing themselves," too, no doubt--so that we shall all soon become either a-sexual or hermaphrodite beings! and here let us leave for a moment the more or less limited and prosaic cythnas of the day, the terrible women who ride about upon tartarian hobby-horses in novels and magazine articles, who spout on platforms and practise medicine and other dreadful trades--the scientific mrs. somervilles, and medical mrs. garrett andersons, and pious mrs. josephine butlers, and impious mrs. mona cairds, and get back to shelley himself, the poet of this shocking social aberration. shelley, as mr. cordy jeafferson has taken great pains to demonstrate, was an exceedingly immoral young man. he outraged the conventional morality of his day by his actions as well as in his writings in the most shameless manner; but this shamelessness was due to his intense conviction that he thus outraged _conventional_ in the interests of _ideal_ morality. his life and writings are so full of the paradoxical character which i have ascribed to the social agitation of the present day, and some of his utterances are so prophetic of it, that we may fairly regard him as its precursor. shelley, as we know, started rather as an anarchist than as a mere reformer. his ideas were cataclysmal rather than evolutional. but he was an optimistic not a pessimistic anarchist, and he endeavoured to destroy in order to rebuild with all possible expedition. the kingdom of heaven was, for him, at the very doors, ready to take shape as soon as man willed it; and man _would_ will it as soon as the mind-forged fetters of his mind were loosed. accordingly he endeavoured to loose them. he dethroned god that the spirit of nature might be enthroned; and then he proceeded to abolish marriage that free love might regenerate mankind. he believed in regeneration by incantation--a few words murmured in men's ears would make them as obedient to the ideas those sacred words represented as spirits to the spells of a magician. abolish marriage (and what could be easier?), and love, being set free, prostitution would cease. we may pass by such puerilities of inexperienced idealism, to be found by the score in _queen mab_, and pass on to shelley's more mature utterances, always remembering that he died, as the _triumph of life_ shows, in the very process of maturation. his whole history is that of an idealist, who first seeks his ideal in the actual, and not finding it endeavours to bring the actual into harmony with his ideal. his imagination hacks at the rude block of the world with the divine fury of a pygmalion; thinking at first that he has but to remove the dull superfluous husks of custom to find the living idea in the centre; but gradually perceiving it was but created an inanimate image, which can only come to life by the invocation of venus urania. all the weaknesses, faults, and follies of his life and his writings, as well as that "power in weakness veiled" which he felt himself to be, come from this. he is driven to reform society by attacking the conventional morality of marriage, because he is first a transcendental lover; just as mr. william morris is driven into socialism, because he is first a very practical decorative artist. to speak irreverently, both men want elbow-room for their fads. but shelley's fad is of even more importance to us than morris's. it is better to have a beautiful love, than to have a beautiful house to put him in. shelley is, above all things, the poet of modern love. dante's love, fantastic and supersensuous, was not modern love. we do not want angels, either in heaven or in the house, to condescend to our depravity and lead us upward. we do not want the divine school-mistress to bring us to something not ourselves which may or may not make for righteousness, but the divine mistress, passionate as well as pure, to bring us to our best selves, and live with us in perfect union. shakespeare showed us glimpses of this love defeated by circumstances in _romeo and juliet_, triumphant over circumstances in posthumus and imogen; but shelley has had a fuller vision of it. since shakespeare's time both manhood and womanhood, and especially womanhood, have by pressure of circumstances become more self-conscious, and the conditions of their union through love more complex. and what is this modern ideal of love, of which shelley is the exponent? what is this strange affection, love, whether ancient or modern? it is that most paradoxical of passions, that compound of selfishness and self-renunciation, that forlorn desire which strives to reconcile all things, and found an eternal home on the shifting sands of time, of which we all know something. blake has expressed this paradoxical character of love once for all in his little poem "the clod and the pebble." "love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a heaven in hell's despair. love seeketh only self to please, to bind another to its delight, joys in another's loss of ease, and builds a hell in heaven's despite." we may call these the masculine and feminine elements in love; though of course both exist in all love, whether of man to woman or woman to man. both sexes give more than they receive, and receive more than they give. in all love, from the first step beyond mere physical appetite, to the most transcendental platonism, there are these two antagonistic elements. if the merely self-indulgent element prevails, we tend in the direction of lust, one of the most cruel diseases that plague humanity, which milton rightly places "hard by hate." if the merely self-renouncing, we tend in the direction of monastic chastity, which though not so distinctly an evil thing, may become cruel and inhuman, and a bar to human progress. asceticism is not, like lust, a disease, physical and spiritual, but it may lead to disease, spiritual if not physical. there is an asceticism, the greek [greek: aschêsis], a training of the lower faculties to act in subordination to the higher, which is the strait gate by which we enter upon the arduous ascent toward noble passion and noble action. there is another asceticism which if not truly christian, came in the wake of christianity, which, denying the rights of the body, was less a training than a mortification. both unrestrained sensuality and monastic chastity, in their injustice to the body outrage the sexual principle, the former by regarding it as a toy to be polluted by base pleasure, the latter by regarding it as a thing unclean in itself to be cast out and killed, or at best tolerated and cleansed by the church's holy water. to the present day the average man's, or at least the average englishman's great temptation is to sin against love, through dull unimaginative lust, the average englishwoman's through dull unimaginative chastity. men live too much in the sensuous, and women in the supersensuous, to meet fairly. love, the reconciler, himself is too weak fully to reconcile them and to bring them together in that perfect ecstasy, body to body, spirit to spirit, soul to soul, that "unreserve of mingled being," which shelley, giving a voice to the desire of all ages, but especially to modern desire, sighed for. to understand shelley's protest against marriage, we must understand his ideal of love--the unconstrained rush together of two personalities of opposite sexes, in whom the body is but the vehicle of the spirit. this love is not born merely of the flickering fire of the senses. it is a divine flame, kindled alike in body, soul, and spirit, and fusing them into unity. of course, if this love is to be the great end of life, marriage is somewhat of an impertinence. while the divine fire burns, what need of artificial ties to keep the two lovers together? if it goes out why should they be kept together? to which the prosaic moralist replies: "your ideal of love is very beautiful, no doubt. get as much as you can of this divine flame into your hymen's torch; and after all, every young couple start with some such high-flown notions in their heads; but i must have some guarantee that your wife and children are not left as burdens upon the parish, when you begin to feel the pinch of real life, and the glamour of your imagination fades from your 'divine mistress.' marriage was not ordained to be the paradise of ideal love, but for the sober discipline of the affections of men and women, and above all for the production and rearing up of good citizens of the commonwealth. to judge by your own writings, mr. shelley, you seem to have been running after a will-o'-the-wisp all your life in this ideal love. and if _you_ did not catch it, is it likely that tom, dick, and harry will? in any case the pursuit of it seems just as likely to make inconstant lovers as that sensuality you affect to look down upon. you always had the word 'for ever' on your tongue; but how long did your for evers last? no, no, my dear sir, the good of society demands fidelity to incurred responsibilities, and we find by practical experience that both men and women, but especially men, are inclined to shirk the responsibilities which indulgence of the sexual passion brings in its train. hence the marriage contract. it does not concern itself primarily with either love or lovers, but it helps to keep husbands and wives together, and women and children maintained decently without coming upon the rates. and, mind you, it does not by any means leave love out in the cold. it may not rise to your transcendental ecstasy; but it is love all the same, good honest domestic affection, when your young couples get well broken to harness. did you not say yourself that one might as well go to a gin-shop for a leg of mutton as to you for anything human? well, give me the wholesome leg of mutton--none of your gin for me. egad, sir, when i see some honest couple going to church of a sunday morning, with half-a-dozen pretty children about them, i call that a poem--ay, and a better poem, mr. shelley, than all the fantastic epipsychidions you ever put upon paper. hang it all, sir, let a man make love to his own wife, and stick to her when he has got her. i'm a plain man, sir, but i hope a moral man, and them's my sentiments." to all which, let shelley reply as best he may. the fact is that he has given no satisfactory reply, simply because it was only just before his death that he realised the complexity of the problem of life. he did, however, see clearly that the bringing of men and women into more complete harmony, by raising the ideal of love, was the most important step towards that renewal of the world, that living of the most perfect life attainable by man, for which he sighed and after which he strove; and he saw clearly that our solution of the marriage problem was imperfect, not merely in practice, but to some extent in theory. as regards the subjection of women, he seems to have considered this wholly an artificial product of religious dogma, and not, as it is, the natural result of an imperfect civilization. man protects woman because, on the whole, she adds to his comfort. protection implies subjection, and subjection to a tyrant is slavery; and man, if not altogether a tyrant in these later times, has always the temptation to become one, and the tyrannical traditions of bygone times have a strong tendency to persist. laws and even customs lag far behind the highest public opinion of the day. now, men being in possession of the capital of the world, the material means of life, women stand to them in the position of what the socialists call wage-slaves. they must do what their employers require of them on pain of starvation, and there is no true freedom of contract. and so far men have almost without exception required of them concubinage or menial service, or a mixture of both. english marriage, while recognizing the existing fact of the subjection of women, has done something to raise their status, chiefly by making the bond between the contracting parties theoretically, and to a great extent practically, one of love and mutual service. it has indeed been much more than shelley seems to have realized, the _nidus_ of a love pure and wholesome, if not very passionate. theoretically strictly monogamic, it has been so practically to a very respectable extent. it has put a perceptible curb upon the strong polygamous instinct of men, and it has fostered the monogamous habit in women enormously. english women are for the most part faithful wives. even transitory prostitution does not kill the monogamous propensity in them. they settle down into marriage, or live faithfully with one man, if they get the chance. still, englishwomen are not satisfied with marriage as it exists. let us hear mrs. mona caird on the subject. she is much more prosaic than shelley; she looks at the subject, chiefly from the standpoint of practical comfort. she sees that from this standpoint, from various reasons, which may be summed up in the phrase "incompatibility of temper," marriage does not induce even that amount of mutual toleration, not to say happiness, without which it is impossible for man and wife to live decently together. she therefore asks, what good purpose is served by keeping two people together who are evidently unfit to live together? why indeed? if, as mrs. caird says, "the matter is one in which any interposition, whether of law or society, is an impertinence." but, unfortunately, law and society are the most impertinent things in the world, always binding with briers our joys and desires, and poking their ugly noses into our private affairs in the interests of the british ratepayer. we shall never be happy until we have got rid of them--if even then, and it is quite impossible to get rid of them for some time to come. now the british ratepayer cares nothing about women and children, except in so far as there is a danger of their coming upon the rates. and he is a little scared about giving greater liberty of divorce, "saving for the cause of adultery," as he piously ejaculates. he does not like stray women and children going about the world. but after all, adultery is only a particular, perhaps even a minor, case of incompatibility. marriage was made for man, and not man for marriage, and although marriage may work well in nine cases out of ten, the tenth case must be considered, and relief given if possible. the individual is right to demand relief, and the mode of giving relief is a question for the legislator. greater facility of divorce must come, and will come, now that both men and women demand it. mrs. caird's demand for greater laxity of the marriage bond _ab initio_, the nature of the contract being left to the contracting parties, like a marriage settlement, is quite outside the sphere of practical politics, as she is herself quite aware. if men were but educated up to the shelleyan ideal, then we might try all sorts of delightful experiments in marriage, and gradually arrive at absolute freedom of contract, which would _not_ mean that absolutely unsentimental hygienic promiscuity which is the ideal of the highly advanced physiologist. but men are not yet harmonious creatures, like wordsworth's cloud, which "moveth altogether if it move at all." they are torn by their lusts which war in their members. hence these bonds. lust, lust, lust: this is the most concentrated form of selfishness--the undying worm at the root of the tree of life. this is the tyrant that women have at last begun to recognize as their deadly adversary and to fight against. shelley, a better physician than goethe, laid his finger on this plague-spot, and told the age plainly: "thou ailest here." but he did not see that instead of saying, "abolish marriage and prostitution will cease," he ought to have said, "abolish prostitution and marriage will cease"--marriage without love being only a particular form of prostitution. he did not see that the abolition of marriage would no more get rid of lust than the abolition of private property would get rid of selfishness. we have already, in monogamic marriage, struggled painfully upward to the level of the higher animals; let us not imperil this progress rashly. the cythnas of the present day have felt their burthens more directly than shelley did. hence their demand for economic independence, that they may not be forced into marriage or prostitution by the various degrees of starvation. their demand is a just one, and must be satisfied somehow, even if we have to put a bonus upon womanhood and pay women, not merely fair wages for their work of all kinds, but a tribute to them as women, as potential mothers, which shall fairly handicap the sexes in the struggle for existence, and put men more on their good behaviour. shelley, the mystic, who looked for a miraculous change in nature coincident with a miraculous change in man, seems to have seen, almost as little as the average socialist of the present day, who believes in the spiritual efficacy of a purely material revolution, that the ideals and interests of the two sexes are widely apart, more so now than ever before probably. he, like the socialist, in his impatience to arrive at a practical solution of the life-problem, did not take the trouble to understand the true bearing of the doctrine of malthus. he did not see that whether malthus's figures be right or wrong, it is a fact that the population of any given district (be it an english barony, or the world itself) tends to increase up to the limits of its food-supply, taking the word _food_ in its very widest sense to signify all the means of well-being; and that this tendency is a fundamental element in all social problems, just as friction is in all mechanical problems. he did not see that, other things being the same, a higher standard of comfort, while, finally tending to diminish the rate of increase of population, first increases its pressure. he did not contemplate that strike against child-bearing on the part of women, which is induced, not merely by the desire for personal comfort, but is largely due to the vague influence of those new ideals of which he was himself the prophet. he, like the socialist, thought that we might go on increasing and multiplying _ad libitum_, till we reached the ultimate limit of standing-room on the earth, and of miraculous chemical food out of the air, and began, as astral bodies, to emigrate to mars. women know better than this; and feel the pinch of population, when what they just now consider their higher life is hampered by children. the woman who has one child more than she wants is an over-populated woman; and the advanced woman of the present day, having her own higher culture, and the culture of humanity, on the brain, possibly with a high ideal of the duties of maternity, and frequently a sickly and weary creature, morbid in body and mind, is very easily over-populated. hence much social discomfort. shelley does not seem to have contemplated this, nor seen that the good-natured acceptance of the feminine ideal by man might lead him, like poor st. peter in his old age, "whither he would not." how all this is going to end i confess i don't know. i trust in more delicate adjustments, a higher and more wholesome life all round; but the ascent of man is always a painful process. meanwhile it is quite time for this bald, disjointed chat of mine to come to an end. _london: printed by richard clay & sons, limited, bread street hill. september, ._ * * * * * * transcriber's note: text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). the original text includes greek characters. for this text version these letters have been replaced with transliterations. the misprint "tempation" has been corrected to "temptation" (page ). university libraries, marilynda fraser-cunliffe, sankar viswanathan, and distributed proofreaders europe at http://dp.rastko.net percy bysshe shelley as a philosopher and reformer. by charles sotheran. _including an original sonnet_ by charles w. frederickson together with a portrait of shelley and a view of his tomb. "let us see the truth, whatever that may be."--_shelley_, . _new york_. charles p. somerby, eighth street. . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by charles sotheran, in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. * * * * * to charles william frederickson, of new york. dear friend: as in ancient times, none were allowed participation in the higher mysteries, without having proved their fitness for the reception of esoteric truth, so in these days only those seem to be permitted to breathe the hidden essence in shelley, who have realized the acute phases of spiritality. among the few who have enjoyed these bi-fold gifts, none have had more fortuitous experience than yourself, to whom i now take the liberty of dedicating this volume. yours fraternally, charles sotheran. _december_, . [illustration: view of shelley's tomb, in the protestant cemetery, at rome. from a sketch by a.j. strutt.] * * * * * "to see the sun shining on its bright grass, and hear the whispering of the wind among the leaves of the trees, which have overgrown the tomb of cestius, and the soil which is stirring in the sun-warm earth, and to mark the tombs, mostly of women and young children, who, buried there, we might, if we were to die, desire a sleep they seem to sleep."--shelley. to the memory of percy bysshe shelley, by charles w. frederickson. amid the ruins of majestic rome, that told the story of its countless years, i stood, and wondered by the silent dust of the "eternal child." oh, shelley! to me it was not given to know thy face, save through the mirrored pages of thy works; those whisper'd words of wood and wave, are to mine ears, sweet as the music of ocean's roar, that breaks on sheltered shores. thy sterner words of justice, love and truth, will to the struggling soul a beacon prove, and barrier against the waves of tyranny and craft. then rest, "_cor cordium_," and though thy life was brief in point of years, its memory will outlive the column'd monuments around thy tomb. * * * * * new york, _nov_. , . my dear sotheran:-- the copy of the lines on our beloved-poet, which you requested, are entirely at your service--make what use of them you please. yours, sincerely, c.w. frederickson. percy bysshe shelley, as a philosopher and reformer. a paper read before the new york liberal club, on friday, august th, . "let us see the truth, whatever that may be."--shelley, . _mr. vice-president and members of the liberal club_: "the blood of the martyr is the seed of the church." persecution ever fails in accomplishing its desired ends, and as a rule lays the foundations broad and deep for the triumph of the objects of and principles inculcated by the persecuted. driven from their homes by fanatical tyranny, not permitted to worship as they thought fit, a band of noble and earnest, yet on some points mistaken men, were, a little over two hundred and fifty years ago, landed on this continent from the good ship "mayflower." the "pilgrim fathers" were, in their native land, refused liberty of conscience and freedom of discussion; their apparent loss was our gain, for if it had not been for that despotism, and the corresponding re-action, which made those stern old zealots give to others many of the inalienable rights of liberty denied to themselves, you and i could not to-night perhaps be allowed to meet face to face, without fear, to discuss metaphysical and social questions in their broadest aspects, without the civil or theological powers intervening to close our mouths. "fragile in health and frame; of the purest habits in morals; full of devoted generosity and universal kindness; glowing with ardor to attain wisdom; resolved at every personal sacrifice to do right; burning with a desire for affection and sympathy," a boy-under-graduate of oxford, described as of tall, delicate, and fragile figure, with large and lively eyes, with expressive, beautiful and feminine features, with head covered with long, brown hair, of gracefulness and simplicity of manner, the heir to a title and the representation of one of the most ancient english families, which numbered sir philip sidney on its roll of illustrious names, just sixty-four years ago, and in this nineteenth century, for no licentiousness, violence, or dishonor, but, for his refusal to criminate himself or inculpate friends, was, without trial, expelled by learned divines from his university for writing an argumentative thesis, which, if it had been the work of some greek philosopher, would have been hailed by his judges as a fine specimen of profound analytical abstruseness--for that expulsion are we the debtors to theological charity and tolerance for "queen mab." excommunicated by a mercenary and abject priesthood, cast off by a savage father, the admirer of that gloomy theology founded by the murderer of michael servetus, and charged by his jealous brother writers as one of the founders of a satanic school, for neither immorality of life nor breach of the parental relation, but for heterodoxy to an expiring system of dogmatism, and for acting on and asserting the right of man to think and judge for himself, a father was to have two children torn from him, in the sacred name of law and justice, by the principal adviser of a dying madman, "defender of the faith, by law established," and by us despised as the self-willed tyrant, who lost america and poured out human blood like water to gratify his lust of power. by that lord chancellor whose cold, impassive statue has a place in westminster abbey, where byron's was refused admittance, and whose memory, when that stone has crumbled into dust, will live as one who furnished an example for execrable tyranny over the parental tie, and that lord eldon whom an outraged father curses in imperishable verse: "by thy most impious hell, and all its terrors; by all the grief, the madness and the guilt of thine impostures, which must be _their_ errors, that sand on which thy crumbling power is built; * * * * * by all the hate which checks a father's love; by all the scorn which kills a father's care; by those most impious hands that dared remove nature's high bounds--by thee, and by despair. "yes, the despair which bids a father groan, and cry, 'my children are no longer mine. the blood within those veins may be mine own, but, tyrant, their polluted souls are thine.' "i curse thee, though i hate thee not. o slave! if thou could'st quench the earth consuming hell of which thou art a demon, on thy grave this curse should be a blessing. fare thee well." sad as it is to contemplate any human being in his agony making use of such language to another; and however much we may sympathize with the poet, yet we cannot but have inwardly a feeling of rejoicing; for, if it had not been for this unheard of villainy, we should probably never have had the other magnificent poetry and prose of percy bysshe shelley composed during his self-imposed ostracism, and which furnish such glorious thoughts for the philosopher, and keen trenchant weapons for the reformer. have any of my hearers ever stood, in the calm of a summer evening, in shelley's native land, listening to the lovely warble of the nightingale, making earth joyful with its unpremeditated strains, and the woods re-echo with its melody? or gazed upwards with anxious ken towards the skylark careering in the "blue ether," far above this sublunary sphere of gross, sensual earth, there straining after immortality, and "like a poet hidden, in the light of thought, singing hymns unbidden, till the world is wrought to sympathy with hopes and fears, it heeded not," pouring out such bursts of song as to make one almost worship and credit the fables, taught in childhood at our mothers' knees, of the angelic symphonies of heavenly choirs. such was the poetry of shelley; and as the music of the nightingale or the skylark is far exceeding in excellence that of the other members of the feathered kingdom, so does shelley rank as a poet far above all other poets, making even the poet of nature, the great wordsworth himself, confess that shelley was indeed the master of harmonious verse in our modern literature. it is broadly laid down in the marvinian theory that all poets are insane. i would much like to break a lance with the learned professor of psychology and medical jurisprudence; but as the overthrow of this dogma does not come within the scope of my essay, i would suggest to those who may have been influenced by that paper to read shelley's "defence of poetry." i shall quote two extracts therefrom, each pertinent to my subject. the first describes the function of the poet: "but poets, or those who imagine and express this indestructible order, are not only the authors of language and of music, of the dance, and architecture, and statuary, and painting; they are the institutors of laws, and the founders of civil society, and the inventors of the arts of life, and the teachers, who draw into a certain propinquity with the beautiful and the true, that partial apprehension of the agencies of the invisible world, which is called religion." the other is in extension of the same idea, and concludes the essay: "poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present; the words which express what they understand not; the trumpets which sing to battle and feel not what they inspire; the influence which is moved not, but moves. poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world." i have no hesitation in saying that for treating shelley as a philosopher, i shall be attacked with great "positivism" by the disciples[a] of manufacturers of bran-new brummagen philosophies dug out of aristotelian and other depths to which are added new thoughts, not their own. the reason which david masson offers in his "recent british philosophy" for placing alfred tennyson among the same class is equally applicable now: [footnote a: if diogenes or socrates, leaving high olympus and sweet converse with the immortals, were to condescend to visit new york some friday evening. i am sadly afraid they would be astounded at many of their would-be brothers in philosophy. on seeing the travestie of ancient academies and groves where the schools used to congregate, the dialogues consisting of bald atheism under sheep's clothing to trap the unwary, and termed "the _religion_ of humanity," of abuse and personality in lieu of argument, of buffoonery called wit, of airing pet hobbies alien to the subject instead of disputating, of shouting vulgar claptrap instead of rhetoric, etc.--i sadly fear these stout old greeks, having power for the nonce, would, throwing philosophy to the dogs in a moment of paroxysmal indignation, despite physiognomies trained to resemble their own, have these fellows casked up in tubs without lanterns, but with the appropriate "snuffers," fit emblems of their faiths, and dropped far outside sandy hook. a proper finale to the vapid utterance made by one of these gentry that all "reformers should be annihilated," imagine plato or epicurus offering such a suggestion. o tempora! o mores!] "to those who are too strongly possessed with our common habit of classifying writers into kinds, as historians, poets, scientific and speculative writers, and so on, it may seem strange to include mr. tennyson in this list. but as i have advisedly referred to wordsworth as one of the representatives and powers of british philosophy in the age immediately past, so i advisedly named tennyson as succeeding him in the same character. though it is not power of speculative reason alone that constitutes a poet, is it not felt that the worth of a poet essentially is measured by the depth and amount of his speculative reason? even popularly, do we not speak of every great poet as the exponent of the spirit of his age? what else can this mean than that the philosophy of his age, its spirit and heart in relation to all the great elemental problems, find expression in his verse? hence i ought to include other poets in this list, and more particularly mr. browning and mrs. browning, and the late mr. clough. but let the mention of mr. tennyson suggest such other names, and stand as a sufficient protest against our absurd habit of omitting such in a connection like the present. as if, forsooth, when a writer passed into verse, he were to be abandoned as utterly out of calculable relationship to all on this side of the boundary, and no account were to be taken of his thoughts and doings, except in a kind of curious appendix at the end of the general register? what if philosophy, at a certain extreme range, and of a certain kind, tends of necessity to pass into poesy, and can hardly help being passionate and metrical? if so, might not the omission of poets, purely as being such, from a conspectus of the speculative writers of any time, lead to erroneous conclusions, by giving an undue prominence in the estimate of all such philosophizing as could most easily, by its nature, refrain from passionate or poetic expression? thus, would philosophy, or one kind of philosophy in comparison with another, have seemed to had been in such a diminished condition in britain about the year , if critics had been in the habit of counting wordsworth in the philosophic list as well as coleridge, mackintosh, bentham, and james mill? was there not more of what you might call spinozaism in wordsworth than even in coleridge, who spoke more of spinoza? but that hardly needs all this justification, so far as mr. tennyson is concerned, of our reckoning _him_ in the present list. he that would exclude in "memoriam" ( ) and "maud" ( ) from the conspectus of the philosophical literature of our time, has yet to learn what philosophy is. whatever else "in memoriam" may be, it is a manual for many of the latest hints and questions in british metaphysics." the soi-disant philosophers and classifiers of the sciences and arts who will not permit such poets as shelley and tennyson to be put in the category of philosophers, remind one very forcibly of the passage in macbeth: "the earth has bubbles, as the water has, and these are of them!" as a poet and not as a poet, as an acknowledged legislator for the race, as a philosopher, (a searcher after, or lover of wisdom) and as a political and social reformer, it is my intention to treat shelley this evening, and having finished my prefatory remarks, will now regard him in those attributes which peculiarly should enshrine him in your hearts and mine. the philosophical theories of advanced thinkers are always tinged with the reflex of that which called them forth, or impeded them in their development, consequently social bondage and the "anarch custom" being always present to shelley, the great idea ever uppermost to him was that true happiness is only attainable in perfect freedom: the atrocious system of fagging, now almost extinct in the english public schools and the tyrannical venality of ushers, deeply impressed themselves on the mind of shelley, and he tells us, in the beautiful lines to his wife, of the remembrance of his endeavors to overthrow these abominations having failed, of flying from "the harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes" and of the high and noble resolves which inspired him: "and then i clasp'd my hands, and look'd around; but none were near to mock my streaming eyes, which pour'd their warm drops on the sunny ground. so, without shame, i spake: 'i will be wise, and just, and free, and mild, if in me lies such power; for i grow weary to behold the selfish and the strong still tyrannize without reproach or check.' i then controll'd my tears; my heart grew calm; and i was meek and bold. "and from that hour did i, with earnest thought, heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore; yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught, i cared to learn; but from that secret store wrought linked armor for my soul, before it might walk forth, to war among mankind. thus, power and hope were strengthen'd more and more within me, till there came upon my mind a sense of loneliness, a thirst with which i pined." the fruits born of this seed are discernible in every line of his works. while having all reverence for his college companions, aristotle, aeschylus, and demosthenes, his mind instinctively turns towards the deemed heretical works of the later french philosophers, d'holbach, condillac, la place, rousseau, the encyclopaedists, and other members of that school. his intellect he furbishes with stores of logic and of chemistry, in which his greatest love was to experimentalize; of botany and astronomy, in which he was more than a mere adept; from hume, too, whose essay on "miracles," wrong as it is in the main on many important points, was one of the alphas of his creed--and with deep draughts from his great instructor, plato, of whom he always spoke with the greatest adoration, as, for instance, in the preface to the symposium: "plato is eminently the greatest among the greek philosophers; and from, or rather perhaps through him and his master, socrates, have proceeded those emanations of moral and metaphysical knowledge, on which a long series and an incalculable variety of popular superstitions have sheltered their absurdities from the slow contempt of mankind." it is desirable to call attention to the great minds from whom the student of the early part of this century could only cull his knowledge--he had no spencer and no mill, at whose feet to sit--he had in science none of the conclusions of darwin, of huxley, of tyndall, of murchison, of lyell, to refer to, and yet i think, that the careful reader will, like myself, find prefigured in shelley's works much of that of which the world is in full possession to-day, and which the mystical occultists, rosicrucians, and cabalists have now, and have ever had, conjoined to a mysterious command over the active hidden material and spiritual powers in the infinite domain of nature. the idea of the _supreme power_ or _god_, as emanating from shelley, is one of the most sublime to be found in the pages of metaphysical learning at the command of ordinary mortals. by many it may be considered only a vague pantheism; yet, rightly regarded in a reconciliative spirit, it is of such an universal character as to harmonize with not only deism, theism and polytheism, but even atheistical materialism. listen to the following, which i select out of numerous examples, as a finger-post for others who seek the living springs of undefiled truth, as in shelley: "whosoever is free from the contamination of luxury and license may go forth to the fields and to the woods, inhaling joyous renovation from the breath of spring, and catching from the odors and sounds of autumn some diviner mood of sweetest sadness, which improves the softened heart. whosoever is no deceiver and destroyer of his fellow-men--no liar, no flatterer, no murderer--may walk among his species, deriving, from the communion with all which they contain of beautiful or majestic, some intercourse with the universal god. whosoever has maintained with his own heart the strictest correspondence of confidence, who dares to examine and to estimate every imagination which suggests itself to his mind--whosoever is that which he designs to _become_, and only aspires to that which the divinity of his own nature shall consider and approve--he has already seen god." can any one cavil with these beautiful expressions, this outpouring of genius? if such there be, his heart and understanding must be sadly warped, any appeal would be in vain, for him the veil of isis could never be lifted. after a careful study of shelley's works i can find nothing to warrant the execration formerly levelled at his head, not even in the "refutation of deism," that remarkable argument in the socratic style between eusebes and theosophus in which, as in all his prose works, is displayed keen discernment, logical acuteness, and close analytical reasoning not surpassed by the greatest philosophers--most certainly his notions of god were not in unison with the current theological ideas, and it was this daring rebellion against the popular faith, the chief support of custom which caused all the trouble. if ever he attempted to show the non-existence of deity, his negation was solely directed against the gross human notions of a creative power, and _ergo_ a succession of finite creative powers _ad infinitum_, or a personal god who has only been acknowledged in the popular teachings as an autocratic tyrant, and as shelley puts it in his own language: "a venerable old man, seated on a throne of clouds, his breast the theatre of various passions, analogous to those of humanity, his will changeable and uncertain as that of an earthly king." not to be compared with the far different eternal and infinite. "spirit of nature! all sufficing power, necessity! thou mother of the world! unlike the god of human error, thou requirest no prayers or praises, the caprice of man's weak will belongs no more to thee than do the changeful passions of his breast to thy unvarying harmony." and by this doctrine of necessity here apostrophised our philosopher instructs us in a lengthy statement of great clearness: "we are taught that there is neither good nor evil in the universe, otherwise than as the events to which we apply these epithets have relation to our own peculiar mode of being. still less than with the hypothesis of a personal god, will the doctrine of necessity accord with the belief of a future state of punishment. god made man such as he is, and then damned him for being so; for to say that god was the author of all good, and man the author of all evil, is to say that one man made a straight line and a crooked one, and another man made the incongruity." for you to better understand the exact position in which shelley placed himself, it is elsewhere thus admirably expressed: "the thoughts which the word 'god' suggest to the human mind are susceptible of as many variations as human minds themselves. the stoic, the platonist, and the epicurean, the polytheist, the dualist, and the trinitarian, differ entirely in their conceptions of its meaning. they agree only in considering it the most awful and most venerable of names, as a common term to express all of mystery, or majesty, or power, which the invisible world contains. and not only has every sect distinct conceptions of the application of this name, but scarcely two individuals of the same sect, which exercise in any degree the freedom of their judgment, or yield themselves with any candor of feeling to the influences of the visible world, find perfect coincidence of opinion to exist between them.... god is neither the jupiter who sends rain upon the earth; nor the venus through whom all living things are produced; nor the vulcan who presides over the terrestrial element of fire; nor the vesta that preserves the light which is enshrined in the sun, the moon, and the stars. he is neither the proteus nor the pan of the material world. but the word 'god' unites all the attributes which these denominations contain and is the (inter-point) and over-ruling spirit of all the energy and wisdom included within the circle of existing things." of these attributes generally supposed to appertain to deity, he writes: "there is no attribute of god which is not either borrowed from the passions and powers of the human mind, or which is not a negation. omniscience, omnipotence, omnipresence, infinity, immutability, incomprehensibility, and immateriality, are all words which designate properties and powers peculiar to organized beings, with the addition of negations, by which the idea of limitation is excluded." there is no other writer, i think, who seems to grasp so clearly as shelley the everlasting and immutable laws of naturismus, or who believed so fully in the divine mission of man, and the religion of humanity. ever soaring into the ideal, philosophizing by the aid of his emotional impulses, shelley possessed, like all true hermetists and theosophists imbued with mysticism, a wonderful power of continued abstraction in the contemplation of the supreme power. his mentality, described by one of his critics as essentially greek, "simple, not complex, imaginative rather than fanciful, abstract not concrete, intellectual not emotional," contributed its share to his belief in a pantheistic philosophy, making him find supreme intelligence permeated through the whole of infinite and interminable nature. regarding the universe as an abstract whole, he endorsed the fundamental metaphysics of plato, and believed that "passing phenomena are types of eternal archetypes, embodiments of eternal realities." even if despite of my assertions to the contrary, there be those who still insist on the atheism of shelley, they had better restudy the elementary axioms and learn to think--to those who imagine that there is but little difference between atheism and pantheism to the discredit of either, i would remind them that bacon in his "moral essays," lays down as a principle that:-- "atheism leaves to man reason, philosophy, nature, piety, laws, reputation and everything that can serve to conduct him to virtue; but superstition destroys all these, and erects itself into a tyranny over the understandings of men; hence atheism never disturbs the government, but renders man more clear-sighted, since he sees nothing beyond the boundaries of the present life." in making use of this quotation do not let it be presumed that i wish to endorse materialism; my desire is to add the authority of a great mind like that of the elizabethan philosopher, to the fact that superstition is so hateful that even blank, bald atheism is preferable thereto. i should state that bacon in extension of the extract i have quoted, speaking of this soul-destroying incubus on humanity observes that:--"a little philosophy inclineth men's minds to atheism; but depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds to religion." no amount of mere reasoning, or argument _a priori_ or _a posteriori_, can prove the existence of the most high or destroy the same; in every breast is implanted an innate belief in deity, the inner consciousness of the race, by the "vox dei" speaking within, has throughout all time, the past and the present revelled in this sublimity, and will continue to do so in the future, notwithstanding the insane and insensate efforts of pseudo scientists or iconoclastic materialists--the brain and the heart must act in harmony to consolidate a pure philosophy, for mere intellect alone is an untrustworthy guide. by logic whately proved apparently indisputably the non-existence of napoleon bonaparte, at the time when there was no doubt in any reasonable mind that he was actually living in the flesh, by the same means one can disprove one's own being, and so by this unsafe method have i frequently heard the god idea very learnedly overthrown. on such occasions i have simply taken the words of the logicians for what all their idle wind is worth--zero. the immortality of the soul has ever been a subject of primary importance to all philosophers--the last dying efforts of socrates, noblest of greece's sons, as plato has shown us in the phaedo, were expended in a discussion on the _pros_ and _cons_ of an argument in favor of a future life. many of the highest intelligences since his day have been endeavoring to prove this satisfactorily without the aid of theological revelation. all mankind, from sage to peasant, from the most learned brahmin on the banks of the ganges to the untutored red indian beside the mississippi, has the question, "is there an existence after death," been approached with the most earnest hopes to solve as one of the greatest mysteries. shelley devoted a vast amount of energy to the elucidation of this occult, yet overt, truth; and in one place remarks: "the desire to be forever as we are; the reluctance to a violent and unexperienced change, which is common to all; the animate and inanimate combinations of the universe, is, indeed, the secret persuasion which has (among other reasons) given birth to a belief in a future state." full well he knew, that independent of matter, there was a power, which has been denominated by some, spirit; by others, simply mind, force, or intelligence; and by metaphysical philosophers, soul. if he approached the subject logically, as in his essay, "on a future state," the _ignis fatuus_ seems to escape him and be lost; if poetically, with the innate voice which speaks within us all, ever present. after close reasoning in the essay i have referred to, he arrived at the conclusion that even "if it be proved that the world is ruled by a divine power, no inference can necessarily be drawn from that circumstance in favor of a future state." and that "if a future state be clearly proved, does it follow that it will be a state of punishment or reward?" then in extension of the same argument he urges: "sleep suspends many of the faculties of the vital and intellectual principle--drunkenness and disease will either temporarily or permanently derange them. madness, or idiotcy, may utterly extinguish the most excellent and delicate of these powers. in old age the mind gradually withers; and as it grew and strengthened with the body, so does it with the body sink into decrepitude." he also considered that: "it is probable that what we call thought is not an actual being, but no more than the relation between certain parts of that infinitely varied mass, of which the rest of the universe is composed, and which ceases to exist so soon as those parts change their position with regard to each other. thus color, and sound, and taste, and odor, exist only relatively." even granted that mind or thought be a part of, or in fact, the soul, then he asks in what manner it could be made a proof of its imperishability, as all that we see or know perishes and is changed. here then comes the query, "have we existed before birth?" a difficult possibility to conceive of individual intelligence and if unprovable against the theory of existence after death. he then winds up the whole by thinking that it is impossible that, "we should continue to exist after death in some mode totally inconceivable to us at present." and that only those who desire to be persuaded are persuaded. this is but a rough outline of some of the principal features of his considerations on soul immortality from a logical basis, and which, after all, only constitute an argument, to which, and the thoughts presented therein, he did not necessarily bind himself. there can be little doubt, independently of what i have quoted, that he did not believe in a future state as popularly accepted. trelawney asked him on one occasion: "do you believe in the immortality of the spirit?" shelley's answer was unmistakable, "certainly not; how can i? we know nothing; we have no evidence."[b] [footnote b: those who desire to fully investigate shelley's ideas on the immortality of the soul, and the existence, or nature, of deity, will be amply repaid by reading w.m. rossetti's admirable memoir of the poet, appended to the last two-volume london edition of his works.] when we take shelley from a poetical standpoint, or with the divine truism implanted by the ain-soph clamoring within to his intelligence for expression, how confident he appears of a hereafter, as in the "adonais," or in the following extract from an unpublished letter to his father-in-law, william godwin, the property of my friend c.w. frederickson, of new york, one of the most enthusiastic admirers of shelley, and who has been often known to pay more than the weight in gold for shelleyana: "with how many garlands we can beautify the tomb. if we begin betimes, we can learn to make the prospect of the grave the most seductive of human visions. by little and little we hive therein all the most pleasing of our dreams. surely, if any spot in the world be sacred, it is that in which grief ceases, and for which, if the voice within our hearts mocks us not with an everlasting lie, we spring upon the untiring wings of a pangless and seraphic life--those whom we love around us--our nature, universal intelligence, our atmosphere, eternal love." how exquisite these remarks and his description of a disembodied spirit: "it stood all beautiful in naked purity, the perfect semblance of its bodily frame, instinct with inexpressible beauty and grace, each stain of earthliness had passed away, it re-assumed its native dignity, and stood immortal amid ruin." it must appear impossible to any rational mind, that, with the full evidence before their eyes, materialists can attempt to claim shelley as endorsing their doctrines, for even in the "queen mab," which has been considered by those not understanding it as a most atheistical poem, he speaks of-- "the remembrance with which the happy spirit contemplates its well-spent pilgrimage on earth." positive dogmatists are tyrannically endeavoring to crush the belief in a soul, that all which makes the-present life happy on earth, the hope of our heritage in a future state. to them the fact that the race from the dawn of history, and through the ages has knelt down in abnegation before this inscrutable truth is nothing. this glorious belief evolved from the primaeval cabala, taught in ancient egypt, found contemporaneously in india, enunciated by scholarly rabbis, ever present before the chaldaean and assyrian magi, and laid down as axioms in the philosophical schools of greece and rome, not only to be discovered a fundamental in the egyptian, the hebraistic, the brahminical, the buddhistic, the vedic, but also in all the sacred books of every nation, and handed down and perpetuated to these days as a sacred legacy from the past, by both mohammed and christ. this, the great co-mystery of all the ancient mysteries, shall remain ever present through all futurity like "the existing order of the universe, or rather, of the _part of it known to us_," to use the phraseology of john stuart mill. nations may rise and fall, theologies may flourish and decay, but this glorious and divine inheritance shall never pass away. let pseudo-scientists avail themselves of stale and exploded arguments, and urge that there is no invisible world, and therefore no immortality for man, but honest scientists, like professors tait and stewart, in the "unseen universe," will agree with the illuminati: "in the position assigned by swedenborg, and by the spiritualists, according to which they look upon the invisible world not as something absolutely distinct from the visible universe, and absolutely unconnected with it, as is frequently thought to be the case, but rather as a universe that has some bond of union with the present;" and like tyndall, will be obliged in abject humility to acknowledge, unlike the initiated occultist, that: "when we endeavor to pass from the phenomena of physics to those of thought, we meet a problem which transcends any conceivable expansion of the powers we now possess. we may think over the subject again and again--it eludes all intellectual presentation--we stand at length face to face with the incomprehensible." shelley was ever calling attention to the fact that either from ignorance or the casuistical sophistries of mal-interested teachers who have distorted the divine pristine truths for their own base ends, emanated superstition, the taint of all it looked upon; and with no unsparing hand he flagellated the professors of the numerous false faiths, bastardized from their original purity, which have in their decay, darkened the earth, and with all the force of his powerful pen, mightier than any sword, he ridiculed these gross theologies existant among men, as in the following: "barbarous and uncivilized nations have uniformly adored, under various names, a god of which themselves were the model: revengeful, blood-thirsty, groveling and capricious. the idol of a savage is a demon that delights in carnage. the steam of slaughter, the dissonance of groans, the flames of a desolated land, are the offerings which he deems acceptable, and his innumerable votaries throughout the world have made it a point of duty to worship him to his taste. the phoenicians, the druids and the mexicans have immolated hundreds at the shrines of their divinity, and the high and holy name of god has been in all ages the watchword of the most unsparing massacres, the sanction of the most atrocious perfidies." of the treatment judaism, the foster mother of christianity, received at the poet's hands, i will now recite two examples. to moses, the jehovah of the hebrews is thus made to speak: "from an eternity of idleness i, god, awoke; in seven days' toil made earth from nothing; rested, and created man; i placed him in a paradise, and there planted the tree of evil, so that he might eat and perish, and my soul procure wherewith to sate its malice, and to turn even like a heartless conqueror of the earth, all misery to my fame. the race of men chosen to my honor, with impunity may sate the lusts _i_ planted in their hearts. here i command thee hence to lead them on, until, with harden'd feet, their conquering troops wade on the promised soil through woman's blood. and make my name be dreaded through the land, yet ever-burning flame and ceaseless woe shall be the doom of their eternal souls, with every soul on this ungrateful earth, virtuous or vicious, weak or strong--even all shall perish to fulfill the blind revenge (which you to men call justice) of their god." in another place shelley is equally descriptive of the early stages of jewish history, and makes the following observations on the building of the temple of jerusalem, which rearing high its thousand golden domes to heaven, exposed its glory to the face of day: "oh! many a widow, many an orphan cursed the building of that fane; and many a father, worn out with toil and slavery, implored the poor man's god to sweep it from the earth, and spare his children the detested task of piling stone on stone, and poisoning the choicest days of life, to soothe a dotard's vanity. there an inhuman and uncultured race howl'd hideous praises to their demon--god; they rushed to war, tore from the mother's womb the unborn child--old age and infancy promiscuous perished; their victorious arms left not a soul to breathe. oh! they were fiends, and what was he who taught them that the god of nature and benevolence had given a special sanction to the trade of blood? his name and theirs are fading, and the tales of this barbarian nation, which imposture recites till terror credits, are pursuing itself into forgetfulness." with the enlightenment of the present century in every department of knowledge, so has a corresponding degree of advancement been thrown on the science of history, which shelley only partially apprehended. an enormous amount of new information is now to be gleaned from the writings of ewald, fergusson, bunsen, deutsch, max muller, baring-gould, stanley, and other scholars of orientation, which shows that the hebrews, like every other nation, passed through the various phases of nomadism and pastoralism, to that of offensive and defensive war. the same as other races, they came through the usual steps in religious progress--fetishism, astrolatry, polytheism and monotheism. during phases in their history they participated in the various forms of tree and serpent, phallic, or fire-worship. they had, as the talmud, targums, and the old testament show, a knowledge of the egyptian or chaldaic account of the creation and fall, the latter still to be seen on the walls of the temple of osiris at philae. they had much knowledge of the cabala, through their great prophet moses, who was "learned in all the wisdom of the egyptians," and, like pythagoras, had been initiated into their mysteries, and who both imparted the knowledge in part to their compatriots, on which they both founded systems. a great traveler, and most learned modern writer on occultism, who claims, on good grounds, to have been received into the ancient branch of the rosie cross in the far east, madame helena p. de blavatsky, imparts the following particulars: "the first cabala in which a mortal man ever dared to explain the greatest mysteries of the universe, and show the keys to those masked doors in the ramparts of nature, through which no mortal can ever pass without rousing dread sentries never seen upon this side her wall, was compiled by a certain simeon ben jochai, who lived at the time of the second temple's destruction. only about thirty years after the death of this renowned cabalist, his mss. and written explanations, which had till then remained in his possession as a most precious secret, were used by his son, rabbi elizzar, and other learned men. making a compilation of the whole, they so produced the famous work called _zohar_ (god's splendor). this book proved an inexhaustible mine for all the subsequent cabalists, their source of information and knowledge, and all more recent and genuine cabalas were all more or less carefully copied from the former. before that, all the mysterious doctrines had come down in an unbroken line of merely oral tradition as far back as man could trace himself on earth. they were scrupulously and jealously guarded by the wise men of chaldea, india, persia and egypt, and passed from one initiate to another, in the same purity of form as when handed down to the first man by the angels, students of god's great theosophic seminary." many free thinkers, in their anxiety to crush everything belonging to christianity, often forget that, in throwing aside the hebrew records as utterly worthless, they are getting rid of one of the most ancient literatures in the world. they also do not remember the history of a peculiar nation, strangely preserved amid the fluctuations of time, the purity and excellence of the book of job, the psalms, and others which i could name. they cast unmerited contempt on these compilations, when, at the same time, they will throw themselves, with almost fetish reverence, and apparently rapt adoration, before the institutes of menu, the bhagvat-geeta, the morals of chaoung-fou-tszee, the zend-avesta, the rig-veda, the oracles of zoroaster, the book of the dead, the puranas, the shastras, and the like. well may the sons of israel be proud of their ancient descent. they suffered through christian persecutions uncomplainingly--the torture, the rack, the _auto-da-fe_--and yet they bowed their heads in submission to the will of adonai. to-day they stand upright and united, as in olden times. they have gained the victory over the false disciples of the nazarene, who, in days gone by, forgot their erudition, their medical knowledge, their commercial activity, and general culture. pre-eminent in wealth and learning, they are found on the lecture-platform, in the fields of literature and science, in the councils of rulers, on the exchange, in the legislature--everywhere. when greece and rome were in their infancy, this extraordinary people was in middle age; and when our saxon forefathers were in the lowest stage of barbarism, they were in a state of high civilization; and to-day, although scattered, they show a compact front, firmly knit in the bonds of brotherly love, a model for christians. the great reform movement now agitating judaism, as well as every other species of political and metaphysical thought, will eventually aid to consolidate all the races into one race--humanity. in order to make christians prejudge shelley it has been the wont of theologians, as usual in fighting their antagonists, to cry up a false issue, and to make their followers believe that he was rather more than a mere hater of jesus christ, and of the teachings of that religious and social reformer, in fact, that he was an infidel of infidels. to have no misconceptions--for it has been stated that shelley changed his views on christ, which after ten years' careful study of his writings, i utterly deny, it should be thoroughly understood that he regarded this pious israelite in a duismal aspect--as christ the man, and as christ the god. i must not, while here, forget that many advanced metaphysicians agree that they cannot satisfactorily prove the historical existence of christ, and that they have to winnow through a vast amount of chaff to get at his presumed philosophy, and the facts in his life, which like that of buddha is wrapped up in traditional fable. for the man christ, jesus of nazareth, the carpenter's carnate son, the mystical essene and occultist, shelley exceeded in love and reverence many of the most earnest christians, and in no theological writings can there be discovered such beautiful sentiments concerning the "the regenerator of the world," and the "meek reformer," of whom he speaks as contemplating that mysterious principle called god, the fundamental of all good, and the source of all happiness, as every true poet and philosopher must have done. it is impossible to turn to any page of his works, where, in speaking of christ, he fails in this--he expatiates with as great fervor as renan, seeley, or strauss, on christ's exposing with earnest eloquence, like all true members of the brotherhood of illuminati, to which he belonged, the panic fears and hateful superstitions which have enslaved mankind for ages, and extols "his extraordinary genius, the wide and rapid effects of his unexampled doctrines, his invincible gentleness and benignity, (and) the devoted love borne to him by his adherents." for the god christ, as depicted by the sacerdotal order, he had the greatest contempt. it was impossible for a mind constituted like his to tamely rest contented with the incredible story forced on mankind's intelligence, that the supreme power could or would for any wise purpose be transformed into a dove, and re-enact the mythical part of jupiter with a christian leda, the jew carpenter's wife, mary, under the disguise of a bird. such a story and the theory on which it rests shelley summarised as follows: "according to this book, god created satan, who, instigated by the impulses of his nature, contended with the omnipotent for the throne of heaven. after a contest for the empire, in which god was victorious, satan was thrust into a pit of burning sulphur. on man's creation, god placed within his reach a tree whose fruit he forbade him to taste, on pain of death; permitting satan, at the same time, to employ all his artifice to persuade this innocent and wondering creature to transgress the fatal prohibition. "the first man yielded to this temptation; and to satisfy divine justice the whole of his posterity must have been eternally burned in hell, if god had not sent his only son on earth, to save those few whose salvation had been foreseen and determined before the creation of the world." the hero of this fabulous episode, beneath which a great truth lies hidden, the christian ahrimanes or typhon, the devil, as painted by milton, he considered a moral being, far superior to the god depicted by the same author, and who, under the form of the second person of the christian trinity, shelley tells us of coming humbly, "veiling his horrible god-head in the shape of man, scorn'd by the world, his name unheard, save by the rabble of his native town, even as a parish demagogue. he led the crowd; he taught them justice, truth, and peace, in semblance; but he lit within their souls the quenchless flame of zeal, and blest the sword he brought on earth to satiate with the blood of truth and freedom his malignant soul." elsewhere, in extension of the same, he puts the accompanying words in the mouth of god the father, to illustrate the doctrine of christian atonement: "i will beget a son, and he shall bear the sins of all the world; he shall arise in an unnoticed corner of the earth, and he shall die upon a cross, and purge the universal crime; so that the few on whom my grace descends, those who are marked as vessels to the honor of their god, may credit this strange sacrifice, and save their souls alive. millions shall live and die, who ne'er shall call upon their saviour's name, but unredeem'd go to the gaping grave; thousands shall deem it an old woman's tale, such as the nurses frighten babes withal; these, in a gulf of anguish an i of flame, shall curse their reprobation endlessly, yet tenfold pangs shall force them to avow, even on their beds of torment, where they howl, my honor and the justice of their doom. what then avail their virtuous deeds, their thoughts of purity, with radiant genius bright, or lit with human reason's earthly ray? many are call'd but few will i elect." the popular faith of europe and america, which experience demonstrates to this age has, even as a means of reforming humanity, been a complete failure, shelley correctly believed, had the same human foundation and origin as that of other revealed theologies--he sums up the proofs on which christianity rests, miracles, prophecies, and martyrdoms, with great clearness; proves the absurdity of the doctrine of miracles, as taught by christian writers, shows the falseness of the so-called prophecies, even granting the utmost warping of the real meaning of the old testament texts for christian purposes, which he asserted were to be compared unfavorably with the oracles of delphos, and points out that the mohammedan dying for his prophet, or the hindoo immolating himself under the wheels of juggernaut could be cited equally as a proof of the divine origin of their faiths, as the reputed martyrdoms of christians could of theirs. the development of christianity, which was really founded by paul, was a subject to which shelley devoted much attention--he tells us that "the same means that have supported every other belief, have supported christianity. war, imprisonment, assassination, and falsehood; deeds of unexampled and incomparable atrocity, have made it what it is. the blood shed by the votaries of the god of mercy and peace, since the establishment of his religion, would probably suffice to drown all other sectaries now on the habitable globe. we derive from our ancestors a faith thus fostered and supported; we quarrel, persecute, and hate, for its maintenance. even under a government which, while it infringes the very right of thought and speech, boasts of permitting the liberty of the press, a man is pilloried and imprisoned because he is a deist, and no one raises his voice in the indignation of outraged humanity." the numerical majority of christians--the greek and roman catholic--are as much pagans as their ancestors, the ancient greeks and romans were exoterically. and why? simply because on the break-up of the roman empire--like mohammedanism afterwards, which was the natural reformation and revolution from christian image-worship--christianity, in a natural succession, and by fortuitous circumstances, took possession of the executive, and placed on the seat of power a christian byzantine emperor in lieu of a pagan. basilicas, dedicated to jupiter, mercury, adonis, venus and the deities of high olympus, were re-dedicated to god the father, god the son, god the holy ghost, the virgin mary, and the other saints (or gods) of the christian pantheon. statues therein were rechristened, and the sacrificial altars were simply transferred for the use of the eucharistical sacrifice. the vestal virgins became nuns of the church; the _sacerdotes_, her priests; the mysteries of isis, her agapae. her incense, her pictures, her image-worship, her holy water, her processions, and her prodigies, too, all came from the same source. thus were the socialistic and communistic teachings, based on the philoic-essenism of the reformer of nazareth, paganized, prostituted, and entirely misrepresented. his life and labors were transformed from the natural into what was considered by the vulgar the supernatural, and all those who dared--like hypatia, with thousands of other pious and noble ancients--to deny his divinity, were sacrificed to this new moloch, set up by parricide constantines, or adulterers of the theodosius caste. thus through the ages, has the race suffered under such murder, rapine, and lust, as never disgraced tolerant ancient heathendom in the interests of paganism, even as recently happened in central america,[c] and would happen everywhere else, if priestcraft had the power to act without restraint, so that, as shelley says, "earth groans beneath religion's iron age, and priests dare babble of a god of peace-- even whilst their hands are red with guiltless blood, murdering the while, uprooting every germ of truth, exterminating, spoiling all, making the earth a slaughter-house." [footnote c: i refer to the abominable outrages perpetrated a few months ago at san miguel, panama, where popular preachers were forced by the ecclesiastical powers to foment rebellion by violently denouncing the state authorities, who had refused to allow a pastoral of the christian bishop of san salvador, hostile to the laws, to be read in the churches. having been put into a state of frenzy by one palacios, a canon of the cathedral, a fanatic mob revolted, liberated prisoners, murdered generals in command, massacred numbers of the best citizens, set fire to the city with kerosene, and destroyed over one million dollars' worth of property. after this theological revolt had been put down, passports, couched in the following terms, and sealed with the seal of the bishopric, were found on the bodies of some of these holy murderers; "peter.--open to the bearer the gates of heaven, who has died for religion. (signed), george, bishop of san salvador." similar attempts were made by the christian hierarchy in brazil against the masonic body; but, fortunately, the emperor, a liberal and an enlightened savant, crushed the attempt under foot, and unmistakably proved, to the satisfaction of humanity, that he was not to be transformed into a nineteenth century charles the ninth or philip the second, and act the cat's paw for pio nono, ex-carbonari and recusant mason, to wreak his vengeance on the brethren whom he had betrayed.] to those who will look down the ages, i would ask, is this picture overdrawn? and further, to remember that in shelley's own words: "eleven millions of men, women and children have been killed in battle, butchered in their sleep, burned to death at public festivals of sacrifice, poisoned, tortured, assassinated and pillaged in the spirit of the religion of peace, and for the glory of the most merciful god." is it amazing that he should have written such a "highly wrought and admirably sustained" tragedy as the "cenci," founded on facts, and which has been deemed by competent critics the first since shakspeare--that he should have brought forward, with vivid delineation, the crimes of the priesthood--and that he should have made us remember the terrors of the bloody wars on heretics and heathen, in words such as these: "yes! i have seen god's worshippers unsheathe the sword of his revenge, when grace descended, confirming all unnatural impulses, to sanctify their desolating deeds; and frantic priests wave the ill-omen'd cross o'er the unhappy earth; then shone the sun on showers of gore from the upflashing steel of safe assassination, and all crime made stingless by the spirits of the lord. and blood-red rainbows canopied the land. spirit! no year of my eventful being has pass'd unstain'd by crime and misery, which flows from god's own faith. i've marked his slaves with tongues whose lies are venomous, beguile the insensate mob, and whilst one hand was red with murder, feign to stretch the other out for brotherhood and peace; and that they now babble of love and mercy, whilst their deeds are marked with all the narrowness and crime that freedom's young arm dare not yet chastise?" protestant christians may urge that all this is not christianity; if it be not--for it is the record of the church--i would ask, what is? and where shall we find the history of christianity for the fifteen centuries before luther's time? and where, to-day? their predecessors plucked the plumage from the dying bird of mythology, as they, themselves, have robbed the liberal orchard of all its choicest fruits and palmed them off as of their own growth. protestants would not, i dare say, now countenance the persecutions of the past, but yet, i would tell them that their protestantism has been a great mistake; and that, at this moment, there is no unity among the opposers of catholicism, who are split into a thousand sects, wrangling for superiority, like wolves over offal; and that their churches are gradually converging toward rationalism on the one hand, and catholic sacerdotalism on the other; in regard to which last, the historical roman church--the only christian body which presents a solid phalanx--one must not be too iconoclastic, remembering that, in the monastic houses and great ecclesiastical libraries we have had conserved for us, although, perchance by accident, the records of all the philosophy, all the jurisprudence, all the polity, all the literature, and all the civilization of ancient greece and rome, that remained from the alexandrian library and pre-christian times--the mediaeval clerics were the great conservators of knowledge, which we inherit directly from europe; and we should be, therefore, grateful to them equally with mohammedanism, from which we received, through the crusaders and the moors, the basis of nearly all science and luxury, from asia. there were, undoubtedly, many bad popes, men as bad as the incestuous, and, according to the recent dogma, the infallible alexander borgia; priests who are not all vile, but many nobler than their system, acknowledge this with regret, and among whom there are some whom i can reverence, such as john henry newman, for instance, whose life would favorably compare with that of shelley, or any liberal. there have been popes, also, whose lives have been as pure, as disinterested, and as virtuous as that of any stoic or epicurean. we owe much to sixtus the fifth, founder of the vatican library, and would-be regenerator of order in his temporal dominions; to leo the great, whose patronage of the arts has sent us down the wondrous statuary, painting, and works of genius, which are the admiration of the world; and to hildebrand, who brought together, in one harmonious whole, the struggling elements of european society. it is well to note, too, in order that i may not be misunderstood, that catholicism is better than savage fetishism, and rationalism in degree superior to either; and, further, that liberalism should only war with evil principles, and not with men whom they are generally the exponents of ignorantly, and to the best of their knowledge. comtism[d] acknowledges the fact that christianity was not simply a mere advance on, but where we shall only find the civilization of europe as it was during mediaeval times, and recognizes this most strongly, by placing over fifty of these great geniuses and luminaries, popes, bishops, and saints of the catholic church, in the comtist calendar, under the sixth and seventh months dedicated to st. paul or catholicism, and charlemagne or feudal civilization respectively. we should thank the followers of comte for thus bringing to our notice what we might be liable to occasionally forget in our bigotry and frequent over-anxiety. [footnote d: comtism, or positivism is that casuistical system of modern atheism, founded by auguste comte, the ignatius loyola of materialism, and which that learned pantarchical madman strung together in esquirol's lunatic asylum. it is an insidious philosophy, full of jesuistry, and teaches a _soi-disant_ religion which is ir-religion, a pseudo-god, which has no conceivable existence, and an impossible immortality of the soul, ignoring a future state. the present crusade of comtism in our midst, with false colors flying can be justly compared to that of st. francois xavier in hindostan.] in popularizing terms wrongly, lies much mischief. if the misapplied term christianity, signify the current notion, zeal for truth, the good of mankind, and active virtue or christism, the reputed precepts of christ, then shelley taught that ethical system, and the so-called christian world which persecuted him, the opposite. no one believed, better than shelley, in the necessity of continuity, and that all theological systems are a portion of the development of humanity. it should likewise be remembered, that even in the grossest superstition, as in the highest belief, the underlying aspiration, veiled perhaps, under some beautiful myth, is a straining after the pure and the good, and, as shelley puts it: "all original religions are allegorical, or susceptible of allegory, and, like janus, have a double face of false and true." it should also be considered, that it is better not to interfere with the faith of the ignorant, but let them remain in an exoteric condition, until they are properly developed by sufficient education and consequent intelligence. it is just as much the duty of advanced thinkers not to tamper with the beliefs of men who are in an early stage of progress, as it is not to put a flaming torch in the possession of a lunatic, or a razor in the hands of a child. shelley, in his philosophy, accepted all this, with the full consciousness that in the end truth would prevail--he yearned for the time when priest-led slaves would "cease to proclaim that man inherits vice and misery, when force and falsehood hang even o'er the cradled babe, stifling with rudest grasp all natural good," and for that epoch when "the mohammedan, the jew, the christian, the deist, and the atheist will live together in one community, equally sharing the benefits which arise from its associations, and united in the bonds of charity and brotherly love." with shelley we can turn with delight to the gospels of the future, as of the ancient past; and the ramifications of the trinity of a truly rational religion, mature, science, and art, where we have, instead of idle prayers, addressed to gross material idols, or the impossible entities hitherto depicted in theological systems, a feeling of real satisfaction in learning how to live rather than to die, and in practicing virtue and benevolence for their own sakes, than for improbable rewards in the unsatisfactory hereafter, enunciated from the theological platform. like a true religionist, shelley tells us that aspirations to "madre natura," like the following, should be poured out in silent, grateful communion with omnipresence, and not in temples made by hands: spirit of nature! here! in this interminable wilderness of worlds, at whose immensity even soaring fancy staggers, here is thy fitting temple. yet not the slightest leaf that quivers to the passing breeze is less instinct with thee; yet not the meanest worm that lurks in graves, and fattens on the dead less shares thy eternal breath. spirit of nature! thou! imperishable as this scene, here is thy fitting temple. from such a soul-inspiring altar should praises like these be raised, and with what sacred feeling would the pure worshipper revel "where spirits live and dream--where all that is sweet in sound, or pure in vision floats on the air, or passes dimly before the sight," for as the late professor j.g. hoyt, in his essay on shelley beautifully points out--"to him everything was god, and god was everything. every place was peopled with forms of beauty and animated with living intelligences. hills and valleys, forests and fountains, were each thronged with presiding deities--bright effluences from the diving that stirred within, and shone above the whole." in leaving the first portion of my paper, i will make the following quotation from a remarkable article on shelley in the pages of the _national magazine_, which all minds unshackled, and free from prejudice, must acknowledge to be correct in the main, and which admirably sums up his efforts in metaphysical philosophy. our attention is called to the fact that we discover in all shelley's writings "a freer and purer development of what is best and noblest in ourselves. we are taught in it to love all living and lifeless things, with which in the material and moral universe we are surrounded--we are taught to love the wisdom and goodness and majesty of the almighty, for we are taught to love the universe, his symbol and visible exponent. god has given two books for the study and instruction of mankind; the book of revelation and the book of nature. in one at least of these was shelley deeply versed, and in this one he has given admirable lessons to his fellow-men. throughout his writings, every thought and every feeling is subdued and chastened by a spirit of unutterable and boundless love. the poet meets us on the common ground of a disinterested humanity, and he teaches us to hold an earnest faith in the worth and the intrinsic godliness of the soul. he tells us--he makes us feel that there is nothing higher than human hope, nothing deeper than the human heart; he exhorts us to labor devotedly in the great and good work of the advancement of human virtue and happiness, and stimulates us "to love and hear--to hope till hope creates from its own wreck the thing it contemplates." it is observed by shelley that "the exertions of locke, hume, gibbon, voltaire, rousseau, and their disciples in favor of oppressed and deluded humanity, are entitled to the gratitude of mankind. yet it is easy to calculate the degree of moral and intellectual improvement which the world would have exhibited, had they never lived. a little more nonsense would have been talked for a century or two; and perhaps a few more men, women and children burnt as heretics. we might not at this moment have been congratulating each other on the abolition of the inquisition in spain." the vast impetus, which these extraordinary geniuses gave to freedom in metaphysical strongholds, led to a corresponding degree of liberty in the political and social relations. shelley was not one who "beheld the woe in which mankind was bound, and deem'd that fate which made them abject, would preserve them so." but on the contrary was aware of the progressive character of the race, and threw himself with all his heart and soul into the cause of republicanism, and never slackened in his efforts till death took him from his work. his noblest endeavors were directed toward the cause of suffering humanity, crushed under the weight of despotism; and his tuneful lyre was ever struck in behalf of the goddess of freedom, to whom, in that soul inspiring "ode to liberty," he offers chaplets of the most glorious verse to rouse the nations from their apathy. he has given us his reflections on the english revolution, when cromwell crushed royalty under his feet in the person of the tyrant charles stuart, and which, notwithstanding, rose again to befoul, in the profligacy and debauchery of the second carolian epoch; on the french revolution, when an intelligent people drove out a brood of vampires, who had drained the blood of france too long, to be replaced by atrocious demagogues, hateful priest-ridden bourbons and a napoleon bonaparte, the wholesale jaffa poisoner, on whose death shelley wrote lines pregnant with republican feelings: "i hated thee, fallen tyrant! i did groan to think that a most ambitious slave, like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the grave of liberty. thou mightst have built thy throne where it had stood even now; thou didst prefer a frail and bloody pomp, which time has swept in fragments towards oblivion. massacre, for this i pray'd would on thy sleep have crept, treason and slavery, rapine, fear and lust, and stifled thee, their minister. i know too late, since thou and france are in the dust, that virtue owns a more eternal foe than force or fraud; old custom, legal crime, and bloody faith, the foulest birth of time." with full knowledge of all this, he hopefully looked with loving eyes toward this side of the atlantic, to your magnificent constitution and model republic, built on the consolidated masonic bases of liberty, equality, and fraternity, as did also the mass of my compatriots, who, suffering under a more intolerant despotism, and unable to help themselves, had no hand or voice in the attempted tyranny, from which your forefathers properly rebelled one hundred years ago. in "hellas" we find shelley advocating the cause of greece, and it is believed, that that poem assisted his friend byron in the determination to wield his sword in the cause of grecian liberty. "the revolt of islam," his most mystical work, next to his early effort, "st. irvyne, or the rosicrucian," is full of the most majestic and sympathetic thoughts, and underlying its weirdness we have all those elements "which essentially compose a poem in the cause of a liberal and comprehensive morality, and with the view of kindling in the bosom of his readers a virtuous enthusiasm for those doctrines of liberty and justice, that faith and hope in something good, which neither violence, nor misrepresentation, nor prejudice, nor the continual presence and pressure of evil, can ever totally extinguish among mankind." can we wonder that shelley could be else than republican when he regarded what thackeray afterward summed up with biting irony, the record of the reigning house of great britain, the mad guelph _defenders of the christian faith_(_?_), the results of whose labors have been corroborated by greville and recent writers? to what a line of monarchs, was shelley called upon to give allegiance and prostrate himself before, and can we be astonished that he thus describes the state these abominable hanoverians had "england in :" "an old, mad, blind, despised and dying king,-- princes the dregs of their dull race who flow through public scorn, mud from a muddy spring,-- rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, but leech-like to their fainting country cling, till they drop blind in blood without a blow,-- a people starved and stabbed in unfilled field,-- an army which liberticide and prey make as a two-edged sword to all who wield,-- golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay-- religion christless, godless, a book sealed,-- a senate--time's worst statute unrepealed,-- are graves from which a glorious phantom may burst to illumine our tempestuous day?" to aid republicanism, he threw himself with fervor into the cause of the unhappy caroline of brunswick; and on her account he wrote "god save the queen," in imitation of the british national anthem, and the satirical piece entitled "swellfoot, the tyrant." in the following words he attacked the prime minister, lord castleragh, whose reactionary counsels were transforming england into a state analogous to that of russia to-day: "then trample and dance, thou oppressor, for thy victim is no redressor! thou art sole lord and possessor of her corpses, and clods and abortions--they pave thy path to a grave." for the lord chancellor, eldon, his hatred was intense; for, in addition to the crime of robbing him of his children, this occupant of the wool-sack, had made the seat of justice an appanage for his lust of wealth and power. i have already quoted some verses on this renowned lawyer, and will now present you with two others bearing on the same subject: "next came fraud, and he had on, like lord eldon, an ermine gown; his big tears (for he wept well) turned to mill stones as they fell; "and _the little children_, who round his feet played to and fro, thinking every tear a gem, had their brains knocked out by them." in _queen mab_, shelley has presented us with an unmistakable portraiture of the "first gentleman in europe;" and in the following lines, which i have taken from this poem, i have chosen two extracts, descriptive of the origin of political despotism, and the reason of its continuance: "whence, thinkest thou, kings and parasites arose? whence that unnatural line of drones, who heap toil and unvanquishable penury on those who build their palaces, and bring their daily bread? from vice, black, loathsome vice, from rapine, madness, treachery and wrong; from all that genders misery, and makes of earth this thorny wilderness; from lust, revenge and murder." * * * * * "nature rejects the monarch, not the man; the subject, not the citizen; for kings and subjects, mutual foes, forever play a losing game into each other's hands, whose stakes are vice and misery. the man of virtuous soul commands not nor obeys. power, like a desolating pestilence, pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience, bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, makes slaves of men, and of the human frame a mechanized automaton." shelley believed in reformation, not revolution; and in the "revolt of islam" and his irish pamphlets, we find him advocating a bloodless revolution, except where force was used, and then force for force, if compromise were hopeless. his idea was ever the foundation of political systems founded on that of this country, or on the ancient greek republic. he says: "the study of modern history is the study of kings, financiers, statesmen, and priests. the history of ancient greece is the study of legislators, philosophers, and poets; it is the history of men compared with the history of titles. what the greeks were was a reality, not a promise. and what we are and hope to be is derived, as it were, from the influence of these glorious generations." hoping almost against hope for the regeneration of his country, he submitted to the people of england a proposal for putting to the vote the great reform question, which was filling the public mind; but he was conscious that in the then unprepared state of public knowledge and feeling, universal suffrage was fraught with peril, and remarks that although "a pure republic may be shown, by inferences the most obvious and irresistible, to be that system of social order the fittest to produce the happiness and promote the genuine eminence of man. yet nothing can less consist with reason, or afford smaller hopes of any beneficial issue, than the plan which should abolish the regal and the aristocratical branches of our constitution, before the public mind, through many gradations of improvement, shall have arrived at the maturity which shall disregard these symbols of its childhood." an essay has come down to us (unhappily unfinished), in which he argues in favor of "government by juries." it is but a fragment; and yet it shows us that his mind was ever in search of the right solution of the question of proper legislation for the masses. william pitt, with enemies on every side, publicly acknowledged the extraordinary genius which impelled the american revolution, and admired the constitution of this country, as well as the masterly character of the "declaration of independence." in unstinted praise does he speak of the learning and remarkable public spirit of the signers. with equal praise, i am confident, everyone must eulogize the "declaration of rights," compiled by shelley, which he put before his countrymen sixty-three years ago. therein he has given the whole of his conception of the correct theory of government, and it cannot fail to be read by advanced minds with feelings of genuine pleasure. the race has suffered through its long martyrdom with the horrors of war. one tyrant after another, to aid his accursed ambition or revenge his spite upon a brother monarch, has cursed the unhappy earth and humanity with the terrors of long-continued devastation and bloodshed. with burning pen has shelley depicted war in its most hideous aspects, and by most beautiful comparisons has he shown us the sublimity of peace. he points out, that "war is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, the lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade." he repudiates the notion that man, if left free, would wantonly heap ruin, vice, or shivery, or curse his species with the withering blight of war; and he shows us how "kings, priests, and statesmen blast the human flower, even in its tender bud; their influence darts like subtle poison through the bloodless veins of desolate society. the child, ere he can lisp his mother's sacred name, swells with the unnatural pride of crime, and lifts his baby sword even in a hero's mood. this infant arm becomes the bloodiest scourge of devastated earth: whilst specious names, learnt in soft childhood's unsuspecting hour, serve as the sophisms with which manhood dims bright reason's ray, and sanctifies the sword upraised to shed a brother's innocent blood." in other places he seems to prophetically point out what this generation appears to comprehend--the judiciousness of arbitration--which in the future will be the true panacea for this frightful affliction of humanity. to the current irish questions shelley devoted much of his time, and took up his residence in dublin, to aid the independence of ireland, which might, under proper treatment, have been made one of the brightest spots in the british dominions; but the inhabitants of which, owing to centuries of english misrule and oppression, had, in certain parts, fallen into a condition not much superior to that of those of central africa. when we contemplate what ireland was before the norman and saxon had set their feet there, the most prejudiced antagonist of the celtic race cannot but be astonished at the picture presented to us after their usurpation. when saxondom was in a state of barbarism, this branch of the celts was civilized. aldfred, king of the northumbrian saxons, has given us the experiences of a saxon in ireland over a thousand years ago. in a poem of his own composing, he tells us that he found "noble, prosperous sages," "learning, wisdom, welcome, and protection," "kings, queens, and royal bards, in every species of poetry well skilled. happiness, comfort, and pleasure," the people "famed for justice, hospitality, lasting vigor, fame," and "long blooming beauty, hereditary vigor"--and the monarch concludes his really curious account by saying: "i found in the fair, surfaced leinster, from dublin to slewmargy, long-living men, health, prosperity, bravery, hardihood and traffic. i found from ara to gle, in the rich country of ossory, sweet fruit, strict jurisdiction, men of truth, chess-playing. i found in the great fortress of meath, valor, hospitality, and truth, bravery, purity, and mirth-- the protection of all ireland. i found the aged of strict morals, the historians recording truth-- each good, each benefit that i have sung, in ireland i have seen." such is the statement of king aldfred, and the venerable bede informs us that in ireland, saxons and other foreigners were "hospitably received, entertained and educated, furnished with books," etc., all gratuitously. up to the middle of the sixteenth century, i find, after careful study in the leabhar-gabhala, the annals of the four masters, of clonmacnoise, of loch ce, and other historical records, the same continued apparent prosperity, but after the english took possession of the larger portion of the country, only the records of anarchy, despotism, and misery. before the reformation, or so long as the english settlers remained within the pale, ireland had been as happy as ultramontanism would allow, but from the accession of elizabeth and the consequent attempted enforcement of a new theology, against the wishes of the people, a fearful succession of despotism is revealed. to force protestantism on the irish, catholicism was put down by the most stringent laws--the torture chamber never empty, the scaffold rarely free from executions, the seaports closed, and manufactures forbidden to be exported; "black laws" of a most iniquitous character, exceeding in ingenuity the devices of tilly or torquemada, placed on the statute book. the punishment for being a recusant catholic, or papist, was death, and it is a known fact that one protestant commander, sir william cole, of fermanagh, made his soldiers massacre in a short period "seven thousand of the vulgar sort," as borlase informs us. elsewhere the english behaved in the same manner, and on the authority of bishop moran it is asserted that the puritans of the north shot down catholics as wild beasts, and made it their business "to imbrue their swords in the hearts' blood of the male children." mr. and mrs. s.c. hall, in their valuable work on ireland, state that the possessors of the whole province of ulster were driven out under pain of mortal punishment from their homes and lands, without roof over their heads, to be pent up in the most barren portion of connaught, where to pass a certain boundary line was instant death without trial, and where it was commonly said, "there is not wood enough to hang a man, water enough to drown him, nor earth enough to bury him." one hundred thousand catholics were sold as slaves to the west indian and north american planters by the public authority of the cromwellian government. such was the way these christians showed their love for their fellow christians, and can it be wondered that ever since than there has been one continual succession of uprisings in that most unhappy country? as the sinew of ireland's people in this country were driven by necessity, fleeing from the terrors of starvation and insufficient existence at home, so were the best of the race in the two previous centuries necessitated to fly to the european continent, where we find them enrolled, for instance, in the service of the king of france, and having revenge on their oppressors on the field of fontenoy. elsewhere in every country of europe do we discover them or their descendants in the front ranks, and at the helm of affairs--in spain, o'donnell and prim; in france, mac mahon and lally tollendal; in austria, o'taafe and maguire. when shelley arrived in dublin in , he soon found himself joined to the body of the repeal party, which was endeavoring to obtain back the parliament which had been stolen from them by british gold, less than a quarter of a century before, and to have the catholic emancipation bill made law. he published two remarkable, political pamphlets, in those days the only mode by which a statesman could appeal to the people, in which it may be noticed how well he could write in a popular style, to effectually serve a purpose. they also prove his enthusiasm for the liberty of discussion, and how, although he was always willing to treat on politics alone, he was preoccupied with metaphysical questions which continually crop out. in the first, which he called _an address to the irish people_, and wrote during the first week of his residence in ireland, he commences by eulogizing the irish, explains to them that all religions are good which make men good, and shows that, being neither protestant nor catholic, he can offer the olive branch to each. he then points out the weak spots in each other's conduct in the past, the necessity of toleration, and the crime of persecution--how different this was to what christ taught! he endeavors to prove that arms should not be used--that the french revolution, although undertaken with the best intentions, ended badly because force was employed. he recommends sobriety, regularity and thought; for the irish not to appeal to bloodshed, but to agitate determinedly for catholic emancipation and repeal, which should be ensured through the use of moral persuasion. and concluding with an appeal to catholic and protestant to bear with each other, using mildness and benevolence, and to mutually organize a society which "shall serve as a bond to its members for the purpose of virtue, happiness, liberty and wisdom by the means of intellectual opposition to grievances," he winds up by saying: "adieu, my friends! may every sun that shines on your green island see the annihilation of an abuse, and the birth of an embryon of melioration! your own hearts--may they become the shrines of purity and freedom, and never may smoke to the mammon of unrighteousness ascend from the polluted altar of their devotion." in a postscript to this pamphlet, he urges "a plan of amendment and regeneration in the moral and political state of society, on a comprehensive and systematic philanthropy which shall be sure though slow in its projects; and as it is without the rapidity and danger of revolution, so will it be devoid of the time-servingness of temporizing reform;" and quotes lafayette: "a name endeared by its peerless bearer to every lover of the human race, 'for a nation to love liberty, it is sufficient that she knows it to be free; it is sufficient that she wills it.'" his other dublin pamphlet, _a proposal for an association of philanthropists_, consists of remarks of the same character as the former, but he gives a summary of the french revolution, which he endeavors to clear from the slurs which had been cast thereon. the information has come down to us through one of shelley's biographers, that he spoke at several meetings in dublin. at the one in which he made his first appearance in public he aroused a large assembly to enthusiasm by his fervid eloquence, and yet, notwithstanding all his efforts, his toleration unfortunately became the great stumbling-block in his attempts on behalf of ireland, for we learn that at another meeting of patriots: "so much ill-will against the protestants was shown, that shelley was provoked to remark that the protestants were fellow-christians and fellow-subjects, and were therefore entitled to equal rights and equal toleration with the papists. of course, he was forthwith interrupted by savage yells. a fierce uproar ensued, and the denouncer of bigotry was compelled to be silent. at the same meeting, and afterward, he was even threatened with personal violence, and the police suggested to him the propriety of quitting the country." by many it has been said that shelley was unsuccessful in his self-imposed task, but he was simply before his time, and no wonder, when we remember the condition of ireland at the time of his visit. we know to-day that much of what he demanded has been conceded to ireland by liberal english governments. an alien church has been disestablished; public education, catholic emancipation, and a good deal more, has been given. in the late repeal movement, the young ireland party, the fenian organization, and the present home rule agitation, we find, as shelley wished, catholic and protestant working arm in arm, their colors being an admixture of orange and green--a healthy sign. those who dislike this noble people--for the name is legion of those who are fond of shouting "no irish need apply"--i would recommend to think calmly over irish history, to remember the frightful outrages put upon this generous, warm-hearted, and impulsive race for centuries, and read up froude, mitchell, goldwin-smith, mcgee, moran, and other irish historians. we know what the irish are capable of, and that in ireland, as here, after a generation or two of education, the old theological belief becomes by a gradual process less and less strong. on september th, , a red letter day was added to the english calendar, through the slaughter by cavalry of a number of unarmed men, who were agitating, peaceably, for the rights of labor. this is known to posterity as the "peterloo massacre," and happened in manchester, on the site of the present superb free trade hall, erected by the free traders to commemorate the ultimate triumph of their cause over the capitalists, who, in the manufacturing districts, were, until a few years back, always aided by the military in putting down strikes or demands for increase of wages. at the time of this outrage shelley was in italy; in consequence of it his attention was concentrated more than previously on the labor question, and he immediately composed half a dozen in spiriting poems, full of the fire of genius; in one of which he calls, with a voice of thunder, to the i. "men of england! wherefore plough for the lords who lay ye low? wherefore weave, with toil and care, the rich robes your tyrants wear? ii. wherefore feed and clothe and save, from the cradle to the grave, those ungrateful drones who would drain your sweat--nay, drink your blood? iii. wherefore, bees of england, forge many a weapon, chain, and scourge, that these stingless drones may spoil the forced produce of your toil? iv. have ye leisure, comfort, calm, shelter, food, love's gentle balm? or what is't ye buy so dear with your pain, and with your fear? v. the seed ye sow, another reaps; the wealth ye find another keeps; the robes ye weave, another wears; the arms ye forge, another bears. vi. sow seed--but let no tyrant reap; find wealth--let no impostor heap; weave robes--let not the idle wear; forge arms--in your defence to bear. vii. shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells; in halls ye deck, another dwells. why shake the chains ye wrought? ye see the steel ye tempered, glance on ye! viii. with plough and spade, and hoe and loom, trace your grave, and build your tomb, and weave your winding sheet, till fair england be your sepulchre!" by far the finest composition brought out by this occasion was the "masque of anarchy," a magnificent poem of ninety-one verses. "anarchy" he describes as riding "on a white horse,"[e] in alliance with theology and statecraft, and whose admirers were "lawyers and priests." [footnote e: this doubtless alludes to the house of hanover, the principal charge on whose armorial bearings is a white horse.] after a series of powerful delineations, he describes slavery and freedom, justice, wisdom, peace and love, in exquisite terms. then he turns to their lamps--science, poetry, and thought, which make secure "the lot of the dwellers in the cot." he advises--that, on some spot of english ground, should be convened a great assembly of the fearless and the free, who shall come from the bounds of the english coast, and from every hut, village, and town, where, for other's misery and their own, they live, suffer, and moan. also, "from the workhouse and the prison, where, pale as corpses newly risen, women, children, young and old, groan for pain, and weep for cold; "from the haunts of daily life, where is waged the daily strife with common wants and common cares, which sow the human heart with tares." when face to face with their oppressors, no force should be used, but instead "strong and simple words, keen to wound as sharpened swords, and wide as targes let them be, with their shade to cover ye." the description of the peterloo massacre which follows, is one of the finest pieces of composition in the language, and the poem concludes by calling the "men of england, heirs of glory, heroes of unwritten story," to "rise like lions after slumber in unvanquishable number! shake your chains to earth, like dew which in sleep had fall'n on you; 'ye are many--they are few.'" in a pamphlet, written ostensibly on the death of the princess charlotte, he calls attention to the fact that three men had been executed in the interests of the "big-hearted and generous capitalists," of whom we now-a-days hear so much from their interested admirers, but whose wings are now fortunately clipped. shelley considered that there was no real wealth but man's labor, and that speculators pandering to selfishness, the twin-sister of debased theology, took a pride in the production of useless articles of luxury and ostentation. imbued with this spirit, a man of wealth imagines himself a patriot when employing laborers on the erection of a mansion, or a woman of fashion indulging in luxurious dress, fancies she is aiding the laboring poor. he observes of such instances as these: "who does not see that this is a remedy which aggravates, whilst it palliates the countless diseases of society? the poor are set to labor--for what? not the food for which they famish; not the blankets for want of which their babes are frozen by the cold of their miserable hovels; not those comforts of civilization without which civilized man is far more miserable than the meanest savage, oppressed as he is by all its insidious evils, within the daily and taunting prospect of its innumerable benefits assiduously exhibited before him; no, for the pride of power, for the miserable isolation of pride, for the false pleasures of the hundredth part of society." labor is required for physical, and leisure for moral improvement. what is wanted, he considered, is a state to combine the advantages of both and have the evils of neither. in fact, any unnecessary labor which deprives the race of intellectual gain, and all times not required for the manufacture of commodities which are necessary for the subsistence of humanity, should be occupied only in mental or physical culture. shelley lays down as a principle that commerce is the venal interchange of what human art or nature yields, and which should not be purchased by wealth, but demanded by want. labor and commerce, when badly regulated, scatter withering curses and open "the doors to premature and violent death, to penury, famine, and full-fed disease." wealth was a living god, who rules in scorn, and whom peasants, nobles, priests, and kings blindly reverence, and by whom everything is sold--the light of heaven, earth's produce, the peace of outraged conscience, the most despicable things, every object of life, and even life itself. in a proper condition of society, which should be strictly co-operative, there would necessarily be no pauperism, and "no meditative signs of selfishness, no jealous intercourse of wretched gain, no balancings of prudence, cold and long; in just and equal measure all is weighed; one scale contains the sum of human weal. and one the good man's heart." the fruits of shelley's enunciations on the labor and capital questions, and the school of political economists to which he belonged, have made wondrous progress. the world is beginning to see that labor has the unrestricted right of coalition, that there should be only a standard day's work, according to the wants of society, with prohibition of labor for at least one day in the week; that legislation is required for the protection of the life and health of the working man, and that mines, factories, and workshops should be strictly controlled by sanitary officers selected by labor; that no children's work should be permitted, or women's, which may be considered unhealthy; that prison work should be regulated, and that laborers' co-operative and benevolent societies should be administered independently of the state. liberals must learn from their enemies, must organize and let the ramifications of unshackled thought spread through the lands, and must, above all, conserve the control of education. whereever there is a church or chapel, let there be beside it a hall or club, in which shall be inculcated the simple doctrines of a pure, integralised religion. on the statute book of england there yet remains a law directed against the freedom of the press and discussion; to even discuss the question of the divinity of christ was considered blasphemy, and the person so offending was punished most severely by the criminal laws. at the present time this wretched remnant of the dark ages is practically a dead letter. the friends of shelley suffered from this most intolerant spirit. keats, it is believed by many, was wounded unto death for daring to speak on behalf of freedom, and we are given glimpses in the _adonais_ of his feelings on the subject; leigh hunt and his brother were imprisoned and fined for the same; the publisher of the pirated edition of shelley's _queen mab_ was cast into newgate; eaton, a london bookseller, had been sentenced by lord ellenborough to a lengthened incarceration, for publishing paine's _age of reason_, and hundreds of others suffered similarly. the abominable circumstance of eaton's conviction caused great uproar; the marquis of wellesley, in the house of lords, stated it was "contrary to the mild spirit of the christian religion; for no sanction can be found under that dispensation which will warrant a government to impose disabilities and penalties upon any man on account of his religious opinions." shelley, who was then only nineteen years of age, and had himself suffered from bigotry at oxford, threw himself publicly into the controversy with great vehemence, with "a composition of great eloquence and logical exactness of reasoning, and the truths which it contains on the subject of universal toleration are now generally admitted." lady shelley, from whom i have just quoted, says that her husband's father, "from his earliest boyhood to his latest years, whatever varieties of opinion may have marked his intellectual course, never for a moment swerved from the noble doctrine of unbounded liberty of thought and speech. to him the rights of intellect were sacred; and all kings, teachers, or priests who sought to circumscribe the activity of discussion, and to check by force the full development of the reasoning powers, he regarded as enemies to the independence of man, who did their utmost to destroy the spiritual essence of our being." to shelley's able advocacy, and to his appeals against the stamping out of political and social truths opposed to custom, particularly the celebrated letter to lord ellenborough, it cannot be denied that the toleration now enjoyed in great britain owes much. shelley was one of those who most earnestly deprecated punishment by death. in his early years, if a man stole a sheep, or shot a hare, committed forgery or larceny, was a recusant catholic or a wizard, there was, on his conviction, but one penalty meted out--death. to shelley's sensitive nature, this painted and tinged everything around him with an aspect of blood. in one of his political pamphlets, summoning all his energies, he depicts in fearful colors, the depraved example of an execution--how it brutalized the race, and how it was the duty of man not to commit murder on his fellow-man, in the name of the laws. the abolition of the first of these, he stated that reformers should propose on the eve of a great political change. he considered that the punishment by death harbored revenge and retaliation, which legislation should be the means of eradicating, and he urged that "governments which derive their institutions from the existence of circumstances of barbarism and violence, with some rare exceptions, perhaps, are bloody in proportion as they are despotic, and form the manners of their subjects to a sympathy with their own spirit." in england, as in many other countries, capital punishment is now only employed on conviction of murder or high treason. in spain and italy it was totally abolished, on the foundation of their young republics. thus have the labors of shelley, and other reformers for the good of humanity, aided to extinguish crime made law. cruelty to animals was another reform agitated by shelley. his love for the animal kingdom and hatred of blood-shedding, was so great, that he personally carried the passion to such an extent as to become a vegetarian, and endeavored to induce others to be the same, in an admirable argument of some length in the notes to "queen mab." the subject of the rights of women is approached and expatiated on, perhaps learnedly, by individuals utterly incompetent to deal with the question. such persons, frequently armed with sunday-school platitudes, believing in the inferiority of women, consequent on the supposed fall, and doubtless with heads paved with good intentions, as a certain place is said to be, do more harm than good to the cause. this is not wanted, and is worse than useless. to found a real republic on a solid basis, it can be legislated for only by removing the ancient landmarks by a gradual process, and coming face to face with a new order of things, without bias or prejudice borrowed from the past. thus that noble woman, mary wolstonecraft, as well as john stuart mill, percy bysshe shelley, and numerous others, have treated this all-important question, which cannot be shirked by the race. true reformers ask: what was the condition of the sex in the past? look down the revolving cycles and note. in ancient egypt, woman in the upper classes was almost the equal of man, and although, like cleopatra, she could wield the sceptre, yet in the lower her condition was wretched; in asia, a mere slave and object of zenana lust; in savagedom, a beast of burthen. in rome and greece, shelley shall tell the story: "among the ancient greeks the male sex, one half of the human race, received the highest cultivation and refinement; whilst the other, so far as intellect is concerned, were educated as slaves, and were raised but few degrees in all that related to moral or intellectual excellence above the condition of savages.... the roman women held a higher consideration in society, and were esteemed almost as the equal partners with their husbands in the regulation of domestic economy and the education of their children." regard the incidents of a jewish wooing, in which the woman had no voice, and of the marriage, the infernal punishments for adultery, and the accounts of the seraglios of the hebrew kings equalled only by turkish harems, and some of the passages in the inspired book of numbers, for instance, in which the horrible truth is frequently too evident, and only equalled by the fact that after lust had played out its passion, unfortunate women, taken in captivity, could, by divine command, be turned adrift to rot or starve. in christian feudalism we find nothing much better. if i have read history correctly, and i may be wrong--the upper-grade women in mediaeval europe, who were adored, not with love, but with lascivious and sensual worship, by christian knights and troubadours, and who, like criminals to the halter, were forced, rarely with their own consent, into the arms of men they disliked or had never seen, or were placed in conventual houses against their wills. of the lower-grade women, i need only offer one example--and that is sufficient to show their awful degradation; the french and german feudal lord had the right of _cuissage_, or, in plain english, the embraces of his serf-retainer's bride on the marriage night. shelley considered that in consequence of all this, men had forgotten their duties to the other sex, and that even at the time at which he lived woman was still in great social bondage, improperly educated, tied down by restrictions, and refused participation in the higher positions of labor. he called not in vain, against the inequality of the sexes, and asserted that woman's position must and should be altered by forgetting the tyranny of the past, and, be determined, for the good of the future. we should be rejoiced that eloquent exponents of the abominations of former ages, the evils of the present, and the proper position of the future, are now hard at work. the "women's rights" party is up teaching men their duties on every continent; in distant india, the brahmo somaj is battling, not vainly, against the horrors of the zenana, and in conservative england, which has been stormed, and the forlorn hope is now taking possession of the citadel; everywhere it is the same. yes, woman, thanks to shelley and the reformers, is about to be emancipated and free; free to earn her living, how, where, and when she likes; the equal of man, who shall no longer play such fantastic tricks as he did in the past, in proof of his dignity and superiority. the fourth of july is not long past and gone; i trust that in the dim vista of the future, our descendants will keep a national holiday, or a day to be set apart on which shall be celebrated the "declaration of the independence of women," and then, perhaps, shelley's description of woman in the "episychidion" will be more apparent: "seraph of heaven! too gentle to be human, veiling beneath the radiant form of woman all that is unsupportable in thee, of light, and love, and immortality." i now approach a very delicate portion of my essay: the question of the marriage relation. by many it is scouted with much virtuous indignation, but i conceive that the liberal, who, like too many, dare not discuss this matter in its broadest and widest aspects, should be stigmatized as unworthy of the name. christ is reported to have urged the admirers of his ethical system to take up their cross and follow him, leaving father, mother, wife, children, and all they may have--thus shelley acted, and it bears as equally pregnant lessons to free thinkers as it did to those syrian fishermen. oh, that liberals had as much "faith" in the truth, in the efficacy of their cause, as the first christians are said to have had in the teachings of that christ whom they regarded not as a divinity, but as a son of god, as we to-day are sons of god, of the most high! oh, that we could carry that "faith" into our beliefs, and the determination to be stopped at no obstacle which may bar the progress of truth, which must conquer in the end! the favorite theme in the writings of shelley is "eros," love of the individual, of the race, of nature, and in this he follows christ, in whose system of philosophy, love is ever the pre-dominating idea which permeates mankind with its beneficial effects, and will, when the bastard tinsel with which the truths of the nazarene are hidden, be replaced by that pure gold which it is impossible to trace in the enunciations of any previous philosopher. this subject is always present to shelley, and he thus appeals in one of his poems to the "great spirit, deepest love! which rulest and dost move all things which live, and are." in another place he inquires-- "what is love? ask him who lives, what is life? ask him who adores, what is god?" and in the same essay he describes love as "the bond and sanction which connects man with man, and with everything which exists." elsewhere he points out that the attainment of love "urges forth the power of man to arrest the faintest shadow of that without the possession of which there is no rest nor respite to the heart over which it rules, (and that) so soon as this want or power is dead, man becomes the living sepulchre of himself, and what yet survives is the mere husk of what once he was." of such was shelley's philosophy of love, and i would ask if it be conceivable that the abominable calumny prompted by theological virus, that he kept a seraglio, as his friend leigh hunt informs us was reported, had any real existence. shelley was too pure for any such idea as that of promiscuous sexual intercourse to be acted on by himself; his life, which lies open before us, refutes the diabolical invention. the fact was, that at the early age of nineteen he married harriet westbrook, the daughter of a retired tavern keeper, a woman without soul and that congeniality of disposition which a man overflowing with the pulses of genius should have chosen. after a wretched existence without intellectual sympathy, and on the advice of her father, who did not agree with his ideas on religion, they parted by mutual consent, never to meet again. shelley about this period met his second wife, a woman of the highest powers of mind and charm of body, mary wolstonecraft godwin, the authoress of _frankenstein_ and other works, daughter of william godwin, the novelist, and author of _political justice_ and mary wolstonecraft, the gifted writer of _the rights of women_. we are told by lady shelley that, "to her, as they met one eventful day in st. pancras churchyard, by her mother's grave, bysshe, in burning words, poured forth the tale of his wild past, how he had suffered, how he had been misled, and how, if supported by her love, he hoped, in future years, to enroll his name with the wise and good, who had done battle for their fellow-men and been true through all adverse storms to the cause of humanity. unhesitatingly she placed her hand in his, and linked her fortune with his own." after the death of his first wife, on the solicitation of godwin, who was anxious for the landed interests of his grandchildren, a _legal_ union was performed. after looking on this episode, in the most charitable manner, i am confident the sternest moralist cannot but "acknowledge that the passionate love of a boy should not be held a serious blemish, in a man whose subsequent life was exceptional in virtue and beneficence." believing, as i have explained, in the divinity of love, shelley regarded everything in the relation of the sexes with the most intense horror, which was not consistent with "freedom;" and by which he most certainly did not signify the license attributed by many. when he looked around and saw the withering blast of forced marriages, conjugal hatred and prostitution, can we be astonished at his passionately exclaiming: "even love is sold; the solace of all woe is turned to deadliest agony, old age shivers in selfish beauty's loathing arms, and youth's corrupted impulses prepare a life of horror from the blighting bane of commerce, whilst the pestilence that springs from unenjoying sensualism, has filled all human life with hydra-headed woes?" in a most important essay bearing on this passage, which should be widely studied, he observes: "love is inevitably consequent upon the perception of loveliness. love withers under constraint; its very essence is liberty; it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy, nor fear; it is then most pure, perfect, and unlimited, where its votaries live in confidence, equality, and unreserve." he then urges: "a husband and wife ought to continue so long united as they love each other. any law which should bind them to cohabitation for one moment after the decay of their affection, would be a most intolerable tyranny, and the most unworthy of toleration; and there is nothing _immoral_ in this separation, for love is free. to promise forever to love the same woman, is not less absurd than to promise to believe the same creed." he states categorically that "the present system of constraint does no more, in the majority of instances, than make hypocrites or open enemies. persons of delicacy and virtue, unhappily united to those whom they find it impossible to love, spend the loveliest season of their lives in unproductive efforts to appear otherwise than they are, for the sake of the feelings of their partners or the welfare of their mutual offspring; and that the early education of their children takes its color from the squabbles of the parents. they are nursed in a systematic school of ill-humor, violence, and falsehood, and the conviction that wedlock is indissoluble holds out the strongest of all temptations to the perverse. they indulge without restraint in acrimony and all the little tyrannies of domestic life, when they know that their victim is without appeal. if this connection were put on a rational basis, each would be assured that habitual ill-temper would terminate in separation, and would check this vicious and dangerous propensity." he conceived from the re-arrangement of the marriage relation by greater facility of divorce than was to be had sixty years ago,[f] "a fit and natural arrangement would result." [footnote f: it should be remembered that in shelley's day divorce was obtainable by the most wealthy only, at an enormous cost and by a lengthy process, precluding the slightest opportunity for the middle and poorer classes to avail themselves thereof.] shelley by no means asserts that the intercourse would be promiscuous, but on the contrary believed that from the relation of parent to child a union is generally of longer duration, placed on such a footing, and marked above all others with generosity and self-devotion. we are on the eve of great religious changes, which must consequently disturb all the social relations. historical christianity still holds to her old text, of marriage being a sacrament, and therefore indissoluble. the founder of comtism developing this dogma, urges that after the death of either husband or wife the duty of the survivor is not to re-marry. great britain and many of the american states have conceded greater freedom in divorce, so as to carry out in a large measure the arguments of shelley, while the theory of what is termed the "sovereignty of the individual" is propounded by the leaders of the free love party, as a cure for the present and former difficulties. whatever may be the outcome of the present widespread discussions i know not, but i have belief in the supreme intelligence and in humanity, and am certain that neither the home nor the race will suffer, but that out of all this agitation will come more refined sentiment and truer morality. i must now conclude. it has been said that there are two things in which the professors of all theologies have agreed-"to persecute all other sects, and plunder their own." shelley, who subscribed to no theology, was persecuted by them during his entire life, but he ever forgave his persecutors, who he was confident acted through ignorance of his real motives, and he tells us: "i have thought to appeal to something in common and unburden my inmost soul to them. i have found my language misunderstood, like one in a distant and savage land. the more opportunities they have afforded me for experience, the wider has appeared the interval between us, and to a greater distance have the points of sympathy been withdrawn. with a spirit ill-fitted to sustain such proof, trembling and feeble through its tenderness, i have everywhere sought sympathy, and have found only repulse and disappointment." do _we_ misunderstand him? i think not, and william howitt, a representative of the people, shall answer for them: "for liberty of every kind he was ready to die. for knowledge, and truth, and kindness, he desired only to live. he was a rare instance of the union of the finest moral nature and the finest genius. if he erred, the world took ample revenge upon him for it, while he conferred in return his amplest blessing on the world. it was long a species of heresy to mention his name in society; that is passing fast away. it was next said that he never could become popular, and therefore the mischief he could do was limited. he _has_ become popular, and the good he is likely to do will be unlimited. the people read him, though we may wonder at it, and they comprehend him." this estimate is not overrated, for, having confidence in his mission to humanity, he was fortified by the belief of his existing as an indestructible portion of interminable nature and the universal mind, which in all high intelligences lives through the ages, not only in the individual consciousness of the spirit, but in that immortality of soul or mind, which lives in the race. he hated the superstitions of christian fetishism and tyranny over the intellect, but loved christ and the other philosophers with a genuine affection; he loved humanity, and was ever fond of examining its highest phases, as, for instance, through the doctrines of perfect equality in the sexes--yet he recognised that sudden changes were prejudicial before sufficient progress had been accomplished. "to destroy, you must replace." justice he considered the sole guide, reason and duty the only law. his morality was not that of pharasaical tartuffes, nor of prudish knickerbockers, who with wide phylacteries, sit in the high places to be seen of men. he only combatted evil principles and fought hard in favor of good. he has been quoted as being too transcendental; he may be to dullards with imperfect reasoning faculties, or theologians, who only see through fanatical and green-monsterish spectacles, but to men who have a _live_ philosophy equally adapted to modern as well as ancient thought, he is as clear as the noon-day sun. all that is required, to comprehend percy bysshe shelley, is integralism of that high order which has ever believed in the ultimate perfectibility of human nature, and looked "forward to a period when a new golden age would return to earth, when all the different creeds and systems of the world would be amalgamated into one, crime disappear, and man, freed from shackles, civil and religious, bow before the throne 'of his own awless soul,' or 'of the power unknown,'" whose veil it is the ambition of theosophy to raise for humanity, and remain the "inscrutable" no longer. i have completed my task, and with humility i make the statement, knowing that before me are many who could have performed it as completely as i have crudely. i look upon my essay, in which i have treated my subject popularly, with intention, as a beacon, whence a little light may be shed dimly, hoping that others, better qualified, will bring you face to face with the full rays. i have shown you shelley in his writings, his life and poetry, only where they trench on his philosophical and reform ideas--i could have related to you much about his inflexibly moral, generous, and unselfishly benevolent character--his pure, gentle and loveable existence--his utter abnegation of self, learnt from the hermetic philosophy, and his despisal of transitory legislative honors--how he, the heir to thousands of dollars annually, and a baronetage, threw aside pecuniary considerations for love of the truth and benevolence,[g] and how, therefrom, he was often nearly dying of hunger in the streets. i could have treated him simply as a poet, full of experienced impetuosity, subtlety of expression, and precision of verse, but i have aimed to exhibit one side of his immortality to you, which lives in and by the race, for humanity. [footnote g: "in his heart there was nothing depraved or unsound; those who had opportunities of knowing him best, tell us that his life was spent in the contemplation of nature, in arduous study, or in acts of kindness and affection. a man of learning, who shared the poverty so often attached to it, enjoyed from him at one period a pension of a hundred pounds sterling a year, and continued to enjoy it till fortune rendered it superfluous. to another man of letters, in similar circumstances, he presented fourteen hundred pounds; and many other acts like these are on record to his immortal honor. himself a frugal and abstemious ascetic, by saving and economising, he was able to assist the industrious poor--and they had frequent cause to bless his name."--_national magazine._] cut short in the youth of manhood, who can tell what percy bysshe shelley might, not have become, living for us even perhaps at this moment? what need we care, though, for does not the "empire of the dead increase of the living from age to age?" shelley's terrestrial body may have been cast up by the waves on the lonely italian shore, in sweet companionship with the souls of keats and sophocles. his mundane elements, purified through the fire, may have returned to their kindred elements, and been "made one with nature, where is heard his voice in all her music, from the moan of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird; he is a presence to be felt and known, in darkness and in light, from herb and stone, spreading itself where'er that power move, which has withdrawn his being to its own; which wields the world with never-wearied love, sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above." his cinereal ashes may lie beneath the cypresses, near the dust of the "adonais" of his muse, under roman sod, and where he said: "to see the sun shining on its bright grass, and hear the whispering of the wind among the leaves of the trees, which have overgrown the tomb of cestius, and the soil which is stirring in the sun-warm earth, and to mark the tombs, mostly of women and young children, who, buried there, we might, if we were to die, desire a sleep they seem to sleep." all this may have happened, but why need we repine, for as eternal as the sea, as infinite as nature, and as the phoenix, he revivifying lives, transmigrated and transfused into humanity, for with certainty we know that "he lives, he wakes--'tis death is dead, not he." immortal amid immortals, his spirit in communion with the most high, fully conscious in its individuality--immortal amid mortals, his place need never be refilled, for he stands betwixt the old and the new--immortal amid the sons of song, do poets still breathe his divine afflatus--immortal amid philosophers and the regenerators of the race, with buddha, with moses, with socrates, with mahomet, with christ--immortal amid the noble, the virtuous, the good, the wise--immortal as when living here, for from spirit-spheres we hear him bidding us repeat: "nor let us weep that our delight is fled far from these carrion-kites that scream below; he wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead; thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow back to the burning fountain whence it came, a portion of the eternal, which must glow through time and change, unquenchably the same," * * * * * "peace! peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep-- he hath awaken'd from the dream of life-- 'tis we, who, lost in stormy visions, keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife; and in mad trance, strike with our spirits' knife, invulnerable nothings!" finis coronat opus. shelley by sydney waterlow published london: t. c. & e. c. jack long acre, w.c., and edinburgh new york: dodge publishing co. . contents i. shelley and his age ii. principal writings iii. the poet of rebellion, of nature, and of love bibliographical note chapter i. shelley and his age in the case of most great writers our interest in them as persons is derived from out interest in them as writers; we are not very curious about them except for reasons that have something to do with their art. with shelley it is different. during his life he aroused fears and hatreds, loves and adorations, that were quite irrelevant to literature; and even now, when he has become a classic, he still causes excitement as a man. his lovers are as vehement as ever. for them he is the "banner of freedom," which, "torn but flying, streams like a thunder-cloud against the wind." he has suffered that worst indignity of canonisation as a being saintly and superhuman, not subject to the morality of ordinary mortals. he has been bedaubed with pathos. nevertheless it is possible still to recognise in him one of the most engaging personalities that ever lived. what is the secret of this charm? he had many characteristics that belong to the most tiresome natures; he even had the qualities of the man as to whom one wonders whether partial insanity may not be his best excuse--inconstancy expressing itself in hysterical revulsions of feeling, complete lack of balance, proneness to act recklessly to the hurt of others. yet he was loved and respected by contemporaries of tastes very different from his own, who were good judges and intolerant of bores--by byron, who was apt to care little for any one, least of all for poets, except himself; by peacock, who poured laughter on all enthusiasms; and by hogg, who, though slightly eccentric, was a tory eccentric. the fact is that, with all his defects, he had two qualities which, combined, are so attractive that there is scarcely anything they will not redeem--perfect sincerity without a thought of self, and vivid emotional force. all his faults as well as his virtues were, moreover, derived from a certain strong feeling, coloured in a peculiar way which will be explained in what follows--a sort of ardour of universal benevolence. one of his letters ends with these words: "affectionate love to and from all. this ought to be not only the vale of a letter, but a superscription over the gate of life"--words which, expressing not merely shelley's opinion of what ought to be, but what he actually felt, reveal the ultimate reason why he is still loved, and the reason, too, why he has so often been idealised. for this universal benevolence is a thing which appeals to men almost with the force of divinity, still carrying, even when mutilated and obscured by frailties, some suggestion of st. francis or of christ. the object of these pages is not to idealise either his life, his character, or his works. the three are inseparably connected, and to understand one we must understand all. the reason is that shelley is one of the most subjective of writers. it would be hard to name a poet who has kept his art more free from all taint of representation of the real, making it nor an instrument for creating something life-like, but a more and more intimate echo or emanation of his own spirit. in studying his writings we shall see how they flow from his dominating emotion of love for his fellow-men; and the drama of his life, displayed against the background of the time, will in turn throw light on that emotion. his benevolence took many forms--none perfect, some admirable, some ridiculous. it was too universal. he never had a clear enough perception of the real qualities of real men and women; hence his loves for individuals, as capricious as they were violent, always seem to lack something which is perhaps the most valuable element in human affection. if in this way we can analyse his temperament successfully, the process should help us to a more critical understanding, and so to a fuller enjoyment, of the poems. this greatest of our lyric poets, the culmination of the romantic movement in english literature, appeared in an age which, following on the series of successful wars that had established british power all over the world, was one of the gloomiest in our history. if in some ways the england of - was ahead of the rest of europe, in others it lagged far behind. the industrial revolution, which was to turn us from a nation of peasants and traders into a nation of manufacturers, had begun; but its chief fruits as yet were increased materialism and greed, and politically the period was one of blackest reaction. alone of european peoples we had been untouched by the tide of napoleon's conquests, which, when it receded from the continent, at least left behind a framework of enlightened institutions, while our success in the napoleonic wars only confirmed the ruling aristocratic families in their grip of the nation which they had governed since the reign of anne. this despotism crushed the humble and stimulated the high-spirited to violence, and is the reason why three such poets as byron, landor, and shelley, though by birth and fortune members of the ruling class, were pioneers as much of political as of spiritual rebellion. unable to breathe the atmosphere of england, they were driven to live in exile. it requires some effort to reconstruct that atmosphere to-day. a foreign critic [dr. george brandes, in vol. iv. of his 'main currents of nineteenth century literature'] has summed it up by saying that england was then pre-eminently the home of cant; while in politics her native energy was diverted to oppression, in morals and religion it took the form of hypocrisy and persecution. abroad she was supporting the holy alliance, throwing her weight into the scale against all movements for freedom. at home there was exhaustion after war; workmen were thrown out of employment, and taxation pressed heavily on high rents and the high price of corn, was made cruel by fear; for the french revolution had sent a wave of panic through the country, not to ebb until about . suspicion of republican principles--which, it seemed, led straight to the terror--frightened many good men, who would otherwise have been reformers, into supporting the triumph of coercion and toryism. the elder generation of poets had been republicans in their youth. wordsworth had said of the revolution that it was "bliss to be alive" in that dawn; southey and coleridge had even planned to found a communistic society in the new world. now all three were rallied to the defence of order and property, to church and throne and constitution. from their seclusion in the lakes, southey and wordsworth praised the royal family and celebrated england as the home of freedom; while thomson wrote "rule, britannia," as if britons, though they never, never would be slaves to a foreigner, were to a home-grown tyranny more blighting, because more stupid, than that of napoleon. england had stamped out the irish rebellion of in blood, had forced ireland by fraud into the union of , and was strangling her industry and commerce. catholics could neither vote nor hold office. at a time when the population of the united kingdom was some thirty millions, the parliamentary franchise was possessed by no more than a million persons, and most of the seats in the house of commons were the private property of rich men. representative government did not exist; whoever agitated for some measure of it was deported to australia or forced to fly to america. glasgow and manchester weavers starved and rioted. the press was gagged and the habeas corpus act constantly suspended. a second rebellion in ireland, when castlereagh "dabbled his sleek young hands in erin's gore," was suppressed with unusual ferocity. in england in famine drove bands of poor people to wander and pillage. under the criminal law, still of medieval cruelty, death was the punishment for the theft of a loaf or a sheep. the social organism had come to a deadlock--on the one hand a starved and angry populace, on the other a vast church-and-king party, impregnably powerful, made up of all who had "a stake in the country." the strain was not to be relieved until the reform act of set the wheels in motion again; they then moved painfully indeed, but still they moved. meanwhile parliament was the stronghold of selfish interests; the church was the jackal of the gentry; george iii, who lost the american colonies and maintained negro slavery, was on the throne, until he went mad and was succeeded by his profligate son. shelley said of himself that he was "a nerve o'er which do creep the else unfelt oppressions of this earth," and all the shades of this dark picture are reflected in his life and in his verse. he was the eldest son of a sussex family that was loyally whig and moved in the orbit of the catholic dukes of norfolk, and the talk about emancipation which he would hear at home may partly explain his amazing invasion of ireland in - , when he was nineteen years old, with the object of procuring catholic emancipation and the repeal of the union act--subjects on which he was quite ignorant. he addressed meetings, wasted money, and distributed two pamphlets "consisting of the benevolent and tolerant deductions of philosophy reduced into the simplest language." later on, when he had left england for ever, he still followed eagerly the details of the struggle for freedom at home, and in composed a group of poems designed to stir the masses from their lethargy. lord liverpool's administration was in office, with sidmouth as home secretary and castlereagh as foreign secretary, a pair whom he thus pillories: "as a shark and dog-fish wait under an atlantic isle, for the negro ship, whose freight is the theme of their debate, wrinkling their red gills the while-- are ye, two vultures sick for battle, two scorpions under one wet stone, two bloodless wolves whose dry throats rattle, two crows perched on the murrained cattle, two vipers tangled into one." the most effective of these bitter poems is 'the masque of anarchy', called forth by the "peterloo massacre" at manchester on august , , when hussars had charged a peaceable meeting held in support of parliamentary reform, killing six people and wounding some seventy others. shelley's frenzy of indignation poured itself out in the terrific stanzas, written in simplest language so as to be understood by the people, which tell how "i met a murder on the way-- he had a mask like castlereagh-- very smooth he looked, yet grim; seven blood-hounds followed him." the same year and mood produced the great sonnet, 'england in '-- "an old, mad, blind, despised and dying king, princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow through public scorn,--mud from a muddy spring." and to the same group belongs that not quite successful essay in sinister humour, 'swellfoot the tyrant' ( ), suggested by the grunting of pigs at an italian fair, and burlesquing the quarrel between the prince regent and his wife. when the princess of wales (caroline of brunswick-wolfenbuttel), after having left her husband and perambulated europe with a paramour, returned, soon after the prince's accession as george iv, to claim her position as queen, the royal differences became an affair of high national importance. the divorce case which followed was like a gangrenous eruption symptomatic of the distempers of the age. shelley felt that sort of disgust which makes a man rave and curse under the attacks of some loathsome disease; if he laughs, it is the laugh of frenzy. in the slight aristophanic drama of 'swellfoot', which was sent home, published, and at once suppressed, he represents the men of england as starving pigs content to lap up such diluted hog's-wash as their tyrant, the priests, and the soldiers will allow them. at the end, when the pigs, rollicking after the triumphant princess, hunt down their oppressors, we cannot help feeling a little sorry that he does not glide from the insistent note of piggishness into some gentler mood: their is a rasping quality in his humour, even though it is always on the side of right. he wrote one good satire though. this is 'peter bell the third' ( ), an attack on wordsworth, partly literary for the dulness of his writing since he had been sunk in clerical respectability, partly political for his renegade flunkyism. in the pall which still hung over northern europe began to lift in the south. after napoleon's downfall the congress of vienna ( - ) had parcelled europe out on the principle of disregarding national aspirations and restoring the legitimate rulers. this system, which could not last, was first shaken by revolutions that set up constitutional governments in spain and naples. shelley hailed these streaks of dawn with joy, and uttered his enthusiasm in two odes--the 'ode to liberty' and the 'ode to naples'--the most splendid of those cries of hope and prophecy with which a long line of english poets has encouraged the insurrection of the nations. such cries, however, have no visible effect on the course of events. byron's jingles could change the face of the world, while all shelley's pure and lofty aspirations left no mark on history. and so it was, not with his republican ardours alone, but with all he undertook. nothing he did influenced his contemporaries outside his immediate circle; the public only noticed him to execrate the atheist, the fiend, and the monster. he felt that "his name was writ on water," and languished for want of recognition. his life, a lightning-flash across the storm-cloud of the age, was a brief but crowded record of mistakes and disasters, the classical example of the rule that genius is an infinite capacity for getting into trouble. though poets must "learn in suffering what they teach in song," there is often a vein of comedy in their lives. if we could transport ourselves to miller's hotel, westminster bridge, on a certain afternoon in the early spring of , we should behold a scene apparently swayed entirely by the comic muse. the member for shoreham, mr. timothy shelley, a handsome, consequential gentleman of middle age, who piques himself on his enlightened opinions, is expecting two guests to dinner--his eldest son, and his son's friend, t. j. hogg, who have just been sent down from oxford for a scandalous affair of an aesthetical squib. when the young men arrive at five o'clock, mr. shelley receives hogg, an observant and cool-headed person, with graciousness, and an hour is spent in conversation. mr. shelley runs on strangely, "in an odd, unconnected manner, scolding, crying, swearing, and then weeping again." after dinner, his son being out of the room, he expresses his surprise to hogg at finding him such a sensible fellow, and asks him what is to be done with the scapegoat. "let him be married to a girl who will sober him." the wine moves briskly round, and mr. shelley becomes maudlin and tearful again. he is a model magistrate, the terror and the idol of poachers; he is highly respected in the house of commons, and the speaker could not get through the session without him. then he drifts to religion. god exists, no one can deny it; in fact, he has the proof in his pocket. out comes a piece of paper, and arguments are read aloud, which his son recognises as palley's. "yes, they are palley's arguments, but he had them from me; almost everything in palley's book he had taken from me." the boy of nineteen, who listens fuming to this folly, takes it all with fatal seriousness. in appearance he is no ordinary being. a shock of dark brown hair makes his small round head look larger than it really is; from beneath a pale, freckled forehead, deep blue eyes, large and mild as a stag's, beam an earnestness which easily flashes into enthusiasm; the nose is small and turn-up, the beardless lips girlish and sensitive. he is tall, but stoops, and has an air of feminine fragility, though his bones and joints are large. hands and feet, exquisitely shaped, are expressive of high breeding. his expensive, handsome clothes are disordered and dusty, and bulging with books. when he speaks, it is in a strident peacock voice, and there is an abrupt clumsiness in his gestures, especially in drawing-rooms, where he is ill at ease, liable to trip in the carpet and upset furniture. complete absence of self-consciousness, perfect disinterestedness, are evident in every tone; it is clear that he is an aristocrat, but it is also clear that he is a saint. the catastrophe of expulsion from oxford would have been impossible in a well-regulated university, but percy bysshe shelley could not have fitted easily into any system. born at field place, horsham, sussex, on august , , simultaneously with the french revolution, he had more than a drop of wildness in his blood. the long pedigree of the shelley family is full of turbulent ancestors, and the poet's grandfather, sir bysshe, an eccentric old miser who lived until , had been married twice, on both occasions eloping with an heiress. already at eton shelley was a rebel and a pariah. contemptuous of authority, he had gone his own way, spending pocket-money on revolutionary literature, trying to raise ghosts, and dabbling in chemical experiments. as often happens to queer boys, his school-fellows herded against him, pursuing him with blows and cries of "mad shelley." but the holidays were happy. there must have been plenty of fun at field place when he told his sisters stories about the alchemist in the attic or "the great tortoise that lived in warnham pond," frightened them with electric shocks, and taught his baby brother to say devil. there is something of high-spirited fun even in the raptures and despairs of his first love for his cousin, harriet grove. he tried to convert her to republican atheism, until the family, becoming alarmed, interfered, and harriet was disposed of otherwise. "married to a clod of earth!" exclaims shelley. he spent nights "pacing the churchyard," and slept with a loaded pistol and poison beside him. he went in to residence at university college, oxford, in the michaelmas term of . the world must always bless the chance which sent thomas jefferson hogg a freshman to the same college at the same time, and made him shelley's friend. the chapters in which hogg describes their live at oxford are the best part of his biography. in these lively pages we see, with all the force of reality, shelley working by fits in a litter of books and retorts and "galvanic troughs," and discoursing on the vast possibilities of science for making mankind happy; how chemistry will turn deserts into cornfields, and even the air and water will year fire and food; how africa will be explored by balloons, of which the shadows, passing over the jungles, will emancipate the slaves. in the midst he would rush out to a lecture on mineralogy, and come back sighing that it was all about "stones, stones, stones"! the friends read plato together, and held endless talk of metaphysics, pre-existence, and the sceptical philosophy, on winter walks across country, and all night beside the fire, until shelley would curl up on the hearthrug and go to sleep. he was happy because he was left to himself. with all his thoughts and impulses, ill-controlled indeed, but directed to the acquisition of knowledge for the benefit of the world, such a student would nowadays be a marked man, applauded and restrained. but the oxford of that day was a home of "chartered laziness." an academic circle absorbed in intrigues for preferment, and enlivened only by drunkenness and immorality, could offer nothing but what was repugnant to shelley. he remained a solitary until the hand of authority fell and expelled him. he had always had a habit of writing to strangers on the subjects next his heart. once he approached miss felicia dorothea browne (afterwards mrs. hemans), who had not been encouraging. now half in earnest, and half with an impish desire for dialectical scores, he printed a pamphlet on 'the necessity of atheism', a single foolscap sheet concisely proving that no reason for the existence of god can be valid, and sent it to various personages, including bishops, asking for a refutation. it fell into the hands of the college authorities. summoned before the council to say whether he was the author, shelley very properly refused to answer, and was peremptorily expelled, together with hogg, who had intervened in his behalf. the pair went to london, and took lodgings in a house where a wall-paper with a vine-trellis pattern caught shelley's fancy. mr. timothy shelley appeared on the scene, and, his feelings as a christian and a father deeply outraged, did the worst thing he could possibly have done--he made forgiveness conditional on his son's giving up his friend. the next step was to cut off supplies and to forbid field place to him, lest he should corrupt his sisters' minds. soon hogg had to go to york to work in a conveyancer's office, and shelley was left alone in london, depressed, a martyr, and determined to save others from similar persecution. in this mood he formed a connection destined to end in tragedy. his sisters were at a school at clapham, where among the girls was one harriet westbrook, the sixteen-year-old daughter of a coffee-house keeper. shelley became intimate with the westbrooks, and set about saving the soul of harriet, who had a pretty rosy face, a neat figure, and a glib school-girl mind quick to catch up and reproduce his doctrines. the child seems to have been innocent enough, but her elder sister, eliza, a vulgar woman of thirty, used her as a bait to entangle the future baronet; she played on shelley's feelings by encouraging harriet to believe herself the victim of tyranny at school. still, it was six months before he took the final step. how he could save harriet from scholastic and domestic bigotry was a grave question. in the first place, hatred of "matrimonialism" was one of his principles, yet it seemed unfair to drag a helpless woman into the risks of illicit union; in the second place, he was at this time passionately interested in another woman, a certain miss hitchener, a sussex school mistress of republican and deistic principles, whom he idealised as an angel, only to discover soon, with equal falsity, that she was a demon. at last harriet was worked up to throw herself on his protection. they fled by the northern mail, dropping at york a summons to hogg to join them, and contracted a scottish marriage at edinburgh on august , . the story of the two years and nine months during which shelley lived with harriet must seem insane to a rational mind. life was one comfortless picnic. when shelley wanted food, he would dart into a shop and buy a loaf or a handful of raisins. always accompanied by eliza, they changed their dwelling-place more than twelve times. edinburgh, york, keswick, dublin, nantgwillt, lynmouth, tremadoc, tanyrallt, killarney, london (half moon street and pimlico), bracknell, edinburgh again, and windsor, successively received this fantastic household. each fresh house was the one where they were to abide for ever, and each formed the base of operations for some new scheme of comprehensive beneficence. thus at tremadoc, on the welsh coast, shelley embarked on the construction of an embankment to reclaim a drowned tract of land; 'queen mab' was written partly in devonshire and partly in wales; and from ireland, where he had gone to regenerate the country, he opened correspondence with william godwin, the philosopher and author of 'political justice'. his energy in entering upon ecstatic personal relations was as great as that which he threw into philanthropic schemes; but the relations, like the schemes, were formed with no notion of adapting means to ends, and were often dropped as hurriedly. eliza westbrook, at first a woman of estimable qualities, quickly became "a blind and loathsome worm that cannot see to sting", miss hitchener, who had been induced to give up her school and come to live with them "for ever," was discovered to be a "brown demon," and had to be pensioned off. he loved his wife for a time, but they drifted apart, and he found consolation in a sentimental attachment to a mrs. boinville and her daughter, cornelia turner, ladies who read italian poetry with him and sang to guitars. harriet had borne him a daughter, ianthe, but she herself was a child, who soon wearied of philosophy and of being taught latin; naturally she wanted fine clothes, fashion, a settlement. egged on by her sister, she spent on plate and a carriage the money that shelley would have squandered on humanity at large. money difficulties and negotiations with his father were the background of all this period. on march , , he married harriet in church, to settle any possible question as to the legitimacy of his children; but they parted soon after. attempts were made at reconciliation, which might have succeeded had not shelley during this summer drifted into a serious and relatively permanent passion. he made financial provision for his wife, who gave birth to a second child, a boy, on november , ; but, as the months passed, and shelley was irrevocably bound to another, she lost heart for life in the dreariness of her father's house. an irish officer took her for his mistress, and on december , , she was found drowned in the serpentine. twenty days later shelley married his second wife. this marriage was the result of his correspondence with william godwin, which had ripened into intimacy, based on community of principles, with the godwin household. the philosopher, a short, stout old man, presided, with his big bald head, his leaden complexion, and his air of a dissenting minister, over a heterogeneous family at skinner street, holborn, supported in scrambling poverty by the energy of the second mrs. godwin, who carried on a business of publishing children's books. in letters of the time we see mrs. godwin as a fat little woman in a black velvet dress, bad-tempered and untruthful. "she is a very disgusting woman, and wears green spectacles," said charles lamb. besides a small son of the godwins, the family contained four other members--clara mary jane clairmont and charles clairmont (mrs. godwin's children by a previous marriage), fanny godwin (as she was called), and mary godwin. these last two were the daughters of mary wollstonecraft, the author of 'the rights of women', the great feminist, who had been godwin's first wife. fanny's father was a scamp called imlay, and mary was godwin's child. mary disliked her stepmother, and would wander on fine days to read beside her mother's grave in old st. pancras churchyard. this girl of seventeen had a strong if rather narrow mind; she was imperious, ardent, and firm-willed. she is said to have been very pale, with golden hair and a large forehead, redeemed from commonplace by hazel eyes which had a piercing look. when sitting, she appeared to be of more than average height; when she stood, you saw that she had her father's stumpy legs. intellectually, and by the solidity of her character, she was better fitted to be shelley's mate than any other woman he ever came across. it was natural that she should be interested in this bright creature, fallen as from another world into their dingy, squabbling family. if it was inevitable that her interest, touched with pity (for he was in despair over the collapse of his life with harriet), should quickly warm to love, we must insist that the rapture with which he leaped to meet her had some foundation in reality. that she was gifted is manifest in her writings--chiefly, no doubt, in 'frankenstein', composed when she had shelley to fire her imagination; but her other novels are competent, and her letters are the work of a vigorous intellect. she had her limitations. she was not quite so free from conventionality as either he or she believed; but on the whole they were neither deceiving themselves nor one another when they plighted faith by mary wollstonecraft's grave. with their principles, it was nothing that marriage was impossible. without the knowledge of the elder godwins, they made arrangements to elope, and on july , , crossed from dover to calais in an open boat, taking jane clairmont with them on the spur of the moment. jane also had been unhappy in skinner street. she was about mary's age, a pert, olive-complexioned girl, with a strong taste for life. she changed her name to claire because it sounded more romantic. mrs. godwin pursued the fugitives to calais, but in vain. shelley was now launched on a new life with a new bride, and--a freakish touch--accompanied as before by his bride's sister. the more his life changed, the more it was the same thing--the same plunging without forethought, the same disregard for all that is conventionally deemed necessary. his courage is often praised, and rightly, though we ought not to forget that ignorance, and even obtuseness, were large ingredients in it. as far as they had any plan, it was to reach switzerland and settle on the banks of some lake, amid sublime mountain scenery, "for ever." in fact, the tour lasted but six weeks. their difficulties began in paris, where only an accident enabled shelley to raise funds. then they moved slowly across war-wasted france, mary and claire, in black silk dresses, riding by turns on a mule, and shelley walking. childish happiness glows in their journals. from troyes shelley wrote to the abandoned harriet, in perfect good faith, pressing her to join them in switzerland. there were sprained ankles, dirty inns, perfidious and disobliging drivers--the ordinary misadventures of the road, magnified a thousand times by their helplessness, and all transfigured in the purple light of youth and the intoxication of literature. at last they reached the lake of lucerne, settled at brunnen, and began feverishly to read and write. shelley worked at a novel called 'the assassins', and we hear of him "sitting on a rude pier by the lake" and reading aloud the siege of jerusalem from tacitus. soon they discovered that they had only just enough money left to take them home. camp was struck in haste, and they travelled down the rhine. when their boat was detained at marsluys, all three sat writing in the cabin--shelley his novel, mary a story called 'hate', and claire a story called 'the idiot'--until they were tossed across to england, and reached london after borrowing passage-money from the captain. the winter was spent in poverty, dodging creditors through the labyrinthine gloom of the town. chronic embarrassment was caused by shelley's extravagant credulity. his love of the astonishing, his readiness to believe merely because a thing was impossible, made him the prey of every impostor. knowing that he was heir to a large fortune, he would subsidise any project or any grievance, only provided it were wild enough. godwin especially was a running sore both now and later on; the philosopher was at the beginning of that shabby 'degringolade' which was to end in the ruin of his self-respect. in spite of his anti-matrimonial principles, he was indignant at his disciple's elopement with his daughter, and, in spite of his philosophy, he was not above abusing and sponging in the same breath. the worst of these difficulties, however, came to an end when shelley's grandfather died on january , , and he was able, after long negotiations, to make an arrangement with his father, by which his debts were paid and he received an income of pounds a year in consideration of his abandoning his interest in part of the estate. and now, the financial muddle partly smoothed out, his genius began to bloom in the congenial air of mary's companionship. the summer of spent in rambles in various parts of the country, saw the creation of alastor. early in mary gave birth to her first child, a boy, william, and in the spring, accompanied by the baby and claire, they made a second expedition to switzerland. a little in advance another poet left england for ever. george gordon, lord byron, loaded with fame and lacerated by chagrin, was beginning to bear through europe that "pageant of his bleeding heart" of which the first steps are celebrated in 'childe harold'. unknown to shelley and mary, there was already a link between them and the luxurious "pilgrim of eternity" rolling towards geneva in his travelling-carriage, with physician and suite: claire had visited byron in the hope that he might help her to employment at drury lane theatre, and, instead of going on the stage, had become his mistress. thus united, but strangely dissimilar, the two parties converged on the lake of geneva, where the poets met for the first time. shelley, though jarred by byron's worldliness and pride, was impressed by his creative power, and the days they spent sailing on the lake, and wandering in a region haunted by the spirit of rousseau, were fruitful. the 'hymn to intellectual beauty' and the 'lines on mont blanc' were conceived this summer. in september the shelleys were back in england. but england, though he had good friends like peacock and the leigh hunts, was full of private and public troubles, and was not to hold him long. the country was agitated by riots due to unemployment. the government, frightened and vindictive, was multiplying trials for treason and blasphemous libel, and shelley feared he might be put in the pillory himself. mary's sister fanny, to whom he was attached, killed herself in october; harriet's suicide followed in december; and in the same winter the westbrooks began to prepare their case for the chancery suit, which ended in the permanent removal of harriet's children from his custody, on the grounds that his immoral conduct and opinions unfitted him to be their guardian. his health, too, seems to have been bad, though it is hard to know precisely how bad. he was liable to hallucinations of all kinds; the line between imagination and reality, which ordinary people draw quite definitely, seems scarcely to have existed for him. there are many stories as to which it is disputed how far, if at all, reality is mixed with dream, as in the case of the murderous assault he believed to have been made on him one night of wind and rain in wales; of the veiled lady who offered to join her life to his; of the englishman who, hearing him ask for letters in the post-office at pisa or florence, exclaimed, "what, are you that damned atheist shelley?" and felled him to the ground. often he would go half frantic with delusions--as that his father and uncle were plotting to shut him up in a madhouse, and that his boy william would be snatched from him by the law. ghosts were more familiar to him than flesh and blood. convinced that he was wasting with a fatal disease, he would often make his certainty of early death the pretext for abandoning some ill-considered scheme; but there is probably much exaggeration in the spasms and the consumptive symptoms which figure so excitedly in his letters. hogg relates how he once plagued himself and his friends by believing that he had elephantiasis, and says that he was really very healthy the truth seems to be that his constitution was naturally strong, though weakened from time to time by neurotic conditions, in which mental pain brought on much physical pain, and by irregular infrequent, and scanty meals. in february he settled at marlow with mary and claire. claire, as a result of her intrigue with byron--of which the fruit was a daughter, allegra, born in january--was now a permanent charge on his affectionate generosity. it seemed that their wanderings were at last over. at marlow he busied himself with politics and philanthropy, and wrote 'the revolt of islam'. but, partly because the climate was unsuitable, partly from overwork in visiting and helping the poor, his health was thought to be seriously endangered. in march , together with the five souls dependent on him--claire and her baby, mary and her two babies (a second, clara, had been born about six months before)--he left england, never to return. mary disliked hot weather, but it always put shelley in spirits, and his best work was done beneath the sultry blue of italian skies, floating in a boat on the serchio or the arno, baking in a glazed cage on the roof of a tuscan villa, or lying among the ruins of the coliseum or in the pine-woods near pisa. their italian wanderings are too intricate to be traced in detail here. it was a chequered time, darkened by disaster and cheered by friendships. both their children died, clara at venice in , and william at home in . it is impossible not to be amazed at the heedlessness--the long journeys in a rough foreign land, the absence of ordinary provision against ailments--which seems to have caused the death of these beloved little beings. the birth in of another son, percy (who survived to become sir percy shelley), brought some comfort. claire's troubles, again, were a constant anxiety. shelley worked hard to persuade byron either to let her have allegra or to look after his daughter properly himself; but he was obdurate, and the child died in a convent near venice in . shelley's association with byron, of whom, in 'julian and maddalo' ( ), he has drawn a picture with the darker features left out, brought as much pain as pleasure to all concerned. no doubt byron's splenetic cynicism, even his parade of debauchery, was largely an assumption for the benefit of the world; but beneath the frankness, the cheerfulness, the wit of his intimate conversation, beneath his careful cultivation of the graces of a regency buck, he was fundamentally selfish and treacherous. provided no serious demands were made upon him, he enjoyed the society of shelley and his circle, and the two were much together, both at venice and in the palazzo lanfranchi at pisa, where, with a menagerie of animals and retainers, byron had installed himself in those surroundings of oriental ostentation which it amused him to affect. a more unalloyed friendship was that with the amiable gisborne family, settled at leghorn; its serene cheerfulness is reflected in shelley's charming rhymed 'letter to maria gisborne'. and early in they were joined by a young couple who proved very congenial. ned williams was a half-pay lieutenant of dragoons, with literary and artistic tastes, and his wife, jane, had a sweet, engaging manner, and a good singing voice. then there was the exciting discovery of the countess emilia viviani, imprisoned in a convent by a jealous step-mother. all three of them--mary, claire, and shelley--at once fell in love with the dusky beauty. impassioned letters passed between her and shelley, in which he was her "dear brother" and she his "dearest sister"; but she was soon found to be a very ordinary creature, and is only remembered as the instrument chosen by chance to inspire 'epipsychidion'. finally there appeared, in january , the truest-hearted and the most lovable of all shelley's friends. edward john trelawny, a cadet of a cornish family, "with his knight-errant aspect, dark, handsome, and moustachioed," was the true buccaneer of romance, but of honest english grain, and without a trace of pose. the devotion with which, though he only knew shelley for a few months, he fed in memory on their friendship to the last day of his life, brings home to us, as nothing else can, the force of shelley's personal attraction; for this man lived until , an almost solitary survivor from the byronic age, and his life contained matter enough to swamp recollection of half-a-dozen poets. it seems that, after serving in the navy and deserting from an east indiaman at bombay, he passed, in the eastern archipelago, through the incredible experiences narrated in his 'adventures of a younger son'; and all this before he was twenty-one, for in he was in england and married. then he disappeared, bored by civilisation; nothing is known of him until , when he turns up in switzerland in pursuit of sport and adventure. after shelley's death he went to greece with byron, joined the rebel chief odysseus, married his sister tersitza, and was nearly killed in defending a cave on mount parnassus. through the subsequent years, which included wanderings in america, and a narrow escape from drowning in trying to swim niagara, he kept pressing shelley's widow to marry him. perhaps because he was piqued by mary's refusal, he has left a rather unflattering portrait of her. he was indignant at her desire to suppress parts of 'queen mab'; but he might have admired the honesty with which she retained 'epipsychidion', although that poem describes her as a "cold chaste moon." the old sea-captain in sir john millais' picture, "the north-west passage," now in the tate gallery in london, is a portrait of trelawny in old age. to return to the shelleys. it was decided that the summer of should be spent with the williamses, and after some search a house just capable of holding both families was found near lerici, on the east side of the bay of spezzia. it was a lonely, wind-swept place, with its feet in the waves. the natives were half-savage; there was no furniture, and no facility for getting provisions. the omens opened badly. at the moment of moving in, news of allegra's death came; shelley was shaken and saw visions, and mary disliked the place at first sight. still, there was the sea washing their terrace, and shelley loved the sea (there is scarcely one of his poems in which a boat does not figure, though it is usually made of moonstone); and, while williams fancied himself as a navigator, trelawny was really at home on the water. a certain captain roberts was commissioned to get a boat built at genoa, where byron also was fitting out a yacht, the 'bolivar'. when the 'ariel'--for so they called her--arrived, the friends were delighted with her speed and handiness. she was a thirty-footer, without a deck, ketch-rigged. ( ) shelley's health was good, and this june, passed in bathing, sailing, reading, and hearing jane sing simple melodies to her guitar in the moonlight, was a gleam of happiness before the end. it was not so happy for mary, who was ill and oppressed with housekeeping for two families, and over whose relations with shelley a film of querulous jealousy had crept. ( professor dowden, 'life of shelley', vol. ii., p. , says "schooner-rigged." this is a landsman's mistake.) leigh hunt, that amiable, shiftless, radical man of letters, was coming out from england with his wife; on july st shelley and williams sailed in the 'ariel' to leghorn to meet them, and settle them into the ground-floor of byron's palace at pisa. his business despatched, shelley returned from pisa to leghorn, with hunt's copy of keats's 'hyperion' in his pocket to read on the voyage home. though the weather looked threatening, he put to sea again on july th, with williams and an english sailor-boy. trelawny wanted to convoy them in byron's yacht, but was turned back by the authorities because he had no port-clearance. the air was sultry and still, with a storm brewing, and he went down to his cabin and slept. when he awoke, it was to see fishing-boats running into harbour under bare poles amid the hubbub of a thunder-squall. in that squall the 'ariel' disappeared. it is doubtful whether the unseaworthy craft was merely swamped, or whether, as there is some reason to suppose, an italian felucca ran her down with intent to rob the englishmen. in any case, the calamity is the crowning example of that combination of bad management and bad luck which dogged shelley all his life. it was madness to trust an open boat, manned only by the inexperienced williams and a boy (for shelley was worse than useless), to the chances of a mediterranean storm. and destiny turns on trifles; if the 'bolivar' had been allowed to sail, trelawny might have saved them. he sent out search-parties, and on july th sealed the despairing women's certainty of disaster by the news that the bodies had been washed ashore. shelley's was identified by a copy of sophocles in one coat-pocket and the keats in another. what trelawny then did was an action of that perfect fitness to which only the rarest natures are prompted: he charged himself with the business of burning the bodies. this required some organisation. there were official formalities to fulfil, and the materials had to be assembled--the fuel, the improvised furnace, the iron bars, salt and wine and oil to pour upon the pyre. in his artless 'records' he describes the last scene on the seashore. shelley's body was given to the flames on a day of intense heat, when the islands lay hazy along the horizon, and in the background the marble-flecked apennines gleamed. byron looked on until he could stand it no longer, and swam off to his yacht. the heart was the last part to be consumed. by trelawny's care the ashes were buried in the protestant cemetery at rome. it is often sought to deepen our sense of this tragedy by speculating on what shelley would have done if he had lived. but, if such a question must be asked, there are reasons for thinking that he might not have added much to his reputation. it may indeed be an accident that his last two years were less fertile in first-rate work than the years and , and that his last unfinished poem, 'the triumph of life', is even more incoherent than its predecessors; yet, when we consider the nature of his talent, the fact is perhaps significant. his song was entirely an affair of uncontrolled afflatus, and this is a force which dwindles in middle life, leaving stranded the poet who has no other resource. some men suffer spiritual upheavals and eclipses, in which they lose their old selves and emerge with new and different powers; but we may be fairly sure that this would not have happened to shelley, that as he grew older he would always have returned to much the same impressions; for his mind, of one piece through and through, had that peculiar rigidity which can sometimes be observed in violently unstable characters. the colour of his emotion would have fluctuated--it took on, as it was, a deepening shade of melancholy; but there is no indication that the material on which it worked would have changed. chapter ii. principal writings the true visionary is often a man of action, and shelley was a very peculiar combination of the two. he was a dreamer, but he never dreamed merely for the sake of dreaming; he always rushed to translate his dreams into acts. the practical side of him was so strong that he might have been a great statesman or reformer, had not his imagination, stimulated by a torrential fluency of language, overborne his will. he was like a boat (the comparison would have pleased him) built for strength and speed, but immensely oversparred. his life was a scene of incessant bustle. glancing through his poems, letters, diaries, and pamphlets, his translations from greek, spanish, german, and italian, and remembering that he died at thirty, and was, besides, feverishly active in a multitude of affairs, we fancy that his pen can scarcely ever have been out of his hand. and not only was he perpetually writing; he read gluttonously. he would thread the london traffic, nourishing his unworldly mind from an open book held in one hand, and his ascetic body from a hunch of bread held in the other. this fury for literature seized him early. but the quality of his early work was astonishingly bad. an author while still a schoolboy, he published in a novel, written for the most part when he was seventeen years old, called 'zastrozzi', the mere title of which, with its romantic profusion of sibilants, is eloquent of its nature. this was soon followed by another like it, 'st. irvyne, or the rosicrucian'. whether they are adaptations from the german ( ) or not, these books are merely bad imitations of the bad school then in vogue, the flesh-creeping school of skeletons and clanking chains, of convulsions and ecstasies, which miss austen, though no one knew it, had killed with laughter years before. ( ) "verezzi scarcely now shuddered when the slimy lizard crossed his naked and motionless limbs. the large earthworms, which twined themselves in his long and matted hair, almost ceased to excite sensations of horror"--that is the kind of stuff in which the imagination of the young shelley rioted. and evidently it is not consciously imagined; life really presented itself to him as a romance of this kind, with himself as hero--a hero who is a hopeless lover, blighted by premature decay, or a wanderer doomed to share the sins and sorrows of mankind to all eternity. this attitude found vent in a mass of sentimental verse and prose, much of it more or less surreptitiously published, which the researches of specialists have brought to light, and which need not be dwelt upon here. ( so mr. h. b. forman suggests in the introduction to his edition of shelley's prose works. but hogg says that he did not begin learning german until .) ( 'northanger abbey', satirising mrs. radcliffe's novels, was written before , but was not published until .) but very soon another influence began to mingle with this feebly extravagant vein, an influence which purified and strengthened, though it never quite obliterated it. at school he absorbed, along with the official tincture of classical education, a violent private dose of the philosophy of the french revolution; he discovered that all that was needed to abolish all the evil done under the sun was to destroy bigotry, intolerance, and persecution as represented by religious and monarchical institutions. at first this influence combined with his misguided literary passions only to heighten the whole absurdity, as when he exclaims, in a letter about his first disappointed love, "i swear, and as i break my oaths, may infinity, eternity, blast me--never will i forgive intolerance!" the character of the romance is changed indeed; it has become an epic of human regeneration, and its emotions are dedicated to the service of mankind; but still it is a romance. the results, however, are momentous; for the hero, being a man of action, is no longer content to write and pay for the printing: in his capacity of liberator he has to step into the arena, and, above all, he has to think out a philosophy. an early manifestation of this impulse was the irish enterprise already mentioned. public affairs always stirred him, but, as time went on, it was more and more to verse and less to practical intervention, and after he abandoned argument altogether for song. but one pamphlet, 'a proposal for putting reform to the vote' ( ), is characteristic of the way in which he was always labouring to do something, not merely to ventilate existing evils, but to promote some practical scheme for abolishing them. let a national referendum, he says, be held on the question of reform, and let it be agreed that the result shall be binding on parliament; he himself will contribute pounds a year (one-tenth of his income) to the expenses of organisation. he is in favour of annual parliaments. though a believer in universal suffrage, he prefers to advance by degrees; it would not do to abolish aristocracy and monarchy at one stroke, and to put power into the hands of men rendered brutal and torpid by ages of slavery; and he proposes that the payment of a small sum in direct taxes should be the qualification for the parliamentary franchise. the idea, of course, was not in the sphere of practical politics at the time, but its sobriety shows how far shelley was from being a vulgar theory-ridden crank to whom the years bring no wisdom. meanwhile it had been revealed to him that "intolerance" was the cause of all evil, and, in the same flash, that it could be destroyed by clear and simple reasoning. apply the acid of enlightened argument, and religious beliefs will melt away, and with them the whole rotten fabric which they support--crowns and churches, lust and cruelty, war and crime, the inequality of women to men, and the inequality of one man to another. with shelley, to embrace the dazzling vision was to act upon it at once. the first thing, since religion is at the bottom of all force and fraud, was to proclaim that there is no reason for believing in christianity. this was easy enough, and a number of impatient argumentative pamphlets were dashed off. one of these, 'the necessity of atheism', caused, as we saw, a revolution in his life. but, while christian dogma was the heart of the enemy's position, there were out-works which might also be usefully attacked:--there were alcohol and meat, the causes of all disease and devastating passion; there were despotism and plutocracy, based on commercial greed; and there was marriage, which irrationally tyrannising over sexual relations, produces unnatural celibacy and prostitution. these threads, and many others, were all taken up in his first serious poem, 'queen mab' ( - ), an over-long rhapsody, partly in blank verse, partly in loose metres. the spirit of ianthe is rapt by the fairy mab in her pellucid car to the confines of the universe, where the past, present, and future of the earth are unfolded to the spirit's gaze. we see tyrants writhing upon their thrones; ahasuerus, "the wandering jew," is introduced; the consummation on earth of the age of reason is described. in the end the fairy's car brings the spirit back to its body, and ianthe wakes to find "henry, who kneeled in silence by her couch, watching her sleep with looks of speechless love, and the bright beaming stars that through the casement shone." though many poets have begun their careers with something better than this, 'queen mab' will always be read, because it gives us, in embryo, the whole of shelley at a stroke. the melody of the verse is thin and loose, but it soars from the ground and spins itself into a series of etherial visions. and these visions, though they look utterly disconnected from reality, are in fact only an aspect of his passionate interest in science. in this respect the sole difference between 'queen mab' and such poems as 'the west wind' and 'the cloud' is that, in the prose of the notes appended to 'queen mab', with their disquisitions on physiology and astronomy, determinism and utilitarianism, the scientific skeleton is explicit. these notes are a queer medley. we may laugh at their crudity--their certainty that, once orthodoxy has been destroyed by argument, the millennium will begin; what is more to the purpose is to recognise that here is something more than the ordinary dogmatism of youthful ignorance. there is a flow of vigorous language, vividness of imagination, and, above all, much conscientious reasoning and a passion for hard facts. his wife was not far wrong when she praised him for a "logical exactness of reason." the arguments he uses are, indeed, all second-hand, and mostly fallacious; but he knew instinctively something which is for ever hidden from the mass of mankind--the difference between an argument and a confused stirring of prejudices. then, again, he was not content with abstract generalities: he was always trying to enforce his views by facts industriously collected from such books of medicine, anatomy, geology, astronomy, chemistry, and history as he could get hold of. for instance, he does not preach abstinence from flesh on pure a priori grounds, but because "the orang-outang perfectly resembles man both in the order and number of his teeth." we catch here what is perhaps the fundamental paradox of his character--the combination of a curious rational hardness with the wildest and most romantic idealism. for all its airiness, his verse was thrown off by a mind no stranger to thought and research. we are now on the threshold of shelley's poetic achievement, and it will be well before going further to underline the connection, which persists all through his work and is already so striking in 'queen mab', between his poetry and his philosophical and religious ideas. like coleridge, he was a philosophical poet. but his philosophy was much more definite than coleridge's; it gave substance to his character and edge to his intellect, and, in the end, can scarcely be distinguished from the emotion generating his verse. there is, however, no trace of originality in his speculative writing, and we need not regret that, after hesitating whether to be a metaphysician or a poet, he decided against philosophy. before finally settling to poetry, he at one time projected a complete and systematic account of the operations of the human mind. it was to be divided into sections--childhood, youth, and so on. one of the first things to be done was to ascertain the real nature of dreams, and accordingly, with characteristic passion for a foundation of fact, he turned to the only facts accessible to him, and tried to describe exactly his own experiences in dreaming. the result showed that, along with the scientific impulse, there was working in him a more powerful antagonistic force. he got no further than telling how once, when walking with hogg near oxford, he suddenly turned the corner of a lane, and a scene presented itself which, though commonplace, was yet mysteriously connected with the obscurer parts of his nature. a windmill stood in a plashy meadow; behind it was a long low hill, and "a grey covering of uniform cloud spread over the evening sky. it was the season of the year when the last leaf had just fallen from the scant and stunted ash." the manuscript concludes: "i suddenly remembered to have seen that exact scene in some dream of long--here i was obliged to leave off, overcome with thrilling horror." and, apart from such overwhelming surges of emotion from the depths of sub-consciousness, he does not seem ever to have taken that sort of interest in the problems of the universe which is distinctive of the philosopher; in so far as he speculated on the nature and destiny of the world or the soul, it was not from curiosity about the truth, but rather because correct views on these matters seemed to him especially in early years, an infallible method of regenerating society. as his expectation of heaven on earth became less confident, so the speculative impulse waned. not long before his death he told trelawny that he was not inquisitive about the system of the universe, that his mind was tranquil on these high questions. he seems, for instance, to have oscillated vaguely between belief and disbelief in personal life after death, and on the whole to have concluded that there was no evidence for it. at the same time, it is essential to a just appreciation of him, either as man or poet, to see how all his opinions and feelings were shaped by philosophy, and by the influence of one particular doctrine. this doctrine was platonism. he first went through a stage of devotion to what he calls "the sceptical philosophy," when his writings were full of schoolboy echoes of locke and hume. at this time he avowed himself a materialist. then he succumbed to bishop berkeley, who convinced him that the nature of everything that exists is spiritual. we find him saying, with charming pompousness, "i confess that i am one of those who are unable to refuse their assent to the conclusions of those philosophers who assert that nothing exists but as it is perceived." this "intellectual system," he rightly sees, leads to the view that nothing whatever exists except a single mind; and that is the view which he found, or thought that he found, in the dialogues of plato, and which gave to his whole being a bent it was never to lose. he liked to call himself an atheist; and, if pantheism is atheism, an atheist no doubt he was. but, whatever the correct label, he was eminently religious. in the notes to 'queen mab' he announces his belief in "a pervading spirit co-eternal with the universe," and religion meant for him a "perception of the relation in which we stand to the principle of the universe"--a perception which, in his case, was accompanied by intense emotion. having thus grasped the notion that the whole universe is one spirit, he absorbed from plato a theory which accorded perfectly with his predisposition--the theory that all the good and beautiful things that we love on earth are partial manifestations of an absolute beauty or goodness, which exists eternal and unchanging, and from which everything that becomes and perishes in time derives such reality as it has. hence our human life is good only in so far as we participate in the eternal reality; and the communion is effected whenever we adore beauty, whether in nature, or in passionate love, or in the inspiration of poetry. we shall have to say something presently about the effects of this platonic idealism on shelley's conception of love; here we need only notice that it inspired him to translate plato's 'symposium', a dialogue occupied almost entirely with theories about love. he was not, however, well equipped for this task. his version, or rather adaptation (for much is omitted and much is paraphrased), is fluent, but he had not enough greek to reproduce the finer shades of the original, or, indeed, to avoid gross mistakes. a poet who is also a platonist is likely to exalt his office; it is his not merely to amuse or to please, but to lead mankind nearer to the eternal ideal--shelley called it intellectual beauty--which is the only abiding reality. this is the real theme of his 'defence of poetry' ( ), the best piece of prose he ever wrote. thomas love peacock, scholar, novelist, and poet, and, in spite of his mellow worldliness, one of shelley's most admired friends, had published a wittily perverse and paradoxical article, not without much good sense, on 'the four ages of poetry'. peacock maintained that genuine poetry is only possible in half-civilised times, such as the homeric or elizabethan ages, which, after the interval of a learned period, like that of pope in england, are inevitably succeeded by a sham return to nature. what he had in mind was, of course, the movement represented by wordsworth, southey, and coleridge, the romantic poets of the lake school, whom he describes as a "modern-antique compound of frippery and barbarism." he must have greatly enjoyed writing such a paragraph as this: "a poet in our times is a semi-barbarian in a civilised community. ... the march of his intellect is like that of a crab, backward. the brighter the light diffused around him by the progress of reason, the thicker is the darkness of antiquated barbarism in which he buries himself like a mole, to throw up the barren hillocks of his cimmerian labours." these gay shafts had at any rate the merit of stinging shelley to action. 'the defence of poetry' was his reply. people like peacock treat poetry, and art generally, as an adventitious seasoning of life--ornamental perhaps, but rather out of place in a progressive and practical age. shelley undermines the whole position by asserting that poetry--a name which includes for him all serious art--is the very stuff out of which all that is valuable and real in life is made. "a poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth." "the great secret of morals is love, or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful that exists in thought, action, or person, not our own. a man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and of many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own. the great instrument of moral good is the imagination." and it is on the imagination that poetry works, strengthening it as exercises strengthen a limb. historically, he argues, good poetry always coexists with good morals; for instance, when social life decays, drama decays. peacock had said that reasoners and mechanical inventors are more useful than poets. the reply is that, left to themselves, they simply make the world worse, while it is poets and "poetical philosophers" who produce "true utility," or pleasure in the highest sense. without poetry, the progress of science and of the mechanical arts results in mental and moral indigestion, merely exasperating the inequality of mankind. "poetry and the principle of self, of which money is the visible incarnation, are the god and mammon of the world." while the emotions penetrated by poetry last, "self appears as what it is, an atom to a universe." poetry's "secret alchemy turns to potable gold the poisonous waters which flow from death through life." it makes the familiar strange, and creates the universe anew. "poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present; the words which express what they understand not; the trumpets which sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire; the influence which is moved not, but moves. poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world." other poets besides shelley have seen "through all that earthly dress bright shoots of everlastingness," and others have felt that the freedom from self, which is attained in the vision, is supremely good. what is peculiar to him, and distinguishes him from the poets of religious mysticism, is that he reflected rationally on his vision, brought it more or less into harmony with a philosophical system, and, in embracing it, always had in view the improvement of mankind. not for a moment, though, must it be imagined that he was a didactic poet. it was the theory of the eighteenth century, and for a brief period, when the first impulse of the romantic movement was spent, it was again to become the theory of the nineteenth century, that the object of poetry is to inculcate correct principles of morals and religion. poetry, with its power of pleasing, was the jam which should make us swallow the powder unawares. this conception was abhorrent to shelley, both because poetry ought not to do what can be done better by prose, and also because, for him, the pleasure and the lesson were indistinguishably one. the poet is to improve us, not by insinuating a moral, but by communicating to others something of that ecstasy with which he himself burns in contemplating eternal truth and beauty and goodness. hitherto all the writings mentioned have been, except 'the defence of poetry', those of a young and enthusiastic revolutionary, which might have some interest in their proper historical and biographical setting, but otherwise would only be read as curiosities. we have seen that beneath shelley's twofold drift towards practical politics and speculative philosophy a deeper force was working. yet it is characteristic of him that he always tended to regard the writing of verse as a 'pis aller'. in , when he was actually working on 'prometheus', he wrote to peacock, "i consider poetry very subordinate to moral and political science," adding that he only wrote it because his feeble health made it hopeless to attempt anything more useful. we need not take this too seriously; he was often wrong about the reasons for his own actions. from whatever motive, write poetry he did. we will now consider some of the more voluminous, if not the most valuable, results. 'alastor, or the spirit of solitude,' ( ) is a long poem, written in , which seems to shadow forth the emotional history of a young and beautiful poet. as a child he drank deep of the beauties of nature and the sublimest creations of the intellect, until, "when early youth had past, he left his cold fireside and alienated home, to seek strange truths in undiscovered lands." he wandered through many wildernesses, and visited the ruins of egypt and the east, where an arab maiden fell in love with him and tended him. but he passes on, "through arabie, and persia, and the wild carmanian waste," and, arrived at the vale of cashmire, lies down to sleep in a dell. here he has a vision. a "veiled maid" sits by him, and, after singing first of knowledge and truth and virtue, then of love, embraces him. when he awakes, all the beauty of the world that enchanted and satisfied him before has faded: "the spirit of sweet human love has sent a vision to the sleep of him who spurned her choicest gifts," and he rushes on, wildly pursuing the beautiful shape, like an eagle enfolded by a serpent and feeling the poison in his breast. his limbs grow lean, his hair thin and pale. does death contain the secret of his happiness? at last he pauses "on the lone chorasmian shore," and sees a frail shallop in which he trusts himself to the waves. day and night the boat flies before the storm to the base of the cliffs of caucasus, where it is engulfed in a cavern. following the twists of the cavern, after a narrow escape from a maelstrom, he floats into a calm pool, and lands. elaborate descriptions of forest and mountain scenery bring us, as the moon sets, to the death of the worn-out poet-- "the brave, the gentle, and the beautiful, the child of grace and genius! heartless things are done and said i' the world, and many worms and beasts and men live on... but thou art fled." ( "alastor" is a greek word meaning "the victim of an avenging spirit.") in 'alastor' he melted with pity over what he felt to be his own destiny; in 'the revolt of islam' ( ) he was "a trumpet that sings to battle." this, the longest of shelley's poems (there are lines of it, exclusive of certain lyrical passages), is a versified novel with a more or less coherent plot, though the mechanism is cumbrous, and any one who expects from the title a story of some actual rebellion against the turks will be disappointed. its theme, typified by an introductory vision of an eagle and serpent battling in mid-sky, is the cosmic struggle between evil and good, or, what for shelley is the same thing, between the forces of established authority and of man's aspiration for liberty, the eagle standing for the powerful oppressor, and the snake for the oppressed. "when round pure hearts a host of hopes assemble the snake and eagle meet--the world's foundations tremble." this piece of symbolism became a sort of fixed language with him; "the snake" was a name by which it amused him to be known among his friends. the clash of the two opposites is crudely and narrowly conceived, with no suggestion yet of some more tremendous force behind both, such as later on was to give depth to his view of the world conflict. the loves and the virtues of laon and cythna, the gifted beings who overthrow the tyrant and perish tragically in a counter-revolution, are too bright against a background that is too black; but even so they were a good opportunity for displaying the various phases through which humanitarian passion may run--the first whispers of hope, the devotion of the pioneer, the joy of freedom and love, in triumph exultation tempered by clemency, in defeat despair ennobled by firmness. and although in this extraordinary production shelley has still not quite found himself, the technical power displayed is great. the poem is in spenserian stanzas, and he manages the long breaking wave of that measure with sureness and ease, imparting to it a rapidity of onset that is all his own. but there are small blemishes such as, even when allowance is made for haste of composition (it was written in a single summer), a naturally delicate ear would never have passed; he apologises in the preface for one alexandrine (the long last line which should exceed the rest by a foot) left in the middle of a stanza, whereas in fact there are some eight places where obviously redundant syllables have crept in. a more serious defect is the persistence, still unassimilated, of the element of the romantic-horrible. when laon, chained to the top of a column, gnaws corpses, we feel that the author of zastrozzi is still slightly ridiculous, magnificent though his writing has become. it is hard, again, not to smile at this world in which the melodious voices of young eleutherarchs have only to sound for the crouching slave to recover his manhood and for tyrants to tremble and turn pale. the poet knows, as he wrote in answer to a criticism, that his mission is "to apprehend minute and remote distinctions of feeling," and "to communicate the conceptions which result from considering either the moral or the material universe as a whole." he does not see that he has failed of both aims, partly because 'the revolt' is too abstract, partly because it is too definite. it is neither one thing nor the other. the feelings apprehended are, indeed, remote enough; in many descriptions where land, sea, and mountain shimmer through a gorgeous mist that never was of this earth, the "material universe" may perhaps be admitted to be grasped as a whole; and he has embodied his conception of the "moral universe" in a picture of all the good impulses of the human heart, that should be so fruitful, poisoned by the pressure of religious and political authority. it was natural that the method which he chose should be that of the romantic narrative--we have noticed how he began by trying to write novels--nor is that method essentially unfitted to represent the conflict between good and evil, with the whole universe for a stage; instances of great novels that are epics in this sense will occur to every one. but realism is required, and shelley was constitutionally incapable of realism the personages of the story, laon and the hermit, the tyrant and cythna, are pale projections of shelley himself; of dr. lind, an enlightened old gentleman with whom he made friends at eton; of his majesty's government; and of mary wollstonecraft, his wife's illustrious mother. they are neither of the world nor out of it, and consequently, in so far as they are localised and incarnate and their actions woven into a tale, 'the revolt of islam' is a failure. in his next great poem he was to pursue precisely the same aims, but with more success, because he had now hit upon a figure of more appropriate vagueness and sublimity. the scheme of 'prometheus unbound' ( ) is drawn from the immortal creations of greek tragedy. he had experimented with tasso and had thought of job; but the rebellious titan, prometheus, the benefactor of mankind whom aeschylus had represented as chained by zeus to caucasus, with a vulture gnawing his liver, offered a perfect embodiment of shelley's favourite subject, "the image," to borrow the words of his wife, "of one warring with the evil principle, oppressed not only by it, but by all--even the good, who are 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." in the greek play, zeus is an usurper in heaven who has supplanted an older and milder dynasty of gods, and prometheus, visited in his punishment by the nymphs of ocean, knows a secret on which the rule of zeus depends. shelley took over these features, and grafted on them his own peculiar confidence in the ultimate perfection of mankind. his prometheus knows that jupiter (the evil principle) will some day be overthrown, though he does not know when, and that he himself will then be released; and this event is shown as actually taking place. it may be doubted whether this treatment, while it allows the poet to describe what the world will be like when freed from evil, does not diminish the impressiveness of the suffering titan; for if prometheus knows that a term is set to his punishment, his defiance of the oppressor is easier, and, so far, less sublime. however that may be, his opening cries of pain have much romantic beauty: "the crawling glaciers pierce me with the spears of their moon-freezing crystals, the bright chains eat with their burning cold into my bones." mercury, jupiter's messenger, is sent to offer him freedom if he will repent and submit to the tyrant. on his refusal, the furies are let loose to torture him, and his agony takes the form of a vision of all the suffering of the world. the agony passes, and mother earth calls up spirits to soothe him with images of delight; but he declares "most vain all hope but love," and thinks of asia, his wife in happier days. the second act is full of the dreams of asia. with panthea, one of the ocean nymphs that watch over prometheus, she makes her way to the cave of demogorgon, "that terrific gloom," who seems meant to typify the primal power of the world. hence they are snatched away by the spirit of the hour at which jove will fall, and the coming of change pulsates through the excitement of those matchless songs that begin: "life of life! thy lips enkindle with their love the breath between them." in the third act the tyrant is triumphing in heaven, when the car of the hour arrives; demogorgon descends from it, and hurls him to the abyss. prometheus, set free by hercules, is united again to asia. and now, with the tyranny of wrongful power, "the loathsome mark has fallen, the mall remains sceptreless, free, uncircumscribed, but man equal, unclassed, tribeless, and nationless, exempt from awe, worship, degree, the king over himself; just, gentle, wise." the fourth act is an epilogue in which, to quote mrs. shelley again, "the poet gives further scope to his imagination.... maternal earth, the mighty parent, is superseded by the spirit of the earth, the guide of our planet through the realms of sky; while his fair and weaker companion and attendant, the spirit of the moon, receives bliss from the annihilation of evil in the superior sphere." we are in a strange metaphysical region, an interstellar space of incredibly rarefied fire and light, the true home of shelley's spirit, where the circling spheres sing to one another in wave upon wave of lyrical rapture, as inexpressible in prose as music, and culminating in the cry: "to suffer woes which hope thinks infinite; to forgive wrongs darker than death or night; to defy power which seems omnipotent; to love, and bear; to hope till hope creates from its own wreck the thing it contemplates; neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; this, like thy glory, titan, is to be good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; this is alone life, joy, empire and victory." on the whole, prometheus has been over-praised, perhaps because the beauty of the interspersed songs has dazzled the critics. not only are the personages too transparently allegorical, but the allegory is insipid; especially tactless is the treatment of the marriage between prometheus, the spirit of humanity, and asia, the spirit of nature, as a romantic love affair. when, in the last of his more important poems, shelley returned to the struggle between the good and evil principles, it was in a different spirit. the short drama of 'hellas' ( ) was "a mere improvise," the boiling over of his sympathy with the greeks, who were in revolt against the turks. he wove into it, with all possible heightening of poetic imagery, the chief events of the period of revolution through which southern europe was then passing, so that it differs from the prometheus in having historical facts as ostensible subject. through it reverberates the dissolution of kingdoms in feats of arms by land and sea from persia to morocco, and these cataclysms, though suggestive of something that transcends any human warfare, are yet not completely pinnacled in "the intense inane." but this is not the only merit of "hellas;' its poetry is purer than that of the earlier work, because shelley no longer takes sides so violently. he has lost the cruder optimism of the 'prometheus', and is thrown back for consolation upon something that moves us more than any prospect of a heaven realised on earth by abolishing kings and priests. when the chorus of captive greek women, who provide the lyrical setting, sing round the couch of the sleeping sultan, we are aware of an ineffable hope at the heart of their strain of melancholy pity; and so again when their burthen becomes the transience of all things human. the sultan, too, feels that islam is doomed, and, as messenger after messenger announces the success of the rebels, his fatalism expresses itself as the growing perception that all this blood and all these tears are but phantoms that come and go, bubbles on the sea of eternity. this again is the purport of the talk of ahasuerus, the wandering jew, who evokes for him a vision of mahmud ii capturing constantinople. the sultan is puzzled: "what meanest thou? thy words stream like a tempest of dazzling mist within my brain"; but 'we' know that the substance behind the mist is shelley's "immaterial philosophy," the doctrine that nothing is real except the one eternal mind. ever louder and more confident sounds this note, until it drowns even the cries of victory when the tide of battle turns in favour of the turks. the chorus, lamenting antiphonally the destruction of liberty, are interrupted by repeated howls of savage triumph: "kill! crush! despoil! let not a greek escape'" but these discords are gradually resolved, through exquisitely complicated cadences, into the golden and equable flow of the concluding song: "the world's great age begins anew, the golden years return, the earth doth like a snake renew her winter weeds outworn: heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam, like wrecks of a dissolving dream." breezy confidence has given place to a poignant mood of disillusionment. "oh, cease! must hate and death return? cease! must men kill and die? cease! drain not to its dregs the urn of bitter prophecy. the world is weary of the past, oh, might it die or rest at last!" perhaps the perfect beauty of greek civilisation shall never be restored; but the wisdom of its thinkers and the creations of its artists are immortal, while the fabric of the world "is but a vision;--all that it inherits are motes of a sick eye, bubbles and dreams." it is curious that for three of his more considerable works shelley should have chosen the form of drama, since the last thing one would say of him is that he had the dramatic talent. 'prometheus' and 'hellas', however, are dramas only in name; there is no thought in them of scenic representation. 'the cenci' ( ), on the other hand, is a real play; in writing it he had the stage in view, and even a particular actress, miss o'neil. it thus stands alone among his works, unless we put beside it the fragment of a projected play about charles i ( ), a theme which, with its crowd of historical figures, was ill-suited to his powers. and not only is 'the cenci' a play; it is the most successful attempt since the seventeenth century at a kind of writing, tragedy in the grand style, over which all our poets, from addison to swinburne, have more or less come to grief. its subject is the fate of beatrice cenci, the daughter of a noble roman house, who in was executed with her stepmother and brother for the murder of her father. the wicked father, more intensely wicked for his grey hairs and his immense ability, whose wealth had purchased from the pope impunity for a long succession of crimes, hated his children, and drove them to frenzy by his relentless cruelty. when to insults and oppression he added the horrors of an incestuous passion for his daughter, the cup overflowed, and beatrice, faced with shame more intolerable than death, preferred parricide. here was a subject made to shelley's hand--a naturally pure and gentle soul soiled, driven to violence, and finally extinguished, by unnameable wrong, while all authority, both human and divine, is on the side of the persecutor. haunted by the grave, sad eyes of guido reni's picture of beatrice, so that the very streets of rome seemed to echo her name--though it was only old women calling out "rags" ('cenci')--he was tempted from his airy flights to throw himself for once into the portrayal of reality. there was no need now to dip "his pen in earthquake and eclipse"; clothed in plain and natural language, the action unfolded itself in a crescendo of horror; but from the ease with which he wrote--it cost him relatively the least time and pains of all his works--it would be rash to infer that he could have constructed an equally good tragedy on any other subject than the injured beatrice and the combination, which count francesco cenci is, of paternal power with the extreme limit of human iniquity. with the exception of 'the cenci', everything shelley published was almost entirely unnoticed at the time. this play, being more intelligible than the rest, attracted both notice and praise, though it was also much blamed for what would now be called its unpleasantness. many people, among them his wife, regretted that, having proved his ability to handle the concrete, he still should devote himself to ideal and unpopular abstractions, such as 'the witch of atlas' ( ), a fantastical piece in rime royal, which seems particularly to have provoked mrs. shelley. a "lady witch" lived in a cave on mount atlas, and her games in a magic boat, her dances in the upper regions of space, and the pranks which she played among men, are described in verse of a richness that bewilders because it leads to nothing. the poet juggles with flowers and gems, stars and spirits, lovers and meteors; we are constantly expecting him to break into some design, and are as constantly disappointed. our bewilderment is of a peculiar kind; it is not the same, for instance, as that produced by blake's prophetic books, where we are conscious of a great spirit fumbling after the inexpressible. shelley is not a true mystic. he is seldom puzzled, and he never seems to have any difficulty in expressing exactly what he feels; his images are perfectly definite. our uneasiness arises from the fact that, with so much clear definition, such great activity in reproducing the subtlest impressions which nature makes upon him, his work should have so little artistic purpose or form. stroke is accumulated on stroke, each a triumph of imaginative beauty; but as they do not cohere to any discoverable end, the total impression is apt to be one of effort running to waste. this formlessness, this monotony of splendour, is felt even in 'adonais' ( ), his elegy on the death of keats. john keats was a very different person from shelley. the son of a livery-stable keeper, he had been an apothecary's apprentice, and for a short time had walked the hospitals. he was driven into literature by sheer artistic passion, and not at all from any craving to ameliorate the world. his odes are among the chief glories of the english language. his life, unlike shelley's, was devoted entirely to art, and was uneventful, its only incidents an unhappy love-affair, and the growth, hastened by disappointed passion and the 'quarterly review's' contemptuous attack on his work, of the consumption which killed him at the age of twenty-six. he was sent to italy as a last chance. shelley, who was then at pisa, proposed to nurse him back to health, and offered him shelter. keats refused the invitation, and died at rome on february , . shelley was not intimate with keats, and had been slow to recognise his genius; but it was enough that he was a poet, in sympathy with the radicals, an exile, and the victim of the tory reviewers. there is not ill adonais that note of personal bereavement which wails through tennyson's 'in memoriam' or cowley's 'ode on the death of mr. hervey'. much, especially in the earlier stanzas, is common form. the muse urania is summoned to lament, and a host of personified abstractions flit before us, "like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream"-- "desires and adorations, winged persuasions, and veiled destinies, splendours and glooms, and glimmering incarnations of hopes and fears, and twilight fantasies." at first he scarcely seems to know what it is that he wants to say, but as he proceeds he warms to his work. the poets gather round adonais' bier, and in four admirable stanzas shelley describes himself as "a phantom among men," who "had gazed on nature's naked loveliness, actaeon-like; and now he fled astray with feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, and his own thoughts along that rugged way pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey." the quarterly reviewer is next chastised, and at last shelley has found his cue. the strain rises from thoughts of mortality to the consolations of the eternal: "peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep! he hath awakened from the dream of life. 'tis we, who, lost in stormy visions, keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife." keats is made "one with nature"; he is a parce of that power "which wields the world with never wearied love, sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above." it is once more the same conviction, the offspring of his philosophy and of his suffering, that we noticed in hellas, only here the pathos is more acute. so strong is the sense of his own misery, the premonition of his own death, that we scarcely know, nor does it matter, whether it is in the person of keats or of himself that he is lamenting the impermanence of earthly good. his spirit was hastening to escape from "the last clouds of cold mortality"; his bark is driven "far from the shore, far from the trembling throng whose sails were never to the tempest given." a year later he was drowned. while the beauty of adonais is easily appreciated, 'epipsychidion', written in the same year, must strike many readers as mere moonshine and madness. in 'alastor', the poet, at the opening of his career, had pursued in vain through the wilderness of the world a vision of ideal loveliness; it would now seem that this vision is at last embodied in "the noble and unfortunate lady emilia viviani," to whom 'epipsychidion' is addressed. shelley begins by exhausting, in the effort to express her perfection, all the metaphors that rapture can suggest. he calls her his adored nightingale, a spirit-winged heart, a seraph of heaven, sweet benediction in the eternal curse, moon beyond the clouds, star above the storm, "thou wonder and thou beauty and thou terror! thou harmony of nature's art!" she is a sweet lamp, a "well of sealed and secret happiness," a star, a tone, a light, a solitude, a refuge, a delight, a lute, a buried treasure, a cradle, a violet-shaded grave, an antelope, a moon shining through a mist of dew. but all his "world of fancies" is unequal to express her; he breaks off in despair. a calmer passage of great interest then explains his philosophy of love: "that best philosophy, whose taste makes this cold common hell, our life, a doom as glorious as a fiery martyrdom," and tells how he "never was attached to that great sect," which requires that everyone should bind himself for life to one mistress or friend; for the secret of true love is that it is increased, not diminished, by division; like imagination, it fills the universe; the parts exceed the whole, and this is the great characteristic distinguishing all things good from all things evil. we then have a shadowy record of love's dealings with him. in childhood he clasped the vision in every natural sight and sound, in verse, and in philosophy. then it fled, this "soul out of my soul." he goes into the wintry forest of life, where "one whose voice was venomed melody" entraps and poisons his youth. the ideal is sought in vain in many mortal shapes, until the moon rises on him, "the cold chaste moon," smiling on his soul, which lies in a death-like trance, a frozen ocean. at last the long-sought vision comes into the wintry forest; it is emily, like the sun, bringing light and odour and new life. henceforth he is a world ruled by and rejoicing in these twin spheres. "as to real flesh and blood," he said in a letter to leigh hunt, "you know that i do not deal in those articles; you might as well go to a gin-shop for a leg of mutton as expect anything human or earthly from me." yet it is certain that the figures behind the shifting web of metaphors are partly real--that the poisonous enchantress is his first wife, and the moon that saved him from despair his second wife. the last part of the poem hymns the bliss of union with the ideal. emily must fly with him; "a ship is floating in the harbour now," and there is "an isle under ionian skies," the fairest of all shelley's imaginary landscapes, where their two souls may become one. then, at the supreme moment, the song trembles and stops: "woe is me! the winged words on which my soul would pierce into the heights of love's rare universe, are chains of lead around its flight of fire-- i pant, i sink, i tremble, i expire." we have now taken some view of the chief of shelley's longer poems. most of these were published during his life. they brought him little applause and much execration, but if he had written nothing else his fame would still be secure. they are, however, less than half of the verse that he actually wrote. besides many completed poems, it remained for his wife to decipher, from scraps of paper, scribbled over, interlined, and erased, a host of fragments, all valuable, and many of them gems of purest ray. we must now attempt a general estimate of this whole output. chapter iii the poet of rebellion, of nature, and of love it may seem strange that so much space has been occupied in the last two chapters by philosophical and political topics, and this although shelley is the most purely lyrical of english poets. the fact is that in nearly all english poets there is a strong moral and philosophical strain, particularly in those of the period - . they are deeply interested in political, scientific, and religious speculations in aesthetic questions only superficially, if at all shelley, with the tap-roots of his emotions striking deep into politics and philosophy, is only an extreme instance of a national trait, which was unusually prominent in the early part of the nineteenth century owing to the state of our insular politics at the time though it must be admitted that english artists of all periods have an inherent tendency to moralise which has sometimes been a weakness, and sometimes has given them surprising strength. like the other poets of the romantic movement shelley expended his emotion on three main objects--politics, nature, and love. in each of these subjects he struck a note peculiar to himself, but his singularity is perhaps greatest in the sphere of politics. it may be summed up in the observation that no english imaginative writer of the first rank has been equally inspired by those doctrines that helped to produce the french revolution. that all men are born free and equal; that by a contract entered into in primitive times they surrendered as much of their rights as was necessary to the well-being of the community, that despotic governments and established religions, being violations of the original contract, are encroachments on those rights and the causes of all evil; that inequalities of rank and power can be abolished by reasoning, and that then, since men are naturally good, the golden age will return--these are positions which the english mind, with its dislike of the 'a priori', will not readily accept. the english utilitarians, who exerted a great influence on the course of affairs, and the classical school of economists that derived from them, did indeed hold that men were naturally good, in a sense. their theory was that, if people were left to themselves, and if the restraints imposed by authority on thought and commerce were removed, the operation of ordinary human motives would produce the most beneficent results. but their theory was quite empirical; worked out in various ways by adam smith, bentham, and mill, it admirably suited the native independence of the english character, and was justified by the fact that, at the end of the eighteenth century, governments were so bad that an immense increase of wealth, intelligence, and happiness was bound to come merely from making a clean sweep of obsolete institutions. shelley's radicalism was not of this drab hue. he was incapable of soberly studying the connections between causes and effects an incapacity which comes out in the distaste he felt for history--and his conception of the ideal at which the reformer should aim was vague and fantastic. in both these respects his shortcomings were due to ignorance of human nature proceeding from ignorance of himself. and first as to the nature of his ideals. while all good men must sympathise with the sincerity of his passion to remould this sorry scheme of things "nearer to the heart's desire," few will find the model, as it appears in his poems, very exhilarating. it is chiefly expressed in negatives: there will be no priests, no kings, no marriage, no war, no cruelty--man will be "tribeless and nationless." though the earth will teem with plenty beyond our wildest imagination, the general effect is insipid; or, if there are colours in the scene, they are hectic, unnatural colours. his couples of lovers, isolated in bowers of bliss, reading plato and eating vegetables, are poor substitutes for the rich variety of human emotions which the real world, with all its admixture of evil, actually admits. hence shelley's tone irritates when he shrilly summons us to adore his new jerusalem. reflecting on the narrowness of his ideals we are apt to see him as an ignorant and fanatical sectary, and to detect an unpleasant flavour in his verse. and we perceive that, as with all honest fanatics, his narrowness comes from ignorance of himself. the story of mrs. southey's buns is typical. when he visited southey there were hot buttered buns for tea, and he so much offended mrs. southey by calling them coarse, disgusting food that she determined to make him try them. he ate first one, then another, and ended by clearing off two plates of the unclean thing. actively conscious of nothing in himself but aspirations towards perfection, he never saw that, like everyone else, he was a cockpit of ordinary conflicting instincts; or, if this tumult of lower movements did emerge into consciousness, he would judge it to be wholly evil, since it had no connection, except as a hindrance, with his activities as a reformer. similarly the world at large, full as it was of nightmare oppressions of wrong, fell for him into two sharply opposed spheres of light and darkness on one side the radiant armies of right, on the other the perverse opposition of devils. with this hysterically over-simplified view of life, fostered by lack of self-knowledge, was connected a corresponding mistake as to the means by which his ends could be reached. one of the first observations which generous spirits often make is that the unsatisfactory state of society is due to some very small kink or flaw in the dispositions of the majority of people. this perception, which it does not need much experience to reach, is the source of the common error of youth that everything can be put right by some simple remedy. if only some tiny change could be made in men's attitude towards one another and towards the universe, what a flood of evil could be dammed; the slightness of the cause is as striking as the immensity of the effect. those who ridicule the young do not, perhaps, always see that this is perfectly true, though of course they are right in denouncing the inference so often drawn--and here lay shelley's fundamental fallacy--that the required tiny change depends on an effort of the will, and that the will only does not make the effort because feeling is perverted and intelligence dimmed by convention traditions, prejudices, and superstitions. it is certain, for one thing, that will only plays a small part in our nature, and that by themselves acts of will cannot make the world perfect. most men are helped to this lesson by observation of themselves; they see that their high resolves are ineffective because their characters are mixed. shelley never learnt this. he saw, indeed, that his efforts were futile even mischievous; but, being certain, and rightly, of the nobility of his aims, he could never see that he had acted wrongly, that he ought to have calculated the results of his actions more reasonably. ever thwarted, and never nearer the happiness he desired for himself and others, he did not, like ordinary men attain a juster notion of the relation between good and ill in himself and in the world; he lapsed into a plaintive bewildered melancholy, translating the inexplicable conflict of right and wrong into the transcendental view that "life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, stains the white radiance of eternity." but his failure is the world's gain, for all that is best in his poetry is this expression of frustrated hope. he has indeed, when he is moved simply by public passion, some wonderful trumpet-notes; what hate and indignation can do, he sometimes does. and his rapturous dreams of freedom can stir the intellect, if not the blood. but it must be remarked that poetry inspired solely by revolutionary enthusiasm is liable to one fatal weakness: it degenerates too easily into rhetoric. to avoid being a didactic treatise it has to deal in high-flown abstractions, and in shelley fear, famine, tyranny, and the rest, sometimes have all the emptiness of the classical manner. they appear now as brothers, now as parents, now as sisters of one another; the task of unravelling their genealogy would be as difficult as it is pointless. if shelley had been merely the singer of revolution, the intensity and sincerity of his feeling would still have made him a better poet than byron; but he would not have been a great poet, partly because of the inherent drawbacks of the subject, partly because of his strained and false view of "the moral universe" and of himself. his song, in treating of men as citizens, as governors and governed, could never have touched such a height as burns' "a man's a man for a' that." fortunately for our literature, shelley did more than arraign tyrants. the romantic movement was not merely a new way of considering human beings in their public capacity; it meant also a new kind of sensitiveness to their environment. if we turn, say, from pope's 'the rape of the lock' to wordsworth's 'the prelude', it is as if we have passed from a saloon crowded with a bewigged and painted company, wittily conversing in an atmosphere that has become rather stuffy, into the freshness of a starlit night. and just as, on stepping into the open air, the splendours of mountain, sky, and sea may enlarge our feelings with wonder and delight, so a corresponding change may occur in our emotions towards one another; in this setting of a universe with which we feel ourselves now rapturously, now calmly, united, we love with less artifice, with greater impetuosity and self-abandonment. "thomson and cowper," says peacock, "looked at the trees and hills which so many ingenious gentlemen had rhymed about so long without looking at them, and the effect of the operation on poetry was like the discovery of a new world." the romantic poets tended to be absorbed in their trees and hills, but when they also looked in the same spirit on their own hearts, that operation added yet another world to poetry. in shelley the absorption of the self in nature is carried to its furthest point. if the passion to which nature moved him is less deeply meditated than in wordsworth and coleridge, its exuberance is wilder; and in his best lyrics it is inseparably mingled with the passion which puts him among the world's two or three greatest writers of love-poems. of all his verse, it is these songs about nature and love that every one knows and likes best. and, in fact, many of them seem to satisfy what is perhaps the ultimate test of true poetry: they sometimes have the power, which makes poetry akin to music, of suggesting by means of words something which cannot possibly be expressed in words. obviously the test is impossible to use with any objective certainty, but, for a reason which will appear, it seems capable of a fairly straightforward application to shelley's work. first we may observe that, just as the sight of some real scene--not necessarily a sunset or a glacier, but a ploughed field or a street-corner--may call up emotions which "lie too deep for tears" and cannot be put into words, this same effect can be produced by unstudied descriptions. wordsworth often produces it: "i wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vales and hills, when all at once i saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils." now, in the description of natural scenes that kind of effect is beyond shelley's reach, though he has many pictures which are both detailed and emotional. consider, for instance, these lines from 'the invitation' ( ). he calls to jane williams to come away "to the wild woods and the plains," "where the lawns and pastures be, and the sandhills of the sea;-- where the melting hoar-frost wets the daisy-star that never sets, and wind-flowers, and violets, which yet join not scent to hue, crown the pale year weak and new; when the night is left behind in the deep east, dun and blind, and the blue moon is over us, and the multitudinous billows murmur at our feet, where the earth and ocean meet, and all things seem only one in the universal sun." this has a wonderful lightness and radiance. and here is a passage of careful description from 'evening: ponte a mare, pisa': "the sun is set; the swallows are asleep; the bats are flitting fast in the gray air; the slow soft toads out of damp corners creep, and evening's breath, wandering here and there over the quivering surface of the stream, walkes not one ripple from its summer dream. there is no dew on the dry grass to-night, nor damp within the shadow of the trees; the wind is intermitting, dry and light; and in the inconstant motion of the breeze the dust and straws are driven up and down, and whirled about the pavement of the town." evidently he was a good observer, in the sense that he saw details clearly--unlike byron, who had for nature but a vague and a preoccupied eye--and evidently, too, his observation is steeped in strong feeling, and is expressed in most melodious language. yet we get the impression that he neither saw nor felt anything beyond exactly what he has expressed; there is no suggestion, as there should be in great poetry, of something beyond all expression. and, curiously enough, this seems to be true even of those fanciful poems so especially characteristic of him, such as 'the cloud' and 'arethusa', where he has dashed together on his palette the most startling colours in nature, and composed out of them an extravagantly imaginative whole: "the sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, and his burning plumes outspread, leaps on the back of my sailing rack, when the morning star shines dead, as on the jag of a mountain crag which an earthquake rocks and swings, an eagle alit one moment may sit in the light of its golden wings. and, when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, its ardours of rest and of love, and the crimson pall of eve may fall from the depths of heaven above, with wings folded i rest, on my airy nest, as still as a brooding dove." can he keep it up, we wonder, this manipulation of eagles and rainbows, of sunset and moonshine, of spray and thunder and lightning? we hold our breath; it is superhuman, miraculous; but he never falters, so vehement is the impulse of his delight. it is only afterwards that we ask ourselves whether there is anything beyond the mere delight; and realising that, though we have been rapt far above the earth, we have had no disturbing glimpses of infinity, we are left with a slight flatness of disappointment. but disappointment vanishes when we turn to the poems in which ecstasy is shot through with that strain of melancholy which we have already noticed. he invokes the wild west wind, not so much to exult impersonally in the force that chariots the decaying leaves, spreads the seeds abroad, wakes the mediterranean from its slumber, and cleaves the atlantic, as to cry out in the pain of his own helplessness and failure: "oh life me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! i fall upon the thorns of life! i bleed! a heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed one too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud." or an autumn day in the euganean hills, growing from misty morning through blue noon to twilight, brings, as he looks over "the waveless plain of lombardy," a short respite: "many a green isle needs must be in the deep wide sea of misery; or the mariner, worn and wan, ne'er thus could voyage on." the contrast between the peaceful loveliness of nature and his own misery is a piteous puzzle. on the beach near naples "the sun is warm, the sky is clear, the waves are dancing fast and bright, blue isles and snowy mountains wear the purple noon's transparent might." but "alas! i have nor hope nor health, nor peace within nor calm around, nor that content surpassing wealth the sage in meditation found, and walked with inward glory crowned-- nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. others i see whom these surround-- smiling they live, and call life pleasure;-- to me that cup has been dealt in another measure"; so that "i could lie down like a tired child, and weep away the life of care." the aching weariness that throbs in the music of these verses is not mere sentimental self-pity; it is the cry of a soul that has known moments of bliss when it has been absorbed in the sea of beauty that surrounds it, only the moments pass, and the reunion, ever sought, seems ever more hopeless. over and over again shelley's song gives us both the fugitive glimpses and the mystery of frustration. "i sang of the dancing stars, i sang of the daedal earth, and of heaven--and the giant wars, and love, and death, and birth,-- and then i changed my pipings,-- singing how down the vale of menalus i pursued a maiden and clasp'd a reed: gods and men, we are all deluded thus! it breaks in our bosom and then we bleed: all wept, as i think both ye now would, if envy or age had not frozen your blood, at the sorrow of my sweet pipings." why is it that he is equal to the highest office of poetry in these sad 'cris de coeur' rather than anywhere else? there is one poem--perhaps his greatest poem--which may suggest the answer. in the 'sensitive plant' ( ) a garden is first described on which are lavished all his powers of weaving an imaginary landscape out of flowers and light and odour. all the flowers rejoice in one another's love and beauty except the sensitive plant, "for the sensitive plant has no bright flower; radiance and odour are not its dower; it loves, even like love, its deep heart is full, it desires what it has not, the beautiful." now there was "a power in this sweet place, an eve in this eden." "a lady, the wonder of her kind," tended the flowers from earliest spring, through the summer, "and, ere the first leaf looked brown, she died!" the last part of the poem, a pendant to the first, is full of the horrors of corruption and decay when the power of good has vanished and the power of evil is triumphant. cruel frost comes, and snow, "and a northern whirlwind, wandering about like a wolf that had smelt a dead child out, shook the boughs thus laden, and heavy and stiff, and snapped them off with his rigid griff. when winter had gone and spring came back the sensitive plant was a leafless wreck; but the mandrakes, and toadstools, and docks, and darnels, rose like the dead from their ruined charnels." then there is an epilogue saying quite baldly that perhaps we may console ourselves by believing that "in this life of error, ignorance, and strife, where nothing is, but all things seem, and we the shadows of the dream, it is a modest creed, and yet pleasant if one considers it, to own that death itself must be, like all the rest, a mockery. that garden sweet, that lady fair, and all sweet shapes and odours there, in truth have never passed away: 'tis we, 'tis ours, are changed; not they. for love, and beauty, and delight, there is no death nor change: their might exceeds our organs which endure no light, being themselves obscure." the fact is that shelley's melancholy is intimately connected with his philosophical ideas. it is the creed of the student of berkeley, of plato, of spinoza. what is real and unchanging is the one spirit which interpenetrates and upholds the world with "love and beauty and delight," and this spirit--the vision which alastor pursued in vain, the "unseen power" of the 'ode to intellectual beauty'--is what is always suggested by his poetry at its highest moments. the suggestion, in its fulness, is of course ineffable; only in the case of shelley some approach can be made to naming it, because he happened to be steeped in philosophical ways of thinking. the forms in which he gave it expression are predominantly melancholy, because this kind of idealism, with its insistence on the unreality of evil, is the recoil from life of an unsatisfied and disappointed soul. his philosophy of love is but a special case of this all-embracing doctrine. we saw how in 'epipsychidion' he rejected monogamic principles on the ground that true love is increased, not diminished, by division, and we can now understand why he calls this theory an "eternal law." for, in this life of illusion, it is in passionate love that we most nearly attain to communion with the eternal reality. hence the more of it the better. the more we divide and spread our love, the more nearly will the fragments of goodness and beauty that are in each of us find their true fruition. this doctrine may be inconvenient in practice, but it is far removed from vulgar sensualism, of which shelley had not a trace. hogg says that he was "pre-eminently a ladies' man," meaning that he had that childlike helplessness and sincerity which go straight to the hearts of women. to this youth, preaching sublime mysteries, and needing to be mothered into the bargain, they were as iron to the magnet. there was always an eve in his eden, and each was the "wonder of her kind"; but whoever she was--harriet grove, harriet westbrook, elizabeth hitchener, cornelia turner, mary godwin, emilia viviani, or jane williams--she was never a don juan's mistress; she was an incarnation of the soul of the world, a momentary mirror of the eternal. such an attitude towards the least controllable of passions has several drawbacks: it involves a certain inhumanity, and it is only possible for long to one who remains ignorant of himself and cannot see that part of the force impelling him is blind attraction towards a pretty face. it also has the result that, if the lover is a poet, his love-songs will be sad. obsessed by the idea of communion with some divine perfection, he must needs be often cast down, not only by finding that, ixion-like, he has embraced a cloud (as shelley said of himself and emilia), but because, even when the object of his affection is worthy, complete communion is easier to desire than to attain. thus shelley's love-songs are just what might be expected. if he does strain to the moment of ingress into the divine being, it is to swoon with excess of bliss, as at the end of 'epipsychidion', or as in the 'indian serenade': "oh lift me from the grass! i die! i faint! i fail!" more often he exhales pure melancholy: "see the mountains kiss high heaven and the waves clasp one another; no sister-flower would be forgiven if it disdained its brother. and the sunlight clasps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what is all this sweet work worth if thou kiss not me?" here the failure is foreseen; he knows she will not kiss him. sometimes his sadness is faint and restrained: "i fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, thou needest not fear mine; my spirit is too deeply laden ever to burthen thine." at other times it flows with the fulness of despair, as in "i can give not what men call love, but wilt thou accept not the worship the heart lifts above and the heavens reject not, the desire of the moth for the star, of the night for the morrow, the devotion to something afar from the sphere of our sorrow?" or in "when the lamp is shattered the light in the dust lies dead-- when the cloud is scattered the rainbow's glory is shed. when the lute is broken, sweet tones are remembered not; when the lips have spoken, loved accents are soon forgot." the very rapture of the skylark opens, as he listens, the wound at his heart: "we look before and after, and pine for what is not: our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought." is the assertion contained in this last line universally true? perhaps. at any rate it is true of shelley. his saddest songs are the sweetest, and the reason is that in them, rather than in those verses where he merely utters ecstatic delight, or calm pleasure, or bitter indignation, he conveys ineffable suggestions beyond what the bare words express. it remains to point out that there is one means of conveying such suggestions which was outside the scope of his genius. one of the methods which poetry most often uses to suggest the ineffable is by the artful choice and arrangement of words. a word, simply by being cunningly placed and given a certain colour, can, in the hands of a good craftsman, open up indescribable vistas. but keats, when, in reply to a letter of criticism, he wrote to him, "you might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore," was giving him advice which, though admirable, it was impossible that he should follow. shelley was not merely not a craftsman by nature, he was not the least interested in those matters which are covered by the clumsy name of "technique." it is characteristic of him that, while most great poets have been fertile coiners of new words, his only addition to the language is the ugly "idealism" in the sense of "ideal object." he seems to have strayed from the current vocabulary only in two other cases, both infelicitous--"glode" for "glided," and "blosmy" for "blossomy." he did not, like keats, look on fine phrases with the eye of a lover. his taste was the conventional taste of the time. thus he said of byron's 'cain', "it is apocalyptic, it is a revelation not before communicated to man"; and he thought byron and tom moore better poets than himself. as regards art, he cheapened michael angelo, and the only things about which he was enthusiastic in italy, except the fragments of antiquity which he loved for their associations, were the paintings of raphael and guido reni. nor do we find in him any of those new metrical effects, those sublime inventions in prosody, with which the great masters astonish us. blank verse is a test of poets in this respect, and shelley's blank verse is limp and characterless. those triumphs, again, which consist in the beauty of complicated wholes, were never his. he is supreme, indeed, in simple outbursts where there is no question of form, but in efforts of longer breath, where architecture is required, he too often sprawls and fumbles before the inspiration comes. yet his verse has merits which seem to make such criticisms vain. we may trace in it all kinds of 'arrieres pensees', philosophical and sociological, that an artist ought not to have, and we may even dislike its dominating conception of a vague spirit that pervades the universe; but we must admit that when he wrote it was as if seized and swept away by some "unseen power" that fell upon him unpremeditated. his emotions were of that fatal violence which distinguishes so many illustrious but unhappy souls from the mass of peaceable mankind. in the early part of last century a set of illustrations to faust by retzch used to be greatly admired; about one of them, a picture of faust and margaret in the arbour, shelley says in a letter to a friend: "the artist makes one envy his happiness that he can sketch such things with calmness, which i only dared look upon once, and which made my brain swim round only to touch the leaf on the opposite side of which i knew that it was figured." so slight were the occasions that could affect him even to vertigo. when, from whatever cause, the frenzy took him, he would write hastily, leaving gaps, not caring about the sense. afterwards he would work conscientiously over what he had written, but there was nothing left for him to do but to correct in cold blood, make plain the meaning, and reduce all to such order as he could. one result of this method was that his verse preserved an unparallelled rush and spontaneity, which is perhaps as great a quality as anything attained by the more bee-like toil of better artists. bibliographical note the literature dealing with shelley's work and life is immense, and no attempt will be made even to summarise it here. a convenient one-volume edition of the poems is that edited by professor edward dowden for messrs. macmillan ( ); it includes mary shelley's valuable notes. there is a good selection of the poems in the "golden treasury series," compiled by a. stopford brooke. the prose works have been collected and edited by mr. h. buxton forman in four volumes ( - ). of the letters there is an edition by mr. roger ingpen ( vols., ). a number of letters to elizabeth hitchener were published by mr. bertram dobell in . for a first-hand knowledge of a poet's life and character the student must always go to the accounts of contemporaries. in shelley's case these are copious. there are t. l. peacock,s 'memoirs' (edited by e. f. b. brett-smith, ); peacock's 'nightmare abbey' contains an amusing caricature of shelley in the person of scythrops; and in at least two of her novels mary shelley has left descriptions of her husband: adrian earl of windsor, in 'the last man', is a portrait of shelley, and 'lodore' contains an account of his estrangement from harriet. his cousin tom medwin's 'life' ( ) is a bad book, full of inaccuracies. but shelley had one unique piece of good fortune: two friends wrote books about him that are masterpieces. t. j. hogg's 'life' is especially valuable for the earlier period, and e. j. trelawny's 'records of shelley, byron, and the author', describes him in the last year before his death. hogg's 'life' has been republished in a cheap edition by messrs. routledge, and there is a cheap edition of trelawny's 'records' in messrs. routledge's "new universal library." but both these books, while they give incomparably vivid pictures of the poet, are rambling and unconventional, and should be supplemented by professor dowden's 'life of shelley' ( vols., ), which will always remain the standard biography. of other recent lives, mr. a. clutton-brock's 'shelley: the man and the poet' ( ) may be recommended. of the innumerable critical estimates of shelley and his place in literature, the most noteworthy are perhaps matthew arnold's essay in his 'essays in criticism', and francis thompson's 'shelley' ( ). vol. iv. "naturalism in england," of dr. george brandes' 'main currents in nineteenth century literature' ( ), may be read with interest, though it is not very reliable; and prof. oliver elton's 'a survey of english literature', - ( ), should be consulted. whoever wishes to follow the fortunes, after the fire of their lives was extinguished by shelley's death, of mary shelley, claire clairmont, and the rest, should read, besides trelawny's 'records' already mentioned, 'the life and letters of mary wollstonecraft shelley', by mrs. julian marshall ( vols., ), and '_the letters of e. j. trelawny_, edited by mr. h. buxton forman ( ). generously made available by the internet archive.) the real shelley. vol. i. the real shelley. new views of the poet's life. by john cordy jeaffreson, author of 'the real lord byron,' 'a book about doctors,' 'a book about lawyers,' &c. &c. in two volumes. vol. i. london: hurst and blackett, publishers, great marlborough street. . _all rights reserved._ london: printed by strangeways and sons, tower street, upper st. martin's lane. contents of the first volume. page chapter i. the shelley of romantic biography creators of the romantic shelley--clint's fanciful composition--the poet's personal appearance--his little turn-up nose--his ancestral quality--sussexisms of his speech and poetry--his phenomenal untruthfulness--his temperance and intemperance--a victim of domestic persecution--was _the necessity of atheism_ a mere squib?--lord eldon's decree--the slaughter of reputations--the poet's character--his treatment of his familiar friend--biographic fictions--extravagances of shelleyan enthusiasm. chapter ii. the shelleys of sussex medwin's blunders--lady shelley's statement of the case--the michelgrove shelleys--sir william shelley, justice of the common pleas--the castle goring shelleys--their pedigree at the heralds' college--evidences of the connexion of the two families--john shelley, 'esquire and lunatic'--timothy shelley, the yankee apothecary--bysshe shelley's career--his runaway match with catherine michell--his marriage with the heiress of penshurst--his great wealth--the poet's alleged pride in his connexion with the sidneys--his gentle, but not aristocratic, lineage. chapter iii. shelley's childhood the poet's father--shelley's birth and birth-chamber--miss hellen shelley's recollections--the child-shelley's pleasant fiction--his aspect at tender age--his description of his own nose--the indian-ink sketch--miss curran's 'daub'-- williams's water-colour drawing--clint's composition-- engravings of 'the daub' and 'the composition'--the poet's likeness in marble--shelley and byron--peacock and hogg on shelley's facial beauty--the colnaghi engraving. chapter iv. the brentford schoolboy dr. greenlaw's character--quality of his school--medwin's anecdotes to the doctor's discredit--mr. gellibrand's recollections of the brentford shelley--the bullies of the brentford playground--shelley's character at the school--his disposition to somnambulism--his delight in novels--his wretchedness at school--shelleyan egotism--byronic egotism--byron's influence on shelley--enduring influence of novels on shelley's mind--stories of boating--easter holidays in wiltshire--'essay on friendship'--its biographical value. chapter v. the eton schoolboy first year at eton--creation of the castle-goring baronetcy-- sir bysshe shelley's last will--timothy shelley's children-- miss hellen shelley's recollections--the etonian at home-- the big tortoise--the great snake--dr. keate--mr. packe at fault--walter halliday--mr. hexter--mr. bethell--fagging--mad shelley--'old walker'--enthusiasm for natural science--the rebel of the school--lord high atheist--dr. lind's pernicious influence on shelley--poetical fictions about dr. lind-- shelley's illness at field place--his monstrous hallucination touching his father--john shelley the lunatic--_zastrozzi_-- premature withdrawal from eton. chapter vi. zastrozzi; a romance. by p. b. s. literary ambition--biographical value of _zastrozzi_--the etonian shelley's disesteem of marriage--review of the romance--julia and matilda--conceits of the romance reproduced in _laon and cythna_--egotisms of the prose tale and the poem--the original of count verezzi and laon. chapter vii. between eton and oxford literary interests and enterprise--a.m. oxon. letter-- shelley's hunger for publisher's money--winter - -- nightmare--_the wandering jew_--medwin in lincoln's inn fields--the fragment of ahasuerus--its influence on byron and shelley--matriculation at oxford--shelley at the bodleian-- john ballantyne and co.--shelley in pall mall--stockdale's scandalous _budget_--_victor and cazire_--their original poetry--who was cazire?--felicia dorothea browne-- illumination of young ladies--harriett grove--the groves and shelleys in london--shelley's interest in harriett grove. chapter viii. st. irvyne; or, the rosicrucian: a romance. by a gentleman of the university of oxford venal villains--'jock' instructed to 'pouch' them--at work on another novel--the dog of a publisher--devil of a price--_st. irvyne_--irving's hill--review of _st. irvyne_--wolfstein the magnanimous--megalena de metastasio--olympia della anzasca-- eloise st. irvyne--the virtuous fitzeustace--ginotti's doom-- the oxonian shelley's repugnance to marriage--his commendation of free love--parallel passages of _zastrozzi_ and _st. irvyne_--the verses of _st. irvyne_. chapter ix. mr. denis florence maccarthy _v._ thomas jefferson hogg shelley's matriculation at oxford--hogg's matriculation at oxford--hogg's first arrival at oxford--lord grenville's election--mr. denis florence maccarthy's blunders--hogg's 'new monthly' papers on shelley at oxford--mrs. shelley's reason for not writing her husband's 'life'--peacock's reason for not writing it--leigh hunt's reason for not writing it--hogg undertakes the task--hogg's two volumes--their merits and faults--hogg dismissed by field place--his mistakes and misrepresentations--some of his misrepresentations adopted by field place. chapter x. at oxford: michaelmas term, hogg's toryism--shelley's liberalism--in hogg's rooms-- shelley's looks and voice--patron and idolater--the ways of passing time--hogg's reminiscences--nocturnal readings and conversations--country about oxford--pistol practice--playing with paper boats--windmill and plashy meadow--the horror of it--posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson--university tattle and laughter--eccentric inseparables--pond under shotover hill--pacing 'the high'--dons' civility to shelley-- his incivility to dons--uninteresting stones and dull people--'partly true and partly false'--the fiery hun!--'my dear boy'--shelley offers his sister to hogg in marriage--hogg entertains the proposal--end of term. chapter xi. the christmas vacation of - presentation copies of _st. irvyne_--shelley resorts to deception--shelley in disgrace at field place--harriett grove's dismissal of her suitor--the squire's anger--mrs. shelley's alarm for her girls--shelley's troubles--his rage against intolerance--his wild letters to hogg--'married to a clod'--stockdale's design--his intercourse with shelley's father--more negotiations with the pall-mall publisher-- shelley a deist--controversial correspondence--shelley's attempt to enlighten his father--his passage from deism to atheism--the squire relents to his son--hogg invited to field place--stockdale's disappointment--stockdale's character--his scandalous _budget_. chapter xii. mr. maccarthy's discoveries touching the oxonian shelley _a poetical essay on the existing state of things_--evidence that the poem was published--reasons for thinking it may never have been published--reasons for thinking that, if the poem was published, it was promptly suppressed--did shelley contribute prose and poetry to the _oxford herald_?--spurious letter to the editor of the _statesman_--shelley's first letter to leigh hunt--his way of introducing himself to strangers--did he at the same moment think well and ill of his father?--miss janetta phillips's poems--e. & w. phillips, the worthing printers. chapter xiii. shelley's second residence-term at oxford harriett westbrook--her character and beauty--how shelley came to care for her--her subscription for janetta phillips's poems--shelley's first visit to harriett's home--his intention to compete for 'the newdigate'--thornton hunt's scandalous suggestion--obligations of the oxford undergraduate--mary wollstonecraft on the guinea forfeit-- shelley's false declaration--his numerous untruths--_the necessity of atheism_--was it a squib?--lady shelley's inaccuracies--mr. garnett's misdescription of the tract--his misrepresentation of hogg--the _little syllabus_ printed at worthing--more untruths by shelley--the tract offered for sale in oxford--shelley called before 'the dons'--his expulsion from university college--hogg's impudence and craft--his misrepresentations--shelley and hogg leave oxford. chapter xiv. the spring and summer of arrival in town--the poland-street exiles--the squire's correspondence with hogg's father--his gentle treatment of shelley--dinner at miller's hotel--hogg's testimony to the squire's worth--shelley's nicknames for his father--shelley rejects his father's terms--shelley offers terms to his father--the squire's indignation--he relents--he makes shelley a liberal allowance--lady shelley's misrepresentations--the exiles about town--the separation of 'the inseparables'--shelley's intimacy with the westbrooks shelley's intimacy with the westbrooks--john westbrook's calling and character--taking the sacrament--harriett westbrook's conversion to atheism--her disgrace at school-- shelley's measures for illuminating his sister hellen-- tourists in wales--the change in elizabeth shelley-- arrangements for a clandestine meeting--mrs. shelley's treatment of her son--captain pilford's kindness to his nephew--harriett westbrook's appeal to shelley--her decision and indecision--from wales to london--hogg's influence--the elopement to scotland--hogg starts for edinburgh. chapter xv. motive and influences the fatal marriage--was shelley trapt into it?--mr. garnett's assurances--the fiction about claire--lady shelley's use of hogg's evidences--the prenuptial intercourse--was it slight?--shelley's opportunities for knowing all about harriett--his use and abuse of those opportunities--mr. westbrook's action towards shelley--his endeavour to preserve harriett from shelley--eliza westbrook's part in making up the match--the tool's reward--the etonian free lover--the social condition of the westbrooks and godwins--harriett westbrook's beauty--her education--her knowledge of french-- her quick progress in latin--what wonder that shelley fell in love with her? chapter xvi. edinburgh, york, and keswick the scotch marriage--the trio at edinburgh--'wha's the deil?'--posting from edinburgh to york--dingy lodgings and dingy milliners--shelley's run south--did harriett accompany him?--the squire stops the supplies--the earl's description of harriett westbrook--the squire's anger at the _mésalliance_--the course shelley could not take--eliza westbrook in possession--the ouse at full flood--one too many--designs on greystoke castle--shelley's appeal to the duke of norfolk--the codicil to sir bysshe's will--the flight to richmond--miss westbrook strikes her enemy--the trio at keswick--shelley's affectionate letters from keswick to hogg at york--john westbrook's daughters at greystoke castle-- ducal benignity and policy--the calverts of greta bank-- shelley's means during his first marriage--how to live on three hundred a-year--how not to live on four hundred a-year. chapter xvii. greta bank shelley wishes for a sussex cottage--his friends at keswick-- southey at home--poet and schoolmaster--southey's way of handling shelley--shelley caught napping--mrs. southey's tea-cakes--eggs and bacon on hounslow heath--at home with the calverts--shelley's remarkable communications to southey--his story of harriett's expulsion from school--the story to hogg's infamy--mr. maccarthy on the _posthumous fragments_-- miss westbrook's transient contentment--shelley's _for ever_ and _never_--his interest in ireland--burning questions-- southey and shelley at war--the _address to the irish people_--letters to skinner street--godwin tickled by them-- shelleyan conceptions and misconceptions--shelley forgets all about dr. lind--preparations for the irish campaign--letter of introduction to curran--project for a happy meeting in wales--miss eliza hitchener--bright angel and brown demon-- shelley's delight in her--his abhorrence of her. chapter xviii. shelley's quarrel with hogg shelley's suspicion of hogg--his conviction of hogg's guilt-- did hogg make the attempt?--the manipulated letter--hogg's object in publishing it--his purpose in altering it--the great discovery--evidence of hogg's guilt--sources of the evidence--shelley's correspondence with miss hitchener--his letters from keswick to hogg--their vehement affectionateness--eliza westbrook in office--shelley under training--sisters in council--shelley's conferences with harriett--proofs of hogg's innocence--_primâ facie_ improbability--why hogg was not charged at york--his arraignment at keswick--condemned in his absence--the reconciliation--divine forgiveness--hogg's restoration to intimacy with harriett--shelley's subsequent intimacy with hogg--hogg's intimacy with mary godwin--shelley's acknowledgment of delusion--he begs pardon of hogg--hogg's denials of the charge--hypothetical letters--concluding estimate of harriett's evidence--if hogg should be proved guilty--consequences to shelley's reputation. the real shelley. chapter i. the shelley of romantic biography. creators of the romantic shelley--clint's fanciful composition--the poet's personal appearance--his little turn-up nose--his ancestral quality--sussexisms of his speech and poetry--his phenomenal untruthfulness--his temperance and intemperance--a victim of domestic persecution--was _the necessity of atheism_ a mere squib?--lord eldon's decree--the slaughter of reputations--the poet's character--his treatment of his familiar friend--biographic fictions--extravagances of shelleyan enthusiasm. from a time considerably anterior to the day on which hogg undertook to write the _life_ of his college friend, three separate forces, (_a_) field place, (_b_) the shelleyan enthusiasts, (_c_) the shelleyan socialists, have been steadily working to withdraw the real shelley from the world's view, and to replace him with a shelley, altogether unlike the poet, who carried mary godwin off to the continent, and wrote _laon and cythna_. by 'field place,' i mean those members of the poet's family (living or dead), who in their pious devotion to his memory, and laudable concern for the honour of their house, have busied themselves in creating this fanciful and romantic shelley, and substituting him for the real shelley. by designating these members of the shelley family by the name of the house that is shelley's shrine, even as the stratford birthplace is shakespeare's shrine, and newstead abbey is byron's shrine, i shall be able to refer with the least possible offensiveness to excellent individuals, from whom i am constrained to differ on a large number of shelleyan questions. by 'the shelleyan enthusiasts,' i mean vehement admirers of shelley's poetry, who, without ever thinking about his social views, delight in imagining that the poet's character and career resembled his genius in its grandeur, and his song in its loftiness and beauty. by 'the shelleyan socialists' i mean those conscientious though misguided persons, who, valuing shelley for his mischievous social philosophy, and thinking of marriage somewhat as the pious john milton thought of it in the seventeenth century, and somewhat as the devout martin bucer thought of it in the sixteenth century, regard with various degrees of approval or tolerance shelley's daring, though by no means original, proposal for abolishing lawful marriage, and replacing it with the free contract, from which each of the contracting parties is free to retire on the death of their mutual affection, and who, in accordance with their various degrees of approval or tolerance of the proposal, have contributed or are contributing, by written words or by spoken words, either to the opinion that society should adopt the proposal, or to the opinion that, without abolishing lawful marriage, society should recognize the free contract as a kind of marriage, to the extent of holding persons who live under it conscientiously, as blameless or not greatly blameworthy for doing so. the work of creating the romantic shelley, and endowing him with personal and moral graces, never conspicuous in the real shelley, was begun not long after the poet's death, when mrs. shelley and mrs. williams induced clint to compose the fancy picture, to which the world is, through the engraver's art, indebted for its very erroneous conception of shelley's personal aspect. who has not, through the engraver's art, gazed on the face of that charming portraiture: a face so remarkable for gentle delicacy and symmetrical loveliness? gazing on the beauteous face, who has not observed the rather large, straight, delicately-modelled, finely-pointed nose?--the original of the lovely picture had a notably unsymmetrical face, and a little turn-up nose. having replaced his unsymmetrical visage with a face of exquisite symmetry, the cunning idolaters have introduced the poet as a gentleman of high ancestral dignity, to a world ever too quick to honour men of ancient gentility. his remote forefathers have been proclaimed persons of knightly rank and virtue. his house (founded though it was by a comparatively self-made man, who won his baronetcy years after the poet's birth) has been declared a branch of the michelgrove shelleys. cynics and humourists may well smile to recall all that has been written of the poet's mediæval ancestors and his shield of twenty-one quarterings, whilst they remember at the same time that his grandfather was the younger son of a yankee apothecary, that his earlier people of the eighteenth and seventeenth centuries were undistinguished though gentle persons, the squireens and farmers, of whose claim to be rated with the great families of sussex more will be said in a subsequent chapter. endowing him with aristocratic descent, the shelleyan idolaters have discovered indications of nobility in the sussex provincialisms that qualified the utterances of the poet's singularly disagreeable voice, and may be now and then detected in his outpourings of song: provincialisms to remind the reader of byron's scarcely perceptible scotch accent, and the scotticisms of expression that are occasionally discoverable in his poems. the sussex peasantry seldom sound the final _g_ of words ending with that letter, and sussex gentlemen are sometimes heard to say 'good mornin' to one another.' shelley was sometimes guilty of this provincialism. for instance, in _laon and cythna_ ( ), and again in _arethusa_ ( ), he makes _ruin_ rhyme to _pursuing_. mr. buxton forman regards the provincialism as an indication of the poet's aristocratic quality. 'i need not,' says the enthusiastic editor, 'tell the reader that, to this day, it is an affectation current among persons who are, or pretend to be, of the aristocratic caste, not only to drop the final _g_ in these cases themselves, but to stigmatize its pronunciation by other people as "pedantic."' englishmen like people to be truthful, and in the long-run never fail to honour the man, who, having the courage of his opinions, proclaims them fearlessly, even though they may quarrel with him for a season, because he tells the truth too pugnaciously, or persists in telling them truths they don't wish to think about. to commend him to lovers of truth, the shelleyan idolaters declare the poet to have been, from his boyhood till his death, daringly, unfalteringly, unwaveringly, invariably truthful. lady shelley insists that at eton he was more truth-loving than other boys,--was, indeed, chiefly remarkable for unswerving and audacious veracity. in half-a-dozen different biographies he is extolled for his intolerance of falsehood. most of the misfortunes that befel him are attributed to his habit of telling the truth in season and out of season. it is, indeed, admitted even by some of his panegyrists that he now and then made statements at variance with fact. but on these occasions he is declared to have spoken erroneously through the delusive influence of a too powerful imagination. the inordinately vigorous fancy, that enabled him to write _queen mab_, caused him sometimes to imagine things to have taken place, when they had not taken place. his mis-statements resulted altogether from misconception, and should not be regarded as in any way affecting the overwhelming evidence that he loved truth more than life; that he made great sacrifices for the truth's sake, that he was, in fact, a martyr for the truth. it is, however, all too certain that he uttered mis-statements, for which the force of his imagination cannot in any degree whatever have been accountable; and that, instead of being more truth-loving than most men, he was phenomenally untruthful. telling fibs in order to escape momentary annoyance or gain a trivial advantage, he could instruct other persons to tell fibs in his interest. he was singular amongst men of his degree for being able to declare his intention of practising deceit, and forthwith being as bad as his word. instances of this candour in falsehood are given in the ensuing pages. when he tells a fib, a gentleman is usually too much ashamed of the matter to take any one into his confidence on the subject. there were times, when no such sense of shame troubled shelley. much has been written to shelley's honour about his habitual temperance and general disregard for the pleasures of the table. it has been accounted to him for righteousness that he seldom drank wine, and for months together ate nothing but vegetable food. as shelley at one period of his career found, or fancied, that his health was better, his mind lighter and more vigorous, his whole soul in higher contentment, when he lived wholly on vegetable food, than when he ate flesh, i cannot see why it was eminently virtuous in him to take the food that seemed to suit him best. as he drank fresh water and strong tea, because he liked them better than mild ale and stiff toddy, it remains to be shown why he should be so much commended for drinking what he liked best. still temperance in diet is one of the minor virtues. but was shelley a temperate man in his drinks? if he never drank wine immoderately, and in some periods of his career was a total abstainer from all the usual alcoholic drinks, it is certain that he was at times a heavy laudanum-drinker; and it is not obvious why it is less intemperate to be sottish with spirits of wine, in which opium has been macerated; than to be sottish with gin, in which gentian has been macerated. misrepresenting the poet's story in the smaller matters, the shelleyan apologists have misrepresented it even more daringly in the larger matters. endeavouring to explain away his gravest academic offence, they maintain that _the necessity of atheism_ was a trivial essay, a little argumentative syllabus, a humorous _brochure_, that did not exhibit his real opinions on matters pertaining to religion; that it was printed only for private circulation amongst the learned; that it was never offered for sale to the general public. yet it is certain that he reproduced some of its argument in the _letter to lord ellenborough_; that more than two years after its first publication, he revised, amended, and reprinted it in the notes to _queen mab_; that later still he reproduced some of its reasoning in the _refutation of deism_, and that it was offered for sale to anyone who cared to buy it at oxford. mr. garnett declares the essay to have been nothing more than 'a squib,' and gives hogg as his authority for the staggering statement. yet it is certain that hogg makes no such statement; but is, on the contrary, most careful and precise in declaring how completely earnest and sincere shelley was in the matter. declaring that the essay was no expression of the author's genuine opinions, the shelleyan apologists almost in the same breath declare it to have been an utterance of his real convictions, and applaud him for his courage in putting forth clearly what he believed to be true. one of the prime biographic fictions about shelley is, that he endured persecution for publishing this equally sincere and insincere profession of no faith, not only at oxford but in his domestic circle. it is asserted that he was treated cruelly by his father, excluded from field place, driven from his boyhood's home, and even disinherited, for this and other bold declarations of what he believed to be true. sympathy and admiration are demanded for him as a martyr for the truth's sake. 'on the sensitively affectionate feelings of the young controversialist and poet,' lady shelley says, 'this sentence of exclusion from his boyhood's home inflicted a bitter pang, yet he was determined to bear it for the sake of what he believed to be right and true.' with the perplexing perversity that characterised so many of his utterences about his private affairs, shelley himself, after surrendering by his own act, and of his own will, the position assigned to him in respect to his grandfather's property by his grandfather's will, used to speak of himself as having made great sacrifices of his material interests for the truth, and to offer himself to the sympathy and admiration of his friends as a martyr for conscience's sake. yet it is certain that he was treated kindly by his father in respect to the causes and immediate consequences of his academic disgrace; that he was excluded from field place in the first instance, not on account of his religious opinions, but on account of his outrageous disregard for his father's wishes in respect to other matters; that he was excluded from field place in only for a few weeks, during which time so far from 'being determined to bear it for the sake of what he believed to be right and true,' he never for a moment designed to respect the sentence of banishment, but intended to return to his boyhood's home as soon as it should please him to do so; and that, the few weeks of discord having passed, he was received at field place by his father and endowed with a handsome yearly allowance of pocket-money. no less certain is it that he was never driven from his boyhood's home; that on eventually withdrawing from the old domestic circle, he left it of his own accord, to make a runaway match with a licensed victualler's daughter; and that, instead of resulting from differences of opinion on questions of religion and politics (differences which at most only aggravated and embittered a quarrel due to other causes), his estrangement from and rupture with his family resulted from ( ) their reasonable displeasure at his _mésalliance_, and ( ) the reasonable displeasure of his grandfather, and father, at his refusal to concur with them in effecting a particular settlement of certain real estate. to give yet another example of the audacious way in which shelley's story has been mistold in respect to its principal incidents. every one has heard how shelley was deprived of the custody of his children by lord eldon; how, on account of his religious opinions, and for no other cause, he was robbed of his dear babes by the cruel and fanatical lord chancellor. lady shelley speaks furiously of 'the monstrous injustice of this decree.' in an article, written to the lively gratification of the shelleyan enthusiasts and the shelleyan socialists, the _edinburgh review_ not long since (october, ) declared that the judgment was formed and the decree delivered, 'on the ground, not of shelley's misconduct to his wife, but of the opinions expressed in his writings.' the words of the edinburgh reviewer are absolutely erroneous. the judgment was formed in steady consideration of the poet's misconduct to his first wife; and in its delivery the chancellor was careful to say, not once, but repeatedly, that he decreed against the poet's petition, _not_ on account of any opinions expressed in his writings (considered apart from conduct), _but_ on account of his _conduct_ (the word conduct, conduct, conduct, being reiterated by the chancellor, till the reader of the decree grows weary of it)--on account of his _conduct_ in respect to his wife; _conduct_ showing his resolve to act on the free contract principles, set forth in the anti-matrimonial note to _queen mab_; _conduct_ justifying the opinion that if harriett westbrook's children were delivered to him, he would rear them to hold his own anti-matrimonial views. that so respectable an organ of public opinion should make this statement is significant. it indicates how great is the force with which i venture to contend, not without hope that my weak hands may be strengthened by all who reverence marriage. a matter to be noticed, in connection with the efforts to substitute the romantic for the real shelley, is that their success will involve the discredit, if not the absolute infamy, of nearly all the principal persons, whom the poet encountered in friendship or enmity, on his way from birth to death. to accept the extravagant stories told by shelley or his idolaters is to believe, that the poet's father was a prodigy of parental wickedness; that his mother was hatefully deficient in maternal affection; that dr. greenlaw was a malicious, base-natured pedagogue; that the eton masters (from dr. keate to mr. bethell) delighted in persecuting their famous pupil; that the master and fellows of university college were actuated by the basest motives (including sycophancy to a powerful minister) in requiring the poet to leave oxford; that hogg was a nauseous villain, who attempted to seduce his friend's wife within a few weeks of her wedding-day; that the first mrs. shelley broke her marriage-vow; that william godwin, instead of feeling like the honest man he affected to be at his daughter's flight, chuckled in his sleeve at his girl's good fortune in winning a rich baronet's son for her paramour and eventual husband; that lord chancellor eldon was an unjust judge, who delivered a monstrous decree at the instigation of religious bigotry and political resentment; that peacock was either a simpleton or traitor in bearing testimony to the first mrs. shelley's conjugal goodness; that william jerdan was a virulent slanderer; that sir john taylor coleridge was a malignant calumniator; that byron, whom shelley throughout successive years honoured as a supremely great man, and for a while worshipt as a god, was the meanest, paltriest, dirtiest knave that ever broke a sacred trust, and stole a letter. it is thus that the creators of the romantic shelley deal with the persons most influential on the poet's career and reputation. it is true they have good words for the hard-swearing windsor apothecary, who gave the etonian shelley lessons in commination and chemistry; and for leigh hunt, the equally insatiable and charming parasite, who took all he could get from his young friend's pocket. the squire of field place, dr. greenlaw, dr. keate, mr. bethell, the master and tutors of university college, hogg, william godwin, lord eldon, peacock, william jerdan, sir john taylor coleridge, byron, were all odious in different ways. the only good and true men, of all the many notable men, shelley encountered on his way through life, were dr. lind and leigh hunt. surely there must be something wrong in the story, that slays so many reputations, whilst it selects dr. lind and leigh hunt for approval. were there not another and very different side to the story, this book would not have been written. unless i read it amiss (and i am sure i read it aright, for i have studied it carefully, and in doing so have found it to have been perused only in parts, and in some parts with strange carelessness, by all previous biographers), it stands out clear upon the record, that from his boyhood shelley was disposed to rise in rebellion against all persons placed in authority over him; that instead of having the gentle nature attributed to him by fanciful historians, he was quick-tempered and resentful; that without being desperately wicked, his heart was strangely deceitful towards himself; that he was a bad and disloyal son to a kind-hearted and well-intentioned father, and by no means a good son to a gentle-natured and conscientious mother; that he was a bad husband to his first wife, and far from a faultless husband to his second wife; that, together with several agreeable characteristics, he possessed several dangerous qualities; and that he was, at least towards one person, a bad friend. so strangely has shelley's story been mistold, that this last assertion is likely to make readers start with surprise and revolt against the author. let it, therefore, be justified at once. the poet had a familiar friend, from whom he had received much kindness, for whom he professed cordial veneration, and with whom he lived in close intimacy. this friend had an only daughter, a bright, lively, romantic, lovely girl, still only sixteen years old. reared within the lines of religious orthodoxy, this young girl had been educated to think of marriage just as other young english girls are usually taught to think of it. though he had in former time been an advocate of the free contract, her father had changed his views about marriage before her birth, and had abandoned his free contract views when she was still a nursling. soon after making this girl's acquaintance, shelley passed into discord with his wife; and soon after ceasing to love his wife, he fixed his affections on his friend's daughter. without speaking to his friend on the subject, or giving him occasion to suspect what he was about, shelley paid his addresses to this child, and had won her heart, ere ever it occurred to her father that they might be living too intimately and affectionately with one another. it was with great difficulty shelley overcame the child's notions of right in which she had been educated; but, eventually, he accomplished his purpose. a few days later, leaving his wife in england, shelley stole this young child from her home, and, carrying her off to the continent, lived with her as though she were his wife. he did this, though she was his most intimate friend's only daughter, though she was only sixteen years old, and though he had no prospect of ever being able to marry her. the creators of the romantic shelley deal with this episode of shelley's story as though it were a pleasant and unusually interesting love-passage. some of them are unable to see that shelley was at all to blame in the business. those of them, who admit it was not altogether right of him to act thus towards so young a girl, maintain that the author of such superlatively fine poetry as _adonais_ and _the cenci_ cannot have been very wrong in the affair, and should not be judged in respect to the matter, as though he were a young man incapable of writing fine poetry. no one of them has a word of compassion for the girl's father. mr. froude is of opinion that in this matter shelley was guilty of nothing worse than 'the sin of acting on emotional theories of liberty,' and should be judged tenderly, because he was young and enthusiastic! differing from mr. froude, i venture to say that, in acting thus ill towards the girl, shelley was guilty of very hateful treason towards his friend. i ask english fathers with young children about them, and english brothers with young sisters for playmates, to judge between me and my adversary. since it dismissed hogg with scant courtesy for being too realistic and communicative, field place has done much to gratify the shelleyan enthusiasts and socialists. soon after publishing the uniformly erroneous _shelley memorials_, field place promised to produce, in due season, evidence that shelley was not seriously to blame in his treatment of his first wife. for years field place has gathered evidences for the poet's vindication. field place aided mr. buxton forman in producing his stately and careful edition of the poet's works. in comparatively recent time the field place muniments have enabled a well-known writer to produce the memoir of the poet's father-in-law (william godwin), and a memoir of mary wollstonecraft, in which she is styled gilbert imlay's wife, and is said to have thought herself his wife before god and man, though they were never married. and now field place is enabling another writer to produce another authoritative history of shelley and mary, that shall raise mary godwin yet nearer to the angels, and bring her husband's story into more perfect harmony with the straight nose and symmetrical lineaments of clint's composition. it is not surprising that field place should wish to produce some more adequate memoir of its poet than lady shelley's _shelley memorials; from authentic sources_. but however cleverly it may be executed, only the most hopeful can hope that the promised biography will afford satisfaction to the general public. it is simply impossible for it to satisfy those who want the truth about shelley, and at the same time to satisfy the enthusiasts who would be pained by the truth, and the shelleyan socialists who are chiefly desirous that the truth should not be told. to satisfy those who want the truth and the whole of it: to produce a memoir that shall be worth the paper on which it is printed, it will be necessary for the official biographer to show that lady shelley's work is from first to last a book of mistakes--that it is wrong in every page; wrong in its views of the poet's character; wrong in its general outline of his career; wrong in its incidents; wrong in its names and dates; wrong, even in its particulars of domestic affairs, legal matters, and pecuniary arrangements--particulars in respect to which a biographer, with access to authentic sources of information, has no excuse for blundering. can such candour be looked for from the source which gave us the _shelley memorials_? is it conceivable that the new official scribe will be permitted to deal thus honestly with lady shelley's book from authentic sources? if he is required to make his book agree with this thing from authentic sources, he must dismiss the hope of pleasing the general public. on the other hand, to please the enthusiasts and the more fervid shelleyan socialists he must tell that shelley was sinless, stainless, divine; that mary wollstonecraft was married, in the sight of god and man, to the american adventurer, who never married her; and that mary godwin showed a justifiable disregard of social prejudices, when she went off to switzerland with another woman's husband. he must produce a work more or less calculated to illuminate the english people out of their reverence for marriage, and educate them into a philosophical tolerance of the free contract. nothing less thorough will appear to the more fervid of the shelleyan socialists a sufficient vindication of the poet's superhuman excellence. for in these days, to please both sets of zealots, it is not enough for a biographer to delight in shelley's verse; to render homage to his genius; to think him--as all men of culture and poetical sensibility concur in thinking him--the brightest, most strenuous, and most musical of lyric poets; and at the same time, taking a charitable view of his failings and indiscretions, to palliate them in all honest ways, or look away from them, when they admit of no honest palliation. this is not enough for the enthusiasts, who insist that the poet's character and career were altogether in harmony with his art. it only exasperates the most strenuous of the social innovators, who honouring him for his social philosophy even more than for his poetry, have no word of cordial censure, and scarcely a word of regret, for the way in which he acted on 'his emotional theories of liberty.' readers must not blink the fact, that the more able and resolute of the shelleyan enthusiasts recognize in shelley a great social teacher and regenerator, as well as a great poet. to mr. buxton forman, the author of _laon and cyntha_ is 'that shelley who, in some circumstances, might have been the saviour of the world.' it is needless for me to express my opinion of the comparison instituted by these words. it is enough for me to say that the words are mr. buxton forman's words, and that he represents favourably the learning and sentiment of a body of gentlemen, whose generous fervour appears to me more commendable than their discretion. when it is possible for such words to be written by an eminent shelleyan specialist, and to be read with approval by men of high culture, it must surely be admitted that shelleyan enthusiasm has gone quite far enough; and that it is well for a writer to produce a truthful account of the poet, who is thus offered to universal homage. i have not discovered the real shelley. the poet of these volumes is the same real shelley, who appears in his most agreeable aspects in hogg's biography, the delightful book that was stopped midway, because its realism offended the hunts and field place. i mean to show that shelley was judged fairly, though severely, by those of his contemporaries who, whilst recognizing his genius, condemned his principles, conduct, and social theories. in respect to the real shelley, i shall merely bring to light what has been hurtfully withdrawn, or hurtfully withheld from view. as for the fictitious shelley, with which the real shelley has been replaced, i mean to demolish it. in destroying it, i shall be animated by a desire to do something before i go away, to counteract the strong stream of literature--a literature of books, pamphlets, magazine-articles, and articles in powerful journals--which for more than a quarter of a century has been educating people to approve or tolerate the pernicious social philosophy, that requires sound-hearted england to abolish marriage and replace it with the free contract. chapter ii. the shelleys of sussex. medwin's blunders--lady shelley's statement of the case--the michelgrove shelleys--sir william shelley, justice of the common pleas--the castle goring shelleys--their pedigree at the heralds' college--evidences of the connexion of the two families--john shelley, 'esquire and lunatic'--timothy shelley, the yankee apothecary--bysshe shelley's career--his runaway match with catherine michell--his marriage with the heiress of penshurst--his great wealth--the poet's alleged pride in his connexion with the sidneys--his gentle, but not aristocratic, lineage. so much has been written in the ways of sycophancy or vaingloriousness about shelley's norman descent and aristocratic quality, it is necessary to glance at some of the facts of his ancestral story. the poet's friend, from the time when they were schoolfellows at brentford, thomas medwin the younger, was also the poet's kinsman--his third cousin, through sir bysshe shelley's marriage with mary catherine michell, and his second cousin, through sir timothy shelley's marriage with elizabeth pilford. it might have been supposed that a biographer, thus related to shelley by blood and friendship, would know the prime facts of his friend's pedigree, and state them without egregious error. but poor tom medwin was not remarkable for accuracy. to rely in this affair on the whilom _littérateur_ and cavalry officer, is to believe that the poet was a lineal descendant of sir john shelley of maresfield park, who was created a baronet in ; to believe that this sir john shelley's son (william) was a justice of the common pleas; and to believe that the poet's great-grandfather (timothy shelley, of fen place, co. sussex) was a lineal descendant, in the ninth descent, of the aforesaid baronet of james the first's time. 'i will only say,' medwin remarks lightly, 'that sir john shelley, of maresfield park, who dated his baronetage from the earliest creation of that title in , had besides other issue, two sons, sir william, a judge of the common pleas, and edward; from the latter of whom, in the seventh descent, sprung timothy, who also had two sons, and settled--having married an american lady--at christ's church, newark, in north america.' medwin is wrong in all the really important allegations of the brief statement. sir john shelley of michelgrove (the baronet referred to) had two sons; but neither of them was named edward; neither of them became a justice of the common pleas; neither of them was in any way or degree accountable for percy bysshe shelley's appearance on the earth's surface. the poet was no more descended from sir john shelley, the first of the michelgrove baronets, than he was descended from the man in the moon. how could the poet's great-grandfather (timothy, born in a.d.) be the eighth in descent from the first michelgrove baronet, the seventh in descent from either of the baronet's sons? human generations do not come and go at the rate of seven to a century. to pass for a moment from tom medwin (of whose egregious mis-statements something more must be said) to the present lady shelley, the poet's daughter-in-law. 'at the close of the last century,' says this lady in her _shelley memorials: from authentic sources_, 'the family of the shelleys had long held a high position among the large landholders of sussex. fortunate marriages in two generations preceding the birth of the poet considerably increased the wealth and influence of the house, the head of which was a staunch whig.' lady shelley's book from authentic sources contains several statements of no authenticity. for each of the principal statements of the above-quoted words, she had, however, good authority. but instead of coming to her from a single authentic source, the facts embodied in the quotation were drawn from two different authentic sources, the archives of the michelgrove shelleys, and the archives of the castle goring shelleys; and by cleverly combining the two sets of facts, lady shelley conveys to her readers a very erroneous impression respecting the condition of the poet's seventeenth-century ancestors. unquestionably, the sussex shelleys, at the close of the eighteenth century, had long held a high position among the large landowners of the county. but these fortunate shelleys were not the family of which the poet was the brightest ornament. they were the michelgrove shelleys; whereas the poet came of people, differing greatly from the michelgrove people in social quality. he was of the castle goring shelleys--a family that, instead of being merely enriched, was created and established by the fortunate marriages to which lady shelley refers. before the first of those marriages, wedlock had done much for the advantage of these inferior shelleys. for instance, the marriage, in , of john shelley, of fen place, _jure uxoris_, with helen, co-heir of roger bysshe, of fen place, co. sussex, had reclaimed the poet's direct male ancestors from a state of territorial vagrancy, and given them a permanent, though modest, abiding-place. but for a considerable period after that marriage, the direct ancestral precursors of the castle goring shelleys were no such house as the readers of lady shelley's book are likely to imagine. the michelgrove shelleys were one 'house,' the castle goring shelleys were quite another house; though it has for some time been the fashion of biographers to mix the two houses, and speak of them by turns as one house, or as branches of the same house. the michelgrove shelleys were an ancient house. the castle goring shelleys were a mushroom family, disdainfully regarded by the michelgrove people, at the opening of the nineteenth century. something more must be said of the older of these houses. the michelgrove shelleys are said, for reasons no longer discoverable, to have entered the country with the conqueror. they may have done so. there is better evidence that they had lands in kent in the times of edward i. and edward ii., before they established themselves in sussex; and still better testimony, that one of the clan (john shelley) was member of parliament for rye from to . with this parliamentary personage, the house, or rather the family from which the house proceeded, comes into the clear light of history. two long generations later (generations so lengthy that one has reason to suspect a failure of the record) the house acquired a dignity, which gave it an enduring place amongst the historic families of the realm. bred to the law, william shelley (the grandson, or maybe the great-grandson, of the afore-mentioned member for rye) became reader of the inner temple in , and after holding successively the office of a judge of the sheriff's court and the office of recorder of the city of london, rose to be a judge of the common pleas somewhere about the beginning of . before mounting to this eminence he had represented the city in parliament, and practised for six years as a serjeant-at-law in westminster hall. those who know cavendish's _wolsey_ do not need to be reminded of the part taken by this fortunate lawyer in the negotiations that closed with the cardinal's surrender of york house to henry the eighth. 'tell his highness,' said the fallen cardinal to the judge of the common pleas, 'that i am his most faithful subject and obedient beadsman, whose command i will in no wise disobey; but will in all things fulfil his pleasure, as you the father of the law say i may. i therefore charge your conscience to discharge me, and show his highness from me that i must desire his majesty to remember there is both heaven and hell;' a message which the judge probably forgot to deliver, as he lived to entertain the king at michelgrove, and was continued in his office till henry's death. surviving the sovereign, whom he served on the bench of the common pleas for twenty years, sir william shelley served edward the sixth in the same capacity, to the day of his own death, which occurred between november , (the date of his last fine), and may , , the date of his successor's appointment. fortunate in his professional career, sir william shelley was no less fortunate in his domestic affairs. marrying an heiress, he had, with other children, john, the grandfather of the first michelgrove baronet, and sir richard shelley, the last english prior of st. john of jerusalem. not much less than a century wrong in assigning the legal eminence of henry the eighth's judge to the eldest son of james the first's baronet, medwin wrote under a general impression that the shelleys to whom he was related, had somehow or other descended from the michelgrove house, an impression which the poet seems also to have cherished, and imparted to his college-friend and biographer, thomas jefferson hogg, who writes in serio-comic vein of sir guyon de shelley and sir richard shelley (the knight of malta), as though the grand prior of the sixteenth century and the paladin with the three conchs were veritable forefathers of the castle goring shelleys. that these shelleys of the junior house were no family of singular antiquity or overpowering dignity, is shown by the pedigree of percy bysshe shelley, published in the first volume of mr. forman's edition of the poet's prose works. a pedigree of only nine generations, beginning with mention of henry shelley, of worminghurst, co. sussex, who died in , this evidential writing puts it beyond question that the poet, of whose ancestral grandeur so much has been written, was no man of noble or otherwise splendid lineage; puts it beyond question, that whether regard be had to the number of its generations, the antiquity of the earliest dates, or the importance of the persons commemorated in its entries, it is (from the date of henry shelley's death _temp._ james i. to percy bysshe shelley's birth in ) nothing more than such a pedigree as could be displayed by the majority of the gentle families of the middle way of english life, who never for a moment think of rating themselves as families of patrician worth. one or two rather awkward matters excepted, this pedigree is a fair and honest record of the births, marriages, and deaths, of nine successive generations of gentle people; but as an exhibition of familiar grandeur, it is no more impressive than any pedigree one would regard as a matter of course in the muniment room of a country gentleman, tracing his descent from a gentle yeoman of the elizabethan period. it mentions eight of the poet's forefathers in the direct right line. describing some of these eight individuals as 'esquires,' and some of them as 'gentlemen,' the record shows that no one of them bore any hereditary honour, or even the dignity of knighthood before the poet's birth. it shows that no one of them married a woman of higher quality than the degree of a simple gentlewoman. doubtless they were (with a single exception) gentlewomen in the heraldic sense of the term,--daughters of gentlemen bearing arms,--but to use an old-world phrase, no one of them was 'a woman of quality.' the record shows, that at the time of the poet's birth, no one of his eight male ancestors in the direct right line had served the state with distinction, won a foremost place in one of the learned professions, or attained to any social eminence higher than a place in a commission of the peace. such is the evidence of the document of which mr. forman justly remarks, 'the pedigree speaks for itself to any careful reader.' and this evidence is the more impressive, because the carefully elaborated record is the pedigree deposited at the heralds' college on th march, , by mr. john shelley sidney (the poet's uncle by the half-blood), at a moment when he was especially desirous of figuring to the best possible advantage in the esteem of heralds and their employers. regard being had to this gentleman's character and social ambition, and his pride in his descent from the sidneys, it cannot be questioned that he made his genealogical record showy and impressive to the utmost of his ability,--that he would fain have driven it back another generation,--that could he have demonstrated a connection between the castle goring and michelgrove shelleys, he would not have omitted to prove them two branches of the same tree. mr. john shelley sidney's forbearance from pushing the genealogical record a single stage backwards beyond the certain evidences, is the more noteworthy and creditable, because he can scarcely have been ignorant of the inconclusive, though by no means inconsiderable, testimony that the henry shelley, who died at worminghurst in , was the grandson of edward shelley of the said parish, and that this edward shelley was the younger brother of the judge of the common pleas, who was the actual founder of the michelgrove family. what are the inconclusive, though considerable, evidences of this descent of the castle goring shelleys and the michelgrove shelleys from a common ancestor, john shelley, the judge's father? a manuscript, in the possession of the present sir percy shelley, bears witness that the henry shelley, of worminghurst, mentioned in the first entry of the pedigree (deposited by mr., afterwards sir john shelley sidney in the heralds' college), was the son of henry shelley of the same parish. consequently, if reliance may be placed on this manuscript, the most ancient of the male ancestors in the right line, from whom mr. john shelley sidney traced his descent, was preceded by his father at worminghurst, a fact carrying the poet's lineage another generation backwards, into the closing term of the tudor period. there is, moreover, in the chancel of worminghurst church, a brass, of sixteenth century workmanship, to the memory of edward shelley, esq., one of the four masters of the royal household, in the successive reigns of henry the eighth, edward the sixth, and mary tudor. there are grounds for believing that this edward shelley was a son of john shelley, of michelgrove, and younger brother of sir william shelley, justice of the common pleas. the archives of the michelgrove shelleys certify that sir william shelley, the judge of the common pleas, had a younger brother named edward. that the poet's certain male ancestors in the right line bore the same arms as the michelgrove shelleys in the seventeenth century, that vigilant heralds permitted them to bear those arms, and that no baronet of the michelgrove shelleys ever questioned their right to bear those arms, are noteworthy pieces of testimony that the two families came from the same source. in the absence of positive evidence of the fact, it cannot be denied that sir bernard burke had sufficient presumptive testimony, to warrant him in recording that the poet was a lineal descendant of edward shelley, the judge's younger brother. there is also fair presumptive testimony that the judge's younger brother edward was the edward shelley, who held office as one of the masters of henry the eighth's household, and found his grave in worminghurst. such evidence would not be sufficient to establish a claim to a dormant peerage, or to the reversion of a great estate; but it is sufficient for the purpose of shelley's personal historian. 'the house,' which lady shelley regards as having been merely enriched by the fortunate marriages that created it, was a curiously vagrant family for a house 'holding a high position among the large landholders of sussex.' leaving worminghurst, co. sussex, on the demise of henry shelley ('esq.,' as he is described in the official pedigree), who died there in , the house moved to ichingfield, in the time of richard shelley ('gent.,' as he is modestly defined in the same genealogical chart). under the government of john shelley, 'esq.,' who died in , the house rested at thakeham, whence it migrated to fen place, in the parish of worth, co. sussex, on the marriage, in , of john shelley (of fen place, _jure uxoris_, co. sussex, esq.), with hellen, younger of the two daughters and co-heirs of roger bysshe, of fen place, aforesaid. of the eight children of this marriage, the reader of the present work is invited to take notice of no more than two, john shelley, the second, and timothy shelley, the third son. born at worth in , this last-named john shelley, who died in at uckfield, is handed down to all future time by the pedigree as 'an esquire and lunatic.' that there was a strain of insanity in the castle-goring shelleys is a matter to be borne in mind by those who are interested in the poet and his nearest kindred. percy bysshe was great-great-nephew of this lunatic, and great-grandson of the lunatic's brother, timothy, of whom further mention must be made. born at worth, in april , the third son, and fifth child, of a petty squireen, who lived to have nine children to set going in the world, timothy, on coming to man's estate, emigrated to the american plantations, with a slender purse and an abundant store of physical energy. it is probable that he also carried across the atlantic some knowledge of medicine and surgery, acquired during an apprenticeship to a country apothecary. as there is no evidence that he passed, or tried to pass, an examination at the apothecaries' hall, or surgeons' hall, nor any evidence that the adventurer underwent any medical training before he crossed the atlantic, medwin may have been right in believing that he fought life's battle in the new world as 'a quack doctor.' it should, however, be borne in mind that, if he had served an apprenticeship to a sussex apothecary, this timothy would have possessed all the legal qualification to kill and cure, that was required of provincial apothecaries in the mother country prior to the medical act of . anyhow, with or without qualification, the adventurer established himself as a medicine man, and with quackery, or without it, throve in his adopted calling. practising at christ's church, newark, he married a widow with money. in this last particular he held firmly to the main article of shelleyan worldly wisdom. the poet's ancestors may have married for love, but they usually required a substantial compensation for the loss of celibatic freedom. the widow to whom timothy surrendered himself was the widow of a new york miller, named plum; and it is believed that her purse satisfied the hopes planted in her admirer's breast by so suggestive a name. marrying thus prudently, timothy shelley, of newark, became the father of his first-born son, john shelley, on the th of december, , and of his second son, bysshe shelley (the first of the castle goring baronets), on the st of june, . it is doubtful when timothy of newark returned to england, where his father died in , after surviving his eldest and issueless son by some six years. he may have sailed 'for home,' on news coming to him in newark of his father's death. that he became the actual chief of the family on his father's demise may be inferred from the fact that he is styled in the pedigree his father's 'heir.' after setting his english affairs in order, he may have returned to america for awhile. it is more probable, however, that, returning to england with his two boys, when the elder of them was some _ten_, and the younger some _eight_ years old, he was content to play the part of a modest sussex squireen to the day of his death. anyhow it is certain the equally adventurous and fortunate apothecary (or 'quack doctor,' if any reader prefers tom medwin's word) was the squire of fen place for a considerable term of years, before he was coffined, and put under the floor of warnham church, in , some two years and six months before the death of his elder and lunatic brother. what became of this fortunate apothecary's two sons, john (the elder) and bysshe (the younger)? becoming the head of 'the house' on his father's demise in , the apothecary's elder son married the daughter of a sussex gentleman, led a comparatively uneventful life at field place, near horsham, and dying childless in , was buried in warnham church; being succeeded by his younger brother, a man far superior to him in address and energy, if not in benevolence and piety. planted by the petty squireen, who took possession of roger bysshe's daughter and home, and watered by the apothecary who had followed fortune, and found money in america, the family that gave england her brightest, and sweetest, and most passionate lyric poet, was raised to the dignity of a house, by the craft, greed, and penuriousness of bysshe shelley, the first baronet of castle goring. the several excellent writers, who have been misled on the matter by medwin, the misleader, may take the present writer's assurance that the gentleman, who won a baronetcy in his old age, never 'exercised the profession of a quack doctor' in america. there is, however, sufficient evidence that the newark apothecary's younger son was designed to follow his father's calling. in his sordid and eccentric old age, when the lord of castle goring inhabited a small house hard by his favourite tap-room in horsham, it was generally believed that he had at one time practised medicine in london. it may also be put upon the present record, that he was believed to have been a partner in the professional activities of dr. james graham, the notorious mesmeric charlatan, in whose temple of health the fair and frail emma harte officiated as the goddess hygeia, before she became sir william hamilton's wife and nelson's mistress. percy bysshe, the poet, told hogg, that his grandfather supplied the money which enabled graham to set up his preposterous purple chariot. percy's statements, however, should be regarded suspiciously, when they tend to the discredit of his sire and grandsire. whatever the means he used for making money, it is certain that the man, who in his old age was remarkable for the stateliness of his presence, and in his milder moods for the courtesy of manner, possessed in his youth no ordinary charms of appearance and address. tall, even as his famous grandson, and qualified by his blue eyes and brown curls to captivate heedless womankind, he had not crossed the threshold of manly estate, when he found favour in the eyes of miss mary catherine michell, only child and heir of the late reverend theobald michell, clk., formerly of horsham. the young lady (only eighteen years old) having considerable possessions, it is probable that her guardians thought she could do better for herself than marry the boyish medical student, who was only the younger son of the squire and whilom apothecary of fen place. possibly they only expressed a strong opinion, that the young man should wait awhile, and thereby avoid the evils of precipitate wedlock. possibly they had no opportunity of expressing an opinion on the matter, until remonstrance would have been out of time. to the young people it appeared a case for elopement and irregular marriage; and, acting on this romantic view of their position, they hastened to town and were married in , at keith's chapel, mayfair (the fashionable place for fleet marriages done in the west end of the town). from keith's chapel they hastened to paris, where the bride fell ill of small-pox, and narrowly escaped the death that would have made tom medwin's mother the heir of the late rev. theobald michell's estate. eight years later, the lady died after giving birth to three children, and mr. bysshe shelley was at liberty to look out for a second heiress willing to become his wife. the only son of this marriage was timothy shelley, the poet's father, who became m.p. for new shoreham, co. sussex. nine years after his first wife's death, mr. bysshe shelley fixed his affections on another heiress--the heiress of an historic line and an historic estate--miss elizabeth jane sidney perry, only daughter and heir of william perry, esq., of turvill park, bucks, wormington, co. gloucester, and penshurst place, co. kent. it is remarkable that an heiress of so bright a lineage and so noble an estate--an heiress who, in descent and fortune, was a fit match for an earl--an heiress lineally descended from the sidneys, earls of leicester--should have lived in singleness to her twenty-ninth year. perhaps this remarkable fact gave the younger son of the newark apothecary the requisite courage for a daring exploit. thirty-eight years old, he was no longer young when he first conceived the purpose of winning so notable an heiress. but though well on in middle age, he had the figure, and face, and audacity, of a youngster. taking up a position, suitable for his purpose, in a little inn near the park, celebrated by jonson's verse, and glorified by the loves of waller and saccharissa, he crossed the lady's path in her walks, regarded her worshipfully when she attended the services of penshurst church, knelt to her beneath the spreading branches of 'the lady's oak.' is it marvellous that a suitor, so eager and vigilant, so comely and daring, achieved his purpose, notwithstanding the disadvantages of inferior station and growing years? is it wonderful that the gentlewoman eloped with the suitor, who valued her far more for her broad acres than her descent from the sidneys? whatever the motives to the suit, mr. bysshe shelley won, in gallant fashion, the lady by whom he had his second lot of children,--five sons and two daughters. in the year following this marriage, the newark apothecary was entombed in warnham church; and eleven years later (may ) mr. bysshe shelley again found himself a widower when he was still in his fiftieth year. henceforth he devoted himself chiefly to the pursuit of money,--a pursuit in which he was favoured by the death of his childless brother in , when he succeeded to the fen place and field place estates. the family having come to his hands, he made 'a house' of it. in ,--when his little grandson, the future poet, was on the point of going to eton,--mr. bysshe shelley became sir bysshe shelley, baronet, of castle goring; the dignity being the price, with which the duke of norfolk rewarded him for former electioneering service, and prepaid him for similar service to be rendered to the howards and the whig party to the end of his days. at the date of this social promotion, sir bysshe shelley had already begun to build the egregious castle which he never finished, though he is said, by the unreliable medwin, to have spent , _l._ upon it. if he ever hoped for happiness in his later time, the hope was disappointed. after he had married his daughters, and sent his sons into life, the passion for money, which had long overpowered the other forces of his nature, developed even to miserly madness. in other respects the strain of insanity, that had given him a lunatic for an uncle, displayed itself in his manifold eccentricities. living at horsham, in a little house, and finding his most congenial associates in the tap-rooms of the horsham taverns, whilst his grandson went to school at brentford and eton, the founder of the castle goring shelleys disliked his son so cordially, that he is said to have seldom greeted him without an outbreak of passionate malevolence. percy, the future poet, used to entertain his comrades at eton by cursing his absent sire; and at oxford, he assured hogg, that he had acquired this singular taste for cursing his father behind his back, from hearing old sir bysshe curse him to his face. it was thus that this chief of the castle goring shelleys lived from the creation of his baronetcy in to his death in , when he left vast wealth in money and lands, _in trust_, for the creation of the big entailed estate, that should perpetuate the grandeur of 'the house' he had laboured so resolutely to found. medwin (no safe authority on details) says the old man left to his descendants , _l._ in the english funds, and landed estates yielding a yearly revenue of , _l._, besides the banknotes to the amount of , _l._ that were hidden in the books and other furniture of the room, where he drew and yielded his last breath. another thing to be noticed in the evidences of this family is the testimony to the newness of its grandeur, that may be gathered from the records of its territorial possessions. fen place came to these shelleys, through the wedding-ring, so recently as the last decade of the seventeenth century. they acquired field place by purchase in the earlier half of the following (the eighteenth) century. for their place 'among the large landholders of sussex,' they are mainly indebted to the newark apothecary's younger son, who flourished in george the third's time, and died only a few months before the battle of waterloo. to take a true view of the poet's lineage and ancestral quality, the reader must bear in mind the distinctness of the michelgrove shelleys and the castle goring shelleys,--a distinctness that would not be affected by the production of positive and indisputable evidence, that the two families had for their common progenitor, a gentle yeoman of henry the eighth's time. should this remote connexion of the two families ever be put beyond question, it would be none the less true that, instead of being of aristocratic descent, as so many biographers have asserted, the poet came of a line of forefathers who were nothing more than 'gentle yeomen' till the later time of george iii. the poet was no lineal descendant of the justice of the common pleas, who may be fairly styled the founder of the michelgrove house. from the date of that slightly historic personage, the michelgrove family was a knightly house. baronets from the creation of the order, they intermarried with knightly and noble houses before and after , drawing to their veins the blood of the belknaps, fitzwilliamses, sackvilles, lovells, reresbys, vantelets, and nevills. on the other hand, from the earliest date of his genealogical record, the poet's ancestors were mere gentle yeomen, intermarrying with families of no higher gentility, till the poet's grandfather carried off the heiress of the penshurst sidneys. as no drop of sidney blood came to his veins from his grandfather's second marriage, and as his kindred of the half-blood at penshurst were not over-fond of their half-cousins at field place, it is scarcely conceivable the poet was so proud of his connexion with the sidneys as medwin represents. it may, however, have been so. for with all his vaunted superiority to aristocratic prejudice, and all his sincere hostility to aristocratic privilege, shelley was by no means exempt from the weakness, which disposed byron in his vainer moods to think too much of his nobility. the advocate of republican ideas, the apostle of freedom and equality, he was sometimes curiously careful to remind his admirers that he was no demagogue of vulgar origin, but resembled the lionel of _rosalind and helen_, in being the heir to 'great wealth and lineage high.' when this humour prevailed within him, it is possible that he sometimes looked away from the father whom he hated, the grandsire he despised, the obscure yeomen whom he distasted, and could persuade himself that, like his half-cousins at penshurst, he, too, had somehow or other descended from the sidneys. but no such innocent exercise of fancy would touch the facts or qualify the complexion of his genealogy. it is nothing to the poet's dishonour to say that, though better born than shakespeare, he was no more fortunate in his ancestral story than the majority--or, at least, a large minority of english gentlemen, moving in the middle ways of gentle life. chapter iii. shelley's childhood. the poet's father--shelley's birth and birth-chamber--miss hellen shelley's recollections--the child-shelley's pleasant fiction--his aspect at tender age--his description of his own nose--the indian-ink sketch--miss curran's 'daub'--williams's water-colour drawing--clint's composition--engravings of 'the daub' and 'the composition'--the poet's likeness in marble--shelley and byron--peacock and hogg on shelley's facial beauty--the colnaghi engraving. whatever the failings of the newark apothecary's younger son, it must be recorded to his credit that he gave his son an education befitting the chief of a territorial family. inferior though he was in tact and politeness to the great chesterfield, whose precepts and example are said to have been largely accountable for his manners and morality, mr. timothy shelley (sir bysshe's son and heir by mary catherine michell) received the training, and, notwithstanding the eccentricities that provoked the smiles of london drawing-rooms, had the port and temper of an english gentleman. it has been the fashion of biographers to decry this gentleman. readers, however, should decline to accept the poet's estimate of the second baronet of castle goring, though the much-maligned gentleman wrote comically ungrammatical letters, thought too highly of himself, talked boastfully over his second bottle, swore well up to the mark of georgian good breeding, and believed himself the originator of every strenuous argument in paley's _evidences_. the good landlord and kindly patron of aged servants, the squire whose virtues blossomed in the dust, the amiable father whose parental excellences were gratefully remembered by all his surviving children, was neither the fool nor the barbarian his eldest son thought him. the shelleyan enthusiasts have little charity for the poet's sire, even the most discreet of them regarding him as a deplorably inconvenient father for so marvellous a son. it is not clear what kind of father would have won percy's filial loyalty. in fairness to this sire, it should be remembered that, if he was not the right kind of father for the poet, he proved an excellent father to all his other children; and that, if the poet should have had a more congenial father, squire timothy could not well have had a more trying son than the boy of latent genius, who lived to cover his house with glory. after keeping his terms at the same oxford college, from which his son was expelled in the following century, mr. timothy shelley made 'the grand tour,' returning in due course with a smattering of french, an extremely bad picture of the eruption of vesuvius, and 'a certain air' (if medwin may be trusted) of having seen the world. having surveyed mankind in european capitals, and entered middle age, he married miss elizabeth pilfold, a gentlewoman of good family and great beauty, who is lightly regarded by the shelleyan enthusiasts, because, in the conflict of her husband and her son, she held loyally to the former, and declined to be the partisan of the latter. it has even been urged to this lady's discredit that, when her wilful boy would fain have shaken his sister's confidence in the doctrines of the church of england, she, in her mental narrowness, was alarmed for the spiritual safety of her girls, and thought it well that at least for a time they should be guarded from his influence. had these parents foreseen the trouble that would come to them from their first-born child, they would have welcomed him coldly on his arrival in the room (at field place), one of whose walls has in recent time been illustrated with this inscription:-- percy bysshe shelley was born in this chamber august th, . shrine of the dawning speech and thought of shelley sacred be to all who bow where time has brought gifts to eternity. of shelley, the little fellow of dr. greenlaw's school at brentford, we know much from tom medwin's occasionally accurate pages, and from other sources of information, which enable us to check the statements of that more entertaining than reliable biographer. respecting shelley at eton, there is almost a redundance of evidence. of the etonian's ways of amusing himself at field place during his holidays, there is no lack of information;--thanks to miss hellen shelley's goodness in committing all she could remember of her brother to paper, for the assistance of his biographer and fellow-collegian, hogg, the cynical humourist and clever lawyer. but of shelley, the nursling of the field place nursery, and child of the field place schoolroom, few facts are on the record;--scarcely anything besides the three or four matters, which miss hellen placed amongst her personal recollections, as matters of domestic tradition, coming to her from times before she was of an age to take clear and enduring cognizance of her brother's doings. seven years his junior, the lady, plying her pen in (four-and-thirty years after his death), can scarcely have retained any clear memories of him, from a time previous to the opening of her ninth year. barely seven years old, when her brother went for the first time to eton, she had in a memory of uncommon retentiveness, if it afforded her a clear picture of him, as he appeared during the first of his eton holidays. fortunately, however, she touches on affairs and incidents of an earlier date; such, for instance, as his visits to the warnham vicar, who taught him the rudiments of latin, visits that began when he was only six years old, and she was still unborn. to this gentle and delightful chronicler, speaking for the moment from memory of her mother's gossip, we are indebted for our knowledge of the astonishment little bysshe (whilst a latin scholar at the vicar's school) caused the elders of field place, by repeating aloud, word for word, and without an error, gray's lines on the cat and the gold fish, after a single reading of the composition. without precisely declaring herself indebted to hearsay for the story, miss hellen seems to be speaking of a matter anterior to the earliest of her personal observations, when she gives us the particulars of the marvellous 'invention' with which percy in his tender childhood entertained and perplexed the people of his home. the essay in romantic fiction was this: assuring his sisters (hellen's elder sisters) that he had just returned from paying a visit to certain ladies of their village, he recounted to them, minutely, how the ladies received him, how they occupied themselves during his visit, and more particularly how he and they wandered through a delightful garden, well known to the boy's auditors for its filbert bank and undulating turf bank. on inquiry, it was found that the imaginative urchin had not been to the ladies, their house, or their garden. the whole statement was made up of fibs; 'but' (says the recorder of the characteristic incident) 'it was not considered as a falsehood to be punished.' perhaps it would have been better in the long run for little bysshe, had a less lenient view been taken of the affair that, if not the first, was one of the earliest of those countless deviations from strict historical veracity, which have occasioned so much controversy between his extravagant idolaters and his temperate admirers. of the droll things written of the poet by his enthusiastic worshipers, few are droller than the pages in which this exercise of childish fancy is dealt with, as an early exhibition of the peculiar genius that placed him eventually in the highest rank of imaginative artists. had they not been too engrossed with the affairs of their own home to take nice cognizance of their neighbours' children, the elders of field place, whilst rightly regarding the fib as no flagrant offence, would not have 'mentioned it as a singular fact.' to those who are familiar with the ways and humours of children, it is needless to say, that little bysshe's 'invention' is an example of the commonest kind of the harmless fibs, that come from the proverbially truthful mouths of babes and sucklings. poets would be unendurably abundant, if all the little boys and girls, who 'romance' in this innocent fashion, were destined for the service of the muses. in shelley's case, however, the story has an exceptional interest, because he never survived the disposition, which thus early in his career caused him to proclaim himself the recipient of civilities that had not been offered to him,--the graceful actor in a domestic drama that had not been performed. all through life, shelley had a practice of uttering for the truth statements that were not true. all through life, his familiar friends received his communications, with reference to this propensity. out of their affection for the man, they palliated the weakness with more or less sincere excuses, that relieved the infirmity of the odium of deceitfulness. some of his friends called attention to the poetical verity, underlying the least veracious statements; others persuaded themselves that the speaker of untruths was the victim of an inordinately powerful imagination. others, unable to shut their eyes to the sure indications that he was not altogether unaware of the fictitious nature of his statements, maintained that the fables were due partly to hallucination, and only in some degree to wilful inventiveness. whilst hogg talked of the poetic verity of the egregious fictions, and of their utterer's inordinately powerful imagination, peacock originated the theory of 'semi-delusion.' from the few glimpses to be had of him in miss hellen shelley's letters, and medwin's reminiscences, and from bits of testimony which, though found in records of his later boyhood, are evidential to certain particulars of his earlier infancy, the cautious historian can produce the principal characteristics of the little fellow, who used to play with his sisters in the field place gardens, and ride on his pony about the warnham lanes, in years anterior to his first departure from home for boarding-school. it is manifest that the child, who from his seventh to his eleventh year went daily to the warnham vicar for instruction in latin, and received his other lessons in his sisters' schoolroom, may be thought of as a shy, nervous, timid, small-headed urchin; tall for his years, but delicately fashioned. narrow-chested and slightly round-shouldered, he had the look of a little fellow, scarcely strong enough to enjoy the sports of robust children. a slight slip of a lad, more given to loitering than running about the field place gardens; more often seen sitting by the fire, than dancing on the carpet of his sisters' play-room; he was gentle in his happier moods with a girlish gentleness, and sometimes fretful with a girlish fretfulness. deficient in boyishness, the boy had a face, chiefly remarkable for the fawn-like prominence of its deep blue eyes, the delicate, though imperfect, shapeliness of its mouth, the rather comical meanness of its little tip-tilted nose, and the red-and-white of its singularly bright complexion; the general girlishness of his appearance being heightened by the profusion of the silky hair, falling and flowing in blond-brown ringlets about his long neck and weedy shoulders. years later, musing on his conception of his former self, when he preferred the society of his little sister to the company of the rough boys of the vicar's schoolroom, shelley wrote in _rosalind and helen_, of helen's docile child:-- 'he was a gentle boy, and in all gentle sports took joy; oft in a dry leaf for a boat, with a small feather for a sail, his fancy on that spring would float, if some invisible breeze would stir its marble calm.' in like manner, 'abdallah' and 'maimuna' (the little bysshe and bessie of _the assassins_) used to float their toy-boats upon the water of their smiling creek. shelley's delight in toy-flotillas may have arisen for the first time (as some of his biographers aver) long after his childhood. possibly he was the fool of his own fancy in thinking he cared to play with toy-boats in his infancy. it is, however, certain, that gentleness characterized the child, who, on attaining manhood, meditated complacently on the delight he took in gentle sports when he was a gentle boy. from what has been said of the facial show of the little fellow, who used to play in the field place gardens, and ride his shetland pony about the warnham lanes, in the closing years of the last, and the opening summers of the present century, it follows that the picture published by mr. colnaghi, in , as a veritable portraiture of shelley in his childhood, is an unauthentic and delusive performance. an exquisite example of childish beauty, the little boy of mr. colnaghi's engraving has a straight, finely-pointed nose, and a face of faultless symmetry; a nose that could not have developed into the distinctly tip-tilted nose of the poet's later visage; a face, that could not have departed so far from its normal mould, as in later time to bear any resemblance to the poet's countenance, which is represented by all the several persons of his familiar acquaintance, who wrote about it, as having been no less wanting in symmetry than fortunate in the charms of expressiveness. whilst declaring the singular comeliness of the poet's face in its happier moments, hogg records that its 'features were not symmetrical.' medwin, ever quick to glorify his cousin, admits that his features were 'not _regularly_ handsome.' though she busied herself to impose upon the world the picture of a beautifully symmetrical face as shelley's veritable semblance, and was even more accountable than mrs. shelley for the prevailing misconceptions respecting his facial aspect, mrs. hogg (the mrs. williams of shelleyan annals) admitted to mr. rossetti, in trelawny's presence, on march , , that the poet 'could not be called handsome or beautiful, though the character of his face was so remarkable for ideality and expression;' the lady, at the same time, confirming what hogg and peacock tell us of the unmusical character of the poet's voice. in the opinion of the lady, whose singing was unutterably sweet to her spiritual worshiper, shelley's 'voice was decidedly disagreeable.' on seeing the familiar pictures of shelley, that serve as the frontispieces in hogg's _life_, and trelawny's _recollections_, peacock declined to regard them as likenesses of his former friend; putting them aside not merely as ineffective and unsatisfactory likenesses, but as no likenesses whatever of the individual they professed to represent. 'the portraits,' he remarked in _fraser_, 'do not impress themselves on me as likenesses; they seem to me to want the true outline of shelley's features, above all, to want their true expression.' how could he honestly speak otherwise of the spurious and delusive portraits, 'in which' (to repeat his own words) 'the nose has no turn-up?' that shelley had a small and distinctly tip-tilted nose, instead of the straight and rather large (though delicately moulded) nose of the lying pictures, appears from words penned by himself to peacock, from leghorn, in august, . after speaking derisively of john gisborne's quite slawkenbergian nose as a thing that, weighing upon the beholder's imagination, and transforming all its owner's g's into k's, was a feature scarcely to be forgiven by christian charity, shelley observed, '_i, you know, have a little turn-up nose_; hogg has a large hook one; but add them together, square them, cube them, you would have but a faint notion of the nose to which i refer.' shelley having written in this way of the defective shape and size of a principal feature of his face, it is not surprising that, whilst avoiding such words as 'unsymmetrical' and 'irregular,' lady shelley admitted reluctantly in her _shelley memorials_, that the poet's 'features were not _positively_ handsome.' the wonder is that, after making this admission in the text, the lady told a different story in the frontispiece of her book. the evidence is superabundant that, instead of being positively handsome, shelley's little nose was positively tip-tilted, and his face positively unsymmetrical. to see the real shelley, as he appeared during life to persons who regarded him through no such disturbing medium as romantic glamour, it is needful to get the better of misconceptions, arising from the delusive portraitures of him, to be found in familiar biographies--the fanciful pictures, which are the more intolerable for being fruitful of misapprehensions respecting the poet's moral endowments. the epithet applied to the delusive portraitures, was chosen with deliberation. 'fanciful' in effect, they had their origin in fancy, and may be fairly described as the offspring of fancy working upon fancy, at different times and under various conditions. shelley never sate to a professional painter. from the year that produced the indian-ink sketch of a young gentleman, wearing the scant gown and leading bands of an oxford undergraduate, to the year of his death, shelley never gave a competent painter an opportunity for producing a work, that would have prevented the fanciful misrepresentations from gaining any credit--possibly would even have prevented them from coming into existence. it would have been better for his readers, and certainly no worse for his fame, had he never consented to sit to an amateur. but it was fated that the man, who suffered so much in more important matters from sterner adversaries, should suffer considerably from two dabblers in the fine arts. at rome (lady shelley says in , trelawny says in ) miss curran began the portrait in oil, which she never finished, of the poet in his twenty-eighth year--the sketch which, dropped and relinquished by the fair limner, possibly because she felt she had made 'a bad beginning,' was destined to be the chief source of all the artistic falsities, that have been manufactured to his injury since his death. trelawny says this failure was 'left in an altogether flat and inanimate state'--a description to be kept in mind. an amateur in oil (of the gentler sex) having thus attempted and failed to paint the poet when he was at rome, two or three years later ( or ) shelley surrendered himself to a masculine dabbler in water-colours--to williams, the companion of his voyage to death. possibly, this sketch (which differed from miss curran's effort, in being finished) would have been preserved, had it accorded with the spurious portraitures, given so profusely in later time to a credulous and undiscerning public. but it has disappeared; and at the present date no one can say how far it merited the praise given to it by trelawny, whose favourable opinion of the 'spirited water-colour drawing' would deserve more consideration, had he known half as much about the fine arts as he knew about horses and yachts. the indian-ink sketch of a boy in the academicals of an oxford undergraduate, the unfinished daub in oil, and the 'spirited water-colour drawing,' are the only portraits of the poet, known to have been produced by artists of any qualification or incapacity during his life. possibly, the indian-ink sketch, which de quincey saw somewhere in london, was the best of the three performances. it cannot have been much more absurd than miss curran's absurdity, though from de quincey's words it seems to have been a sufficiently ludicrous production. 'the sketch,' says the opium-eater, 'tallied pretty well with a verbal description which i had heard of him in some company, viz.: that he was tall, slender, and presenting the air of an elegant flower, whose head drooped from being surcharged with rain'--a description censured by the essayist for giving the equally false and disagreeable impression that the youthful _littérateur_ 'was tainted, even in his external deportment, by some excess of sickly sentimentalism, from which, however, in all stages of his life, he was remarkably free.' though, possibly, more like the man than miss curran's fanciful oil-daub and mr. williams's 'spirited' achievement in water-colour, this performance in indian-ink, which made a young englishman look like a dripping lily or a rose well wetted at a pump, was certainly a libel on the scandalous undergraduate. perhaps it would have been well had the spirited water-colour disappeared sooner. it would have been better than well had miss curran's 'failure' been tossed into the tiber as soon as she despaired of making a decent picture of it. unfortunately, the thing that was only begun by a woman, and the thing that was finished to the last touch by man, survived the poet; so that mrs. shelley (through mrs. williams) was able to put them into the hands of mr. clint, with a request that out of such sorry materials, her own reminiscences--the recollections of a widow who liked to speak of herself as 'the chosen mate of a celestial spirit'--and his sense of the fitness of things, he would compose a picture, worthy of being handed down to posterity, as the veritable and unquestionably historic likeness of the greatest lyrical poet of the nineteenth century. the fancy picture, that was 'composed' under these less unusual than laughable circumstances, may not be more untruthful, but certainly is not more veracious, than the majority of fancy portraits. 'of these materials,' trelawny wrote in , 'mrs. williams, on her return to england after the death of shelley, got clint to compose a portrait, which the few who knew shelley in the last year of his life thought very like him. the water-colour drawing has been lost, so that the portrait done by clint is the only one of any value.' what evidential value can attach to a portrait 'composed' and 'done' under such circumstances? apart from his weakness (one might, perhaps, say his dishonesty) in consenting to the prayer of the poet's widow and her friend (mrs. williams), no blame belongs to clint. doing as portrait-painters are wont to do, when they agree to manufacture posthumous likenesses of people they have never seen, clint worked up a fancy picture out of the two performances by amateurs; assuming that he might rely on those performances for correct information as to the principal features and general effect of the poet's countenance. on points where the two performances gave incongruent evidence, he relied on the widows (mrs. williams and mrs. shelley) to instruct him as to which of the two performances was the more trustworthy. the portrait having been 'composed' and 'done' in this way, the final touches were added in accordance with further information from mrs. williams and further suggestions by 'the chosen mate of a celestial spirit.' the falseness and absurdity of the composition are mainly referable to the romantic view miss curran took of the poet's appearance, and to her romantic desire to give him the beauty which she deemed appropriate to the author of incomparably beautiful poems. rating him with the angels, the lady was determined he should look like an angel--on her canvas. beginning with this ambition, it is no matter for surprise that she made only 'a beginning.' if he was instructed to rely on the daub in oil, rather than on the spirited water-colour, it is not wonderful clint went wrong. in her resolve to make shelley look like an angel, miss curran decided to make the principal feature of his portrait altogether unlike the most prominent feature of his face. in the face, this feature wanted the size and contour needful for the romantic beauty, with which the lady would fain have endowed her bard. in the picture, this particular feature has every quality required in a feature of its kind by connoisseurs of romantic beauty--connoisseurs, that is to say, of the conventional school to which the lady and her friends (mrs. williams and mrs. shelley) belonged. the artist was not more interested than either of the other ladies in misrepresenting the poet in this particular feature. mrs. williams was animated with sentimental tenderness for the poet, who wrote her so much beautiful poetry. it was natural for this romantic mourner to wish that in his historic portrait, her platonic lover should be relieved of a facial defect, that in her opinion amounted to disfigurement. whilst mourning sincerely for her husband, mrs. williams mourned romantically for the poet who had perished with her husband in the same wild storm. in like manner, mrs. shelley (whose notions of the beautiful were purely conventional) was desirous that this particular feature should be dealt with tenderly, delicately, lovingly, in the portrait that would represent her husband's facial show to future ages. hence it was, that whilst he was composing the great historic portrait chiefly out of miss curran's artistic falsehood, neither of the ladies, on whose guidance he relied, was in a mood to tell mr. clint in what respect the oil-daub was especially misleading, or even to hint it was likely to mislead him in any way. sixty years since, a little turn-up nose was universally regarded as a nose wholly unbefitting a poet. in their measures for rendering their poet altogether admirable and lovely to unborn ages, both ladies were especially desirous that on the historic canvas he should be endowed with a nose wholly unlike the one that had been, in their eyes, the great blemish of his earthly tabernacle. if trelawny's evidence may be accepted, clint did his work to the satisfaction of 'the few who knew shelley in the last year of his life.' as trelawny was one of those few, the 'composition' may be assumed to have had his approval. but trelawny knew nothing of pictures, and little of the poet with whose story he will be associated to the end of time. the whole term of their friendly intercourse exceeded six months by no more than two or three days. and throughout that term the cornish gentleman, with his simple reverence for literature and men of letters, regarded the poet through the glamour that makes things seem other than they are. on being shown the portrait for the first time, with an assurance that people approved it, trelawny was not the man to discover anything wrong in it. when he saw it for the first time, a considerable number of long years had elapsed since the death of his acquaintance for six short months. under these circumstances, trelawny's good word goes for nothing in the estimate of the spurious performance. that hogg resembled peacock in rating the picture at its proper worthlessness is matter of certainty; for though an engraving of the artistic imposture faces the title-page of his first volume, the biographer shows himself fully alive to the fictitious nature of the composition, by his vivid and minute verbal portraitures of the poet at oxford and in later stages of his career. since trelawny published vinter's lithograph of the picture as a frontispiece to the _recollections_ ( ), numerous engravings have appeared on wood, stone, or metal, of the posthumous 'composition' which the cornish gentleman, at the time of his book's appearance, regarded as the only reliable painting of the poet. 'the water-colour drawing has been lost,' trelawny wrote in , 'so the portrait done by clint is the only one of any value.' at that time he was far from imagining that the oil-sketch, which miss curran 'never finished, and left in an altogether flat and inanimate state,' would ever compete in public confidence with the posthumous 'composition.' to the present writer it has not seemed worth the while to inquire what (if anything) was done to miss curran's 'failure,' to bring it out of the 'altogether flat and inanimate state,' and put it into a condition to be regarded (_on the authority_ of words spoken by sir percy shelley, _on the authority_ of his mother) as the 'best portrait extant' of the poet. it is enough for the present writer and his readers to know that miss curran's beginning of a portrait has risen to this place in sir percy's esteem--to know that it rose eventually to an equally high place in mary godwin shelley's esteem--to know from lady shelley's assurance that the frontispiece of the third edition of her _shelley memorials: from authentic sources_, is an engraving from (to use her ladyship's words) 'the original picture by miss curran, painted at rome in , now in sir percy shelley's possession'--to know, from mr. buxton forman's authoritative assurance, that the frontispiece to the first volume of his edition of _the poetical works_ is an engraving from the same 'best portrait extant,' and not an engraving of clint's posthumous 'composition'--to know that engravings from this 'best portrait extant' have, like the engravings at first hand of the 'composition,' been repeatedly re-engraved (with or without variations to suit the requirements of editorial taste),--and, _lastly_, to know that all the engravings and re-engravings of the two delusive originals are flagrant and altogether-to-be-repudiated misrepresentations of the poet's actual appearance. after what has been said of miss curran's unfinished oil-sketch, and clint's posthumous 'composition,' which was mainly made up from the lady's derelict absurdity, it is needless to say that all the engravings and re-engravings of the abandoned fib and the elaborate falsehood bear a close resemblance to one another. resembling one another in the contour of the features, the arrangement of the hair (even to the tips of the curls), the items of costume (even to the shape of the rumpled byronic collars), these engravings and re-engravings might be mistaken for reproductions of the same original picture--allowance being made for the taste and whims of engravers, the fancies and requirements of editors. the only difference between the avowed engravings from miss curran's daub and the engravings of mr. clint's composition is that the former are something more unnatural and unsatisfactory than the latter. the poet of the former lot of engravings is a somnambulant girl--a sleepwalker from dyspepsia, who, on leaving her bed somehow or other, contrived to put on her brother's walking-coat instead of her own bodice. the poet of the latter set of engravings is a very pretty girl, exhibiting no sign of disease, apart from the indications of a desire to look something wiser and prettier than she really is. like the somnambulant girl of the more disagreeable picture, the young lady of these less disagreeable engravings has put on her brother's coat, wears byronic shirt-collars, has a quill pen in her lily-white hand, and is so posed that her right fore-arm is resting on an open manuscript. of the dozen or more engravings of this young lady now lying open before the present writer's desk, the one to which he would direct his readers' attention--in consideration of its being the most agreeable, typical, and artistic of them all--is the engraving by that fine engraver, francis holl, which does duty as frontispiece to the first volume of hogg's (unfinished) _life_. what is offered to the eye by this frontispiece? it is the picture of a man, to judge of it from the coat, the folds of the byronic shirt-collar, and the absence of the developments of the breast that are such powerful elements of feminine loveliness. it is the picture of a beautiful girl, to judge of it by the girlish face and hair, the girlishness of the long, slender neck. the first thing to strike the beholder of this girl's face is the symmetrical character of its delicate beauty. the symmetry is perfect--too perfect, even for a girl of seventeen. the fine pencillings of the eye-brows, the curves immediately beneath the eyes, the superior contours of the cheeks, the line and shadow-line of the long, straight nose, the outlines of the lower parts of the countenance, the curlings of the small kissable lips and dainty chin, are all finely, unsurpassably symmetrical. if the word may be applied to things so lovely and delicate, symmetry is carried even to caricature in the details of this girlish face. of course the face, so delicately girlish, is deficient in the strength, the indications of force, active or latent, always to be looked for and, in some degree, invariably discernible in the countenance of a man of mark. though he never sate to professional painter, shelley sate to a sculptor of sufficient ability, whose chisel produced a work of art that, indicating with sufficient clearness the two chief defects of the poet's least comely feature, fortunately, still exists, to give the lie to the foolish pictures, and to protest with mute eloquence against the policy of misrepresentation, which pursues its ends with insolent disregard for the rights of the many thousands of persons, who are interested in knowing the truth and the whole truth, and in believing nothing but the truth, about one of the most remarkable englishmen of the present century. but though it offered violence to romantic and conventional notions of poetical beauty, and gave his countenance a contour very different from the profile of the delusive portraits, it may not be imagined that the 'little turn-up nose' caused shelley to be otherwise than a man of a singularly striking and charming appearance. tall for his years, from his childhood till he attained the fullness of his stature, shelley had a slender figure that would not have wanted elegance, had it not been for the slight drooping and roundness of his shoulders, the narrowness of his chest, and the forward inclination of his long neck and minute head--peculiarities scarcely reconcilable with all that has been written about his personal stateliness. to imagine that the young man who paced the streets of oxford and london 'with bent knees and outstretched neck' (in the manner described by hogg), was remarkable for the grace and dignity of his carriage, is to surrender one's judgment to the sway of romantic biographers. none the less certain, however, is it that there were moments when shelley's countenance might be commended for loveliness. remarkable for a complexion, in which carmine-red and delicate white, instead of being blended, were separately conspicuous, even when it was most freckled by exposure to the sun, the face surmounting his long and slender frame was singularly expressive of intelligence, sympathy, nervous alertness, enthusiasm, and sincerity. dull in moments of contemplation, the prominent deep-blue eyes of trelawny's stag-eyed shelley were comparable with byron's grey-blue eyes, for overpowering vehemence under the impulses of strong and sudden emotion. though inferior to byron's feminine mouth in beauty, and even more deficient than byron's mouth in power, shelley's mouth--the one symmetrical part of his unsymmetrical countenance--was notable for shapeliness, and alike expressive of sensibility and refinement. in other particulars, shelley's head and face were comparable with byron's head and face. like byron, the author of _laon and cythna_ had a head of striking smallness. it is a matter to be pondered by the physiologists, who maintain no man can be mentally powerful unless he has a big bulk of brain and a big pan to hold it, that the two greatest poets of the nineteenth century were, perhaps, the _two_ smallest-headed englishmen of their time. though it wanted the auburn under-glow, the feathery softness, and careful keeping of the byronic tresses, shelley's brown shock--blonde brown in childhood, deep brown ere it began prematurely to turn grey--resembled the locks of his familiar friend and fellow-poet in curling naturally. the most prominent feature of either poet's face was the one in which he differed most conspicuously from the other. in that feature byron had greatly the advantage. had he not grudged the poet whom he hated this personal advantage over the poet whom he loved, leigh hunt would not have been at so much pains to describe the faults of byron's nose--its excessive massiveness, and its appearance of having been put upon the face, rather than of growing out of it. but whilst inferior to byron's face in that important feature, shelley's face, in its naturalness and seraphic gentleness, its candour and high simplicity, was possessed of charms no one would venture to attribute to byron's more earthly loveliness. in spite of its grand defect, shelley's was a face that reminded his two closest friends of works of italian art. whilst peacock speaks of his vanished friend's resemblance to the portrait of antonio leisman in the florentine gallery, hogg likens the sweetest and loftiest element of the poet's facial beauty to the air of profound religious veneration that may be observed in the best frescoes of the greatest masters of florence and rome. there is no need to inquire how the lovely face of mr. colnaghi's engraving came to be regarded as a portrait of shelley in his childhood. still less is there any need to inquire whether the original picture was the work of the exiled french prince to whom it has been attributed. the present writer has no wish to deal disrespectfully with any part of the picture's story that does not touch the poet's record. for this work's purpose it is enough to say authoritatively that the child, whose delicate and exquisitely symmetrical lineaments are exhibited in the colnaghi engraving, cannot have been the infantile shelley, because it is not in the nature of things that the poet of unsymmetrical visage and 'little turn-up nose' was the development of the child, whose facial loveliness was so perfect an example of facial symmetry, and whose nose could not by any possibility have changed into the tip-tilted feature, described so precisely by the poet himself. portraits are often strangely mis-assigned; but it is seldom for a portrait to be so egregiously mis-assigned as this so-called picture of the child shelley. had not mrs. shelley and mrs. williams succeeded in palming off on romantic credulity their symmetrical and straight-nosed 'composition' as a veritable picture of 'the real shelley,' it would never have occurred to any one to suggest that the original of the colnaghi engraving was the poet shelley at a tender age. chapter iv. the brentford schoolboy. dr. greenlaw's character--quality of his school--medwin's anecdotes to the doctor's discredit--mr. gellibrand's recollections of the brentford shelley--the bullies of the brentford playground--shelley's character at the school--his disposition to somnambulism--his delight in novels--his wretchedness at school--shelleyan egotism--byronic egotism--byron's influence on shelley--enduring influence of novels on shelley's mind--stories of boating--easter holidays in wiltshire--'essay on friendship'--its biographical value. the slight slip of a boy, who under the name of percy bysshe shelley, appeared for the first time in his eleventh year (the third year of the present century) amongst the boys of dr. greenlaw's school at sion house, brentford, was no child to prefer the society of overbearing boys to the society of his little sisters, whose playmate he had hitherto been. dr. greenlaw's home for young gentlemen was a house of forbidding aspect. more than once as they walked from london to bishopgate (familiar to those who are in the habit of entering windsor park from englefield green), shelley directed hogg's attention to the gloomy walls of his first boarding-school. the house was unalluring, the master not incapable of outbreaks of anger, the boys by no means innocent of puerile rudeness and inhumanity. but the present writer, who in former time knew some of dr. greenlaw's scholarly descendants, has reason to believe the doctor was a kindlier gentleman, and his school a much less defective establishment, than mr. medwin made the world imagine. taking much credit to himself for having been at brentford a sympathetic and condescending senior schoolmate to his little far-away cousin, tom medwin speaks with ungenerous resentment of the seminary where they sipt the pierian spring. all that his bitter words amount to is that dr. greenlaw was a pedagogue, and sion house a seminary, 'of an old school.' if the bread served to the boys at breakfast and supper was parsimoniously dressed with butter, the fare was neither better nor worse than the bread and butter usually provided for schoolboys eighty years since. if the saturday's pie was a scrap-pie, and a poor specimen of its inferior kind of pie, it was only such a thing as schoolboys of the period were expected to eat with thankfulness. a schoolboy's toilet, in the days of our grandfathers, was always a short and simple business. as the boys seldom saw the lady, who never harassed or troubled them in any way, mr. medwin might as well have forborne to sneer at mrs. greenlaw for priding herself less on her husband's calling, than on being distantly related to the duke of argyll. mr. medwin was not a little proud of his slight relationship to the castle goring shelleys, though they were not (to put the case mildly) the best of the sussex families. he might, therefore, have spoken leniently of mrs. greenlaw's sense of the dignity of her people, or been silent about the matter. himself the son of a country attorney, mr. medwin should have written a little less disdainfully of his old schoolfellows, for being 'mostly the sons of london shopkeepers.' nor is the rev. dr. greenlaw (he was in holy orders and had a scotch degree) to be severely judged if, when pupils were few, he was something less inquisitive than he might have been about the quality of parents. to live, schoolmasters must fill up their beds; and to be placed at school in the same dormitory with a cheesemonger's son is an indignity, to be forgiven (after forty years) even by the son of a solicitor of the high court of judicature. it may, however, be conceded that sion house was no more a fit school for the heir of a great county family, than the clapham school, where the poet's sisters received their higher education, was a suitable seminary for the daughters of an aristocratic house. whilst little bysshe was still making latin verses in the company of tradesmen's sons, the elder of his sisters went to the clapham school, where harriett westbrook (the daughter of a licensed victualler) in later time learnt something of french and the answers to mangnall's questions. it may not, however, be inferred that mr. and mrs. shelley, of field place, were deficient in proper care for their own dignity, or in proper concern for the welfare of their offspring. though no place of education for the sons of the english aristocracy, sion house was greatly superior to the 'commercial schools' where tradesmen sent their boys to be trained for the counter and the counting-house. it was a 'classical school' for the sons of ordinary professional men (boys like tom medwin), and the sons of well-to-do and ambitious tradesmen, bent on putting their boys into the liberal professions. the clapham school for girls was a school of corresponding quality,--a place of education for the daughters of people moving in the middle way of life. that he sent his children to such schools merely shows that the squire of field place was not possessed by the spirit of exclusiveness, that is a characteristic of aristocratic personages; that he was still far from rating himself with the aristocracy of his county, though he had taken a degree at oxford, made the grand tour, and risen to represent new shoreham in the house of commons. that the children were sent to such schools shows how far the head of the family (old mr. bysshe shelley, the son of the newark apothecary and the friend of graham, the quack) was from over-estimating his social position; how far he was from deeming himself one of the dignitaries of his shire, though he had married the heiress of penshurst, and adding acre to acre, was rich enough to spend tens of thousands on the big castle, which he never finished or inhabited. instead of enjoying the status, which delusive biographers declare them to have enjoyed for successive centuries, the poet's people were in his childhood only emerging from the middle class of society. planted though they had been for some time within the outer breastworks of provincial gentility, they were still regarded by their patrician neighbours as people of ambiguous quality,--too wealthy to be rated with mere 'gentle populace,' and at the same time, too wanting in local influence and ancestral dignity to be rated with the _élite_ of 'the county.' fortunate though it had been, old mr. bysshe shelley's career was more calculated to provoke scandal than conciliate social sentiment. though it had done much for his enrichment, his second marriage had also caused leading families of sussex and kent to regard him with animosity, and speak of him with disapproval. strange stories were told of the ways in which the old man had made money,--was still making money. the sordid tastes and habits, that rendered him equally despicable and pitiable in his senility, were already revealing themselves, and confirming people of honest pride and good principle in their resolve to hold aloof from him. to personages of the county, who had long looked down upon them as obtrusive upstarts, the father and son grew more distasteful in proportion as they grew richer. instead of being diminished, this disfavour was for a time quickened by the civilities, which for political reasons the duke of norfolk thought fit to offer to the horsham capitalist and the member for new shoreham. both within and without the lines of the liberal party, dislike of these 'new men' was stimulated by the growing opinion that, if the younger kept his seat for the sussex borough, and voted steadily in accordance with the duke's pleasure, the elder of them would in a few years be raised to the dignity for which he had long hungered. thus regarded in sussex, it is not surprising that the poet's father and grandfather lived more within the lines of their proper middle-class connexion, than with the higher gentry of their neighbourhood, and that, in selecting schools for his children, mr. timothy shelley acted in harmony with the views of his middle-class friends and relations. it is not surprising that little bysshe was sent to the school that was good enough for the boys of people like the medwins, and none too good for the tradesmen's sons who came between the wind and tom medwin's nobility. nor is it surprising that in later time little bysshe's sisters were sent to the suburban academy, where the youngest of them became intimate with harriett westbrook,--the lovely child of 'jew westbrook,' the licensed victualler. had he in felt more certain of getting the baronetcy for which he was playing (and won only four years later-- ), it is probable that the horsham money-maker would have loosened his purse-string, and told his son (the m.p.) that sion house was not good enough school for the heir of the castle goring shelleys. had the father and son foreseen what embarrassment and scandal would come to the castle goring shelleys from friendships made at the clapham girls'-school, it is probable that the poet's sisters would have been sent to a more select seminary, or have been educated, even to the finishing touches of their education, at field place. that the reverend dr. greenlaw was a fairly sufficient pedagogue may be inferred even from the reluctant admissions of the writer, who is our chief source of information respecting little bysshe's life at sion house. whilst telling apocryphal stories to the discredit of his scholarship, medwin concedes that the doctor was 'a tolerable greek and latin scholar,' drilled his pupils assiduously in homer, and carried them 'in his own way' through some of the plays of Æschylus, sophocles, and euripides. mr. medwin was not so precisely accurate a writer that we must accept all his statements to the schoolmaster's disadvantage. possibly, in recalling the teacher's way of 'driving straightforwards in defiance of obstacles,' the biographer only remembered his own way of dealing with choruses and other perplexing passages of the greek dramatists. the historian who misquoted the ovidian verses, in his worst and most damaging story against the doctor, may also have misquoted the sorry verses inscribed on the scotch mull which charles mackintosh (a former pupil at sion house) gave his preceptor. if the verses of the mull were as bad as the biographer represents, and were (as the same authority alleges) the production of the doctor's own head and hand, their extreme badness disproves the assertion that the doctor 'was a tolerable greek and latin scholar.' however much misquoted in medwin's _life of shelley_, the verses must have been bad; but it is more probable that 'carolus mackintosh ... _alumnus_' composed the lame lines inscribed upon his gift, than that they were put together by 'the tolerable greek and latin scholar,' who had grown grey in teaching boys to make latin verses. recollections after a lapse of forty years, touching the infirmities of former schoolmasters, should be regarded with suspicion, even when they proceed from habitually careful narrators. but when a gentleman of almost proverbial inaccuracy entertains the world with irreconcilable reminiscences of the same individual, he may be regarded as labouring for a moment under the besetting infirmity, that always weakens mr. medwin's testimony, and sometimes deprives it of all value. that the successful schoolmaster (bound alike by his interest and the obligations of his office to be mindful of the proprieties) disgusted little bysshe, and delighted the rest of the class with obscene jocosity in reference to a familiar passage of the _Æneid_, is less probable than that tom medwin's memory betrayed him. it is easier to believe that in a mood of unusual irritability and dullness dr. greenlaw discovered execrable latinity in the ovidian lines: 'me miserum! quanti montes volvuntur aquarum! jam, jam tacturas sidera summa putes,'-- which little bysshe 'gave in' as verses of his own manufacture. '_jam, jam!_' the doctor is said to have exclaimed during the course of animadversions that were emphasized with slaps administered to the child's small cheeks and ears. '_jam, jam!_ pooh, pooh, boy! raspberry jam! do you think you are at your mother's? don't you know that i have a sovereign objection to those two monosyllables, with which schoolboys cram their verses? haven't i told you so a hundred times already? "_tacturas sidera summa putes_,"--what, do the waves on the coast of sussex strike the stars, eh?--"_summa sidera_,"--who does not know that the stars are high? where did you find that epithet?--in your _gradus ad parnassum_, i suppose. you will never mount so high. "_putes!_" you may think this very fine, but to me it is all balderdash, hyperbolical stuff. there' (with a final box on the little fellow's nearest ear), 'go now, sir, and see if you can't write something better!' it is consolatory to reflect that, though he should not have been cuffed and exposed to the riotous ridicule of his school-fellows for writing latin verses as badly as ovid wrote them, the culprit merited some kind of punishment for 'giving in' as his own the verses that were not his own,--an act of deception common enough with schoolboys, but scarcely reconcilable with the severe truthfulness, which is said (by the shelleyan enthusiasts) to have distinguished him from his childhood to his last hour. 'he was,' says lady shelley in her _shelley memorials: from authentic sources_, 'more outspoken and truth-loving than other boys.' with this anecdote of latin verses, given in to the doctor of the brentford school, may be coupled a story, which the late mr. gellibrand used to tell, somewhat to the discredit of little bysshe. just about shelley's age, though placed in a lower form of the school than shelley's, gellibrand was trying to put together a nonsense latin verse in the way of scholastic duty, when bysshe said, 'give me your slate, and i will do it for you and you can go.' trusting his friend, gellibrand surrendered his slate and went off to play. the verses shelley wrote on the slate ran,-- 'hos ego versiculos scripsi, sed non ego feci.' on being 'given in,' by a boy who could not make a nonsense 'line' without racking his brain, these verses may well have attracted the master's attention. to the question, 'did you write this?' gellibrand of course answered 'yes.' of course, also, the matter was inquired into further; the result being that gellibrand received a whipping, for which he paid shelley out with a 'pummelling.' though heavy, the blows he received for the jam-jam verses were by no means the sharpest and most penetrating that came from time to time to little bysshe shelley from the same hand. eighty years since our boys were taken from the nursery and confided to the schoolmaster, in the same way that pups of choicest breed were given over to the very slender mercy of the under-gamekeeper. in either case it was known what was in store for the young and helpless creatures. it was needful for these young things to be licked into shape and form and good behaviour,--for the small boys to be whipt into bigger boys, and then into serviceable men; and for the young dogs to be whipt into good sporting dogs. relying on the wisdom of his ancestors, the english gentleman believed in the coptic proverb, which declares that 'the stick came down from heaven,' to train boys and dogs the stick was needful. whilst the tender-hearted father hoped silently that much of the stick would not be needed, the father of no more than average humanity was jubilant about the stick, confident that youngsters needed it, jocular about its power to do them good. like george the third, who told his sons' tutors to whip them when they wanted it (but for this order, how badly george the fourth might have turned out!). mr. timothy shelley, m.p. for new shoreham, sent little bysshe to sion house, with the understanding that he would be whipt, and well whipt too, when he wanted it. mrs. shelley knew what was in store for the little fellow, when she put the plum-cake into his box and hoped he would enjoy it. the foreknowledge did not make the lady sorrowful. was it not written, that to spare the rod was to spoil the child? it is hard on schoolmasters that they should be required to bear the odium of an educational method, so universally approved two generations since, and sanctioned by the highest authority. elderly (not to say old) gentlemen of 'the old school' still talk and write cheerily of the good old birch. in his later novels the late lord lytton uttered several pleasantries about the antique instrument of domestic torture. but he probably took another view of the matter, when he was under it. though the great thackeray wrote with characteristic sprightliness and piquancy of interviews with 'the doctor' in his study,--interviews attended with swishing sounds and shrill cries of puerile protest, audible through the strong doors of the same awful room,--he was alive to the tragic side of the comic business. only a few years before his death, he spoke to an attentive mahogany-tree of one of these 'interviews with the doctor,' in which he had figured as passive principal at a preparatory school, where he acquired some of the rudiments of human knowledge, before going to charterhouse. 'and can you still remember what it felt like?' inquired one of the listeners. 'remember it! it was like ----!' screamed the witness to his own early grief, raising his voice and eyebrows till they were comically eloquent of pain and affright, as he named a place whither so excellent a novelist cannot be supposed to have gone. like little makepeace, little bysshe had interviews with the doctor between the four walls of the doctor's study,--interviews from which the nervous boy retired, with fury and horror in his face and at his heart, to the schoolroom full of heartless boys, whose only expression of concern at his misadventure was to ask him 'how he liked it.' all this is so much a matter of course that nothing would be said of it in these pages, were it not for the general opinion that this medicine of childhood (as an old writer pleasantly designates the discipline of the rod) not only caused the future poet the usual amount of transient physical annoyance, but had also an enduring and by no means beneficial effect on his temper and his disposition towards every kind of human government. it has been urged by successive biographers that this bitter physic, instead of curing his infantile ill-humours, aggravated them seriously, and was one of the several influences that set him at war with society from the outset of his career. mrs. shelley and lady shelley (the poet's second wife and his daughter-in-law) both take this view of the discipline that vexed him both at brentford and eton. and though he does not hold the birch largely accountable for _queen mab_, the present writer is by no means certain that the two ladies are so entirely wrong on this matter, as they are on other matters of the poet's character and story. notwithstanding the incidents, which may have disposed him to rate his brentford preceptor as one of his earlier tyrants, there is evidence that, after coming to manhood, shelley remembered dr. greenlaw with qualified approval, if not with affection. as they walked past the gloomy brick house to which he had just called his companion's attention, shelley 'spoke of the master, doctor greenlaw, not without respect, saying, "he was a hard-headed scotchman, and man of rather liberal opinions."' to be tinctured with liberality of sentiment was, in shelley's opinion, to have a quality of goodness. if medwin was justified in saying that 'sion house was a perfect hell' to shelley, it is probable that the bullies of the playground were more accountable than the discipline of the schoolroom for the boy's hatred of the place. numbering about sixty scholars, some of whom were seventeen or eighteen years old, the school--governed out of school-hours by bullies, who might bully any one weak enough to be bullied, instead of by 'masters' entitled to bully only their own fags--was just the place to be fruitful of misery for a shy, nervous, mammy-sick lad; lacking the muscle and pluck to hold his own with boys of his own age. on appearing for the first time in the playground--fenced with four high walls, and adorned with the solitary tree, to which the school-bell was hung--the child from field place found himself surrounded by a mob of inquisitive urchins, who at a glance saw he had neither the strength nor the courage to answer a rough word with a ready blow. could he play at pegtop? at marbles? at hopscotch? at cricket? as each of these questions was answered in the negative, a cry of derision went up from his inquisitors. his girlish looks and long hair, his red-and-white complexion and the slightness of his long (not oval) face provoked uncomplimentary criticism. then came questions about his home. had he any sisters? what were their names? where did they live? had he a mother? what was his father? what was he 'blubbing' about? on hearing that his father was a member of parliament, some of the boys (possibly the tradesmen's sons) intimated that he had better not give himself airs. resembling byron in divers matters already submitted to the reader's consideration, and in other matters to be noticed in later pages of this work, shelley resembled him also, from childhood to his latest hour, in being a singular combination of feminine weakness and masculine strength. remarkable for boyish resoluteness and energy, the byron of aberdeen, harrow, and cambridge, was no less remarkable for girlish sensibility and softness. feminine in the emotional forces of his nature, the byron of 'the pilgrimage,' the london drawing-rooms, the italian exile, and the expedition to greece, was rich also in manly daring and combativeness. a similar account may be given of shelley's constitution and temper. in his earlier time a boy on one side of his nature, he was a girl on the other. if 'his port' (to use hogg's words) 'had the meekness of a maiden' in his later time, it possessed also the dignity of manliness. in moments of sudden peril it was discovered that fear had no chamber in the heart, of which hogg wrote 'the heart of the young virgin, who had never crossed her father's threshold to encounter the rude world, could not be more susceptible of all the sweet charities than his.' it is remarkable how these two inseparable poets (inseparable for ever! notwithstanding all the efforts of the shelleyan enthusiasts to disassociate them) impressed their closest friends alternately by their manliness and their womanliness. the biographer, who is eloquent about the manliness of shelley's carriage, could not recall this friend of his heart and holder of his admiration, without remembering his meek and maidenly bearing and virginal sensibility. even when he was bearing testimony to byron's manly endowments, hobhouse could not refrain from glancing at those of the poet's weaknesses, that, resembling 'a portion of his virtues, were of a feminine character--so that the affection felt for him was as that for a favourite and sometimes froward sister.' at brentford the girlish elements of bysshe's nature were in the ascendant, the masculine elements altogether in abeyance. possibly the latter elements had never manifested themselves at field place, where the little fellow, with younger sisters for his playmates, had lived at the end of his mother's apron-string something too long. if they had shown themselves in his earlier childhood, they seem to have retired from view during his stay at dr. greenlaw's school. bearing a stronger likeness to the geordie byron, of aberdeen high school, who fell a-weeping before his classmates, on being required for the first time to answer to the proud title of 'dominus,' than to the geordie byron of the same school, who, notwithstanding his lameness, used to spring (in his hopping way) with clenched fists and flashing eyes at boys of superior size and strength, little bysshe seems throughout his time at sion house to have justified the disdain in which he was held, alike by the big and the small bullies of the dismal playground, as a chicken-heart and a milk-sop. his old schoolfellow, gellibrand, who died something over twelve months in his ninety-third year, used to describe the shelley of dr. greenlaw's seminary as a 'girl in boy's clothes, fighting with open hands and rolling on the floor when flogged, not from the pain, but "from a sense of indignity."' (_vide_ mr. augustine birrell's letter to the _athenæum_ of rd may, .) scared and cowed by the first greetings of the playground, he seems never to have gained heart to learn the games, of which he had been compelled to confess a shameful ignorance, or to repay with boyish energy and in proper style the snubs and blows of boys as small as himself. every boy's hand was raised against him; and when he raised his own in retaliation, it was to slap with open palm. what the big bullies bade him do, he did meekly and often to his cost. when they ordered him to run after their balls, he obeyed till he was ready to drop with fatigue. when they ordered him to fetch books from the circulating library, to 'truck' latin dictionaries and other scholastic volumes (appraised by avoirdupois weight) with the grocer for lumps of cheese or sweetstuff, he broke bounds and did their commands, earning once and again a smart punishment 'from the doctor,' by his submissiveness to lawless orders. but he never joined of his own will in the pastimes of his schoolfellows, great or small. moping in corners by himself, when the other boys were playing clamorously at prisoners' bars or leap-frog, with their marbles or their tops, he counted the days till next breaking-up day, recalled the pleasures of the garden where his little sisters had been his sturdiest playmates, or conned the pages of stories, borrowed from the circulating library. sometimes on half-holidays he loitered for the hour together under the southern wall of the playground, as far as possible out of the way of his uncongenial companions. sometimes out of pity for the child's solitariness and misery, medwin left the sports of the yard, and walked with his little cousin to and fro under the high wall. it pleased the senior cousin long after the younger cousin's death to imagine, that shelley was mindful of these walks and the kindness thus shown him when, in the description of an antique group, he wrote, 'look, the figures are walking with a sauntering and idle pace, and talking to each other as they walk, as you may have seen a younger and an elder boy at school, walking in some grassy spot of the playground, with that tender friendship for each other which the age inspires.' in this stage of his existence, little bysshe resembled geordie byron at a somewhat earlier age, in having the nervous diathesis that often disposes children to walk in their sleep, when suffering from derangement of the stomach. at least, on one occasion, geordie byron was a somnambulist at aberdeen. at least, on one occasion, bysshe shelley was a somnambulist during the time he passed under dr. greenlaw's government. more than forty years later, medwin remembered how the boy looked, when after leaving his proper bedroom he advanced with slow steps, one summer night, to the open window of the dormitory he had no right to enter. seeing that he was asleep, and unaware that sleep-walkers should be awakened gradually, medwin jumped from bed and, seizing him quickly, roused the somnambulist with a suddenness that gave him a painful shock, attended with severe nervous erethism. in the morning shelley paid another penalty for the misbehaviour of his nerves. boys taken at night in a wrong bed-room were offenders against a wholesome domestic rule, to be punished even though the offence was unintentional. 'i remember,' says medwin, 'that he was severely punished for this involuntary transgression.' it does not appear how he was punished, or whether it was known to the punisher that the breach of law had been committed during sleep. though he was not guilty of another walk in his sleep, the nervous and delicate boy was still visited by 'waking dreams, a sort of lethargy and abstraction that became habitual to him.' whilst he was under the influence of these day-dreams, his prominent blue eyes were glazed with a peculiar dullness, and were equally inexpressive and insensible of external objects. as soon as the visitations were over, his eyes flashed, his lips quivered, and he spoke with a tremulous voice that was strangely and painfully indicative of nervous agitation and distress. 'a sort of ecstasy,' says medwin, 'came over him, and he talked more like a spirit or an angel than a human being.' as the words convey the intended impression, there is no need to inquire in what respect the speech of a human creature differs from the speech of a spirit, or to imagine the circumstances under which mr. medwin may have been permitted to overhear the talk of angels. under the manifold vexations and sorrows that preyed upon his feelings at sion house, shelley found solace and intermissions of grief in the perusal of blue books,--no folios of parliamentary manufacture and information; but the little blue-covered volumes of extremely exciting and unwholesome prose-fiction, that were to be bought at sixpence a-piece of ordinary booksellers in the earlier decades of the present century. he was also a greedy devourer of tales (touching haunted castles, magicians, picturesque brigands, and mysterious murderers) that proceeded from writers, who did not condescend to offer their productions to the public eye, in the vulgar little 'blue books,' or in any form less acceptable to connoisseurs of elegant literature than board-bound volumes. it is something to the honour of prose-fiction that the two greatest poets of the nineteenth century may be said to have been mentally suckled and reared on novels from infancy to adult age,--taught by novels how to think and feel, and how to make others think and feel. it is alike true of byron and shelley, that the germs of much that is most delightful and admirable in their finest poems must be sought in old novels. john moore's _zeluco_ was not more influential in the production of _childe harold_, than _zofloya or the moor_ was influential in the production of _zastrozzi_ and _st. irvyne_, those crude and unutterably ridiculous achievements of shelley's youthful pen, which, offering to their amused perusers the feeble fancies and puerile conceits that, appearing and reappearing in successive volumes, developed eventually into vigorous creations and exquisite examples of poetic imagery,--exhibit also the rude notions and embryonic reasonings, that in the course of a few years grew and shaped themselves in the fundamental principles and main features of his philosophy on matters pertaining to politics, social economy, and religion. it is a question whether the recollections of misery endured at school, which occupy three of the familiar stanzas to 'mary,' should be regarded as reminiscences of trials the poet underwent at sion house, or of sorrows that moved him to tears at eton. mrs. shelley had no doubt the stanzas referred to the public school; and lady shelley is no less confident that her father-in-law was thinking of the eton playing-grounds, when he wrote in the dedicatory prelude to _laon and cythna_: 'thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear friend, when first the clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass; i do remember well the hour which burst my spirit's sleep: a fresh may-dawn it was, when i walked forth upon the glittering grass, and wept, i knew not why; until there rose from the near schoolroom, voices, that, alas! were but one echo from a world of woes-- the harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes. 'and then i clasped my hands and looked around, but none was near to mock my streaming eyes, which poured their warm drops on the sunny ground-- so without shame, i spake:--"i will be wise, and just, and free, and mild, if in me lies such power, for i grow weary to behold the selfish and the strong still tyrannise, without reproach or check." i then controuled my tears; my heart grew calm, and i was meek and bold. 'and from that hour did i with earnest thought heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore; yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught i cared to learn, but from that secret store wrought linked-armour for my soul, before it might walk forth to war upon mankind; thus power and hope were strengthened more and more within me, till there came upon my mind a sense of loneliness, a thirst with which i pined.' it has been usual with shelley's biographers to deal with these verses as though, besides referring to eton, they afford a substantially accurate account of trouble undergone, resolutions formed, and action taken by the poet whilst he was at eton. to the shelleyan enthusiasts, it is heresy to question the strict and severe historic veracity of any particular statement of this piece of melodious egotism. to them it is an affair of certainty that the grass glittered, the boy wept, the voices came from the school-house, the weeping youth made virtuous resolves, precisely as, and when, the poetry represents. the verses are given in evidence that shelley neglected latin and greek in order that he might devote all his best energies to chemistry, astronomy, electricity, pneumatics,--in brief, to those 'scientific pursuits,' about which so much fantastic nonsense has been printed by the more fervid and less discreet of his eulogists. to this way of reading and handling these verses, is mainly referable the equally general and false notion that shelley's principal employment at eton was to make 'linked armour for his soul' out of materials prohibited to ingenuous youth by the teachers of his despotic school,--and that his one purpose in forging this linked armour for his soul, was that he might equip himself for 'walking forth to war among mankind,' _i.e._ for playing the part of a political revolutionist and social reformer, as soon as he should be his own master. there is the less need to trouble oneself seriously with the question whether the verses refer to sion house or eton, because it is certain they do not correspond, in all their chief particulars, to his life at either school. whilst it is certain that his studies at the private school were the studies prescribed by dr. greenlaw (unless the not-actually-prohibited perusal of novels is to be rated as 'study'), it is no less certain that he never grossly neglected the studies of either school. far from neglecting the ordinary scholastic exercises of an eton boy in the degree implied by the words, 'yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught i cared to learn,' it is certain that, without holding steadily a high place in any of the higher forms, he acquired something more than a fair amount of the only learning imparted to boys at eton eighty years since, and displayed remarkable aptitude and skill in making latin verses,--an important part of what his tyrants knew and taught. the evidence is conclusive that, at eton he was a facile and clever maker of latin verses. medwin speaks to 'his capacity for writing latin verses,' and gives some examples of the capacity, that may, at least, be styled creditable performances for a public school-boy. long after his abrupt withdrawal from the school, the excellence of shelley's latin verses was remembered by old etonians. whilst his readiness in the verse-maker's art was described as 'wonderful' by mr. packe, another of his former schoolmates at eton (mr. walter s. halliday) wrote of the same faculty to lady shelley, 'his power of latin versification' was 'marvellous.' hogg certifies that, though more than a year elapsed between his retirement from eton and his going into residence at university college--a period during which he certainly omitted to enlarge his classical attainments--shelley came up to oxford an expert and singularly quick latin verse-maker, and a ready writer of latin prose. so much for the poet's vaunt that he did not care to learn what the eton masters could teach him. on the other hand, it is certain that, whilst carrying away from eton something more than a creditable amount of the learning to be acquired in the classes, shelley learnt nothing at the school by irregular and unrecognized study to justify the assertion that, whilst a schoolboy, he gathered 'knowledge from forbidden mines of lore,' and armed himself for the battle of life with weapons his official teachers would fain have kept from his hands. his scientific studies were the mere sports of a schoolboy, playing idly with an air-pump, an electrical battery, and a few acids and alkalies. instead of spending his leisure at eton in the serious pursuits of natural science, he employed it chiefly in literary essays, that show him to have been possessed by an ambition scarcely compatible with an enthusiasm for scientific investigation and a yearning for scientific celebrity. that both mrs. shelley and lady shelley had considerable, though insufficient, grounds for regarding the dedicatory stanzas as a record of the poet's experiences at eton, is unquestionable. mrs. shelley could, doubtless, have defended her view of the verses with words spoken by her husband, who entertained her with several equally strange and delusive stories of his life at the public school. besides the poet's authority, lady shelley could, perhaps, produce other evidence to justify her concurrence with mrs. shelley's opinion. whilst he deems it possible that shelley was thinking more of eton than brentford, when he committed the verses to paper, the present writer has no doubt whatever that the poet, soon after their composition and ever afterwards, regarded the three stanzas as veracious autobiography--as a faithful poetical record of what he had suffered, resolved, and done, when he was under dr. keate's rigorous government. but the poet's words may not be produced as sure evidence respecting the tenor and chief incidents of his career. from manhood's threshold to his last hour, he was subject to strange delusions about his own story; some of the marvellous misconceptions having reference to matters of quite recent occurrence. 'had he,' says hogg, 'written to ten different individuals the history of some proceeding in which he was himself a party and an eye-witness, each of his ten reports would have varied from the rest in essential and important circumstances. the relation given on the morrow would be unlike that of to-day, as the latter would contradict the tale of yesterday.' peacock, who also knew and loved him well, bears similar testimony to the looseness and inaccuracy of the poet's statements about his own affairs, even about those of his affairs, respecting which (had he been a man of ordinary exactness and fidelity to facts) he would be naturally regarded as the best source of information. to escape the disagreeable necessity of thinking him deliberately untruthful, thomas love peacock had recourse to the notion that his friend was the victim of 'semi-delusions.' with all his desire to palliate his friend's besetting frailty, so as to relieve it of the odium of sheer untruthfulness, peacock, in his inability to rate the delusive fancies as sincere and perfect delusions, came to the conclusion that they were only 'semi-delusions;' that the mis-statements of the poet's mouth and pen were referable in equal proportions to delusive fancy and influences distinct from delusion. whatever their show of autobiographic purport and sincerity, it is obvious that the verses of a poet, suffering from so perplexing an infirmity, differ widely in evidential value from the autobiographic statements of an ordinary individual. how far the byronic poems should be held accountable for shelley's byronic way of dealing with his personal story in poems offered to the world, is a question deserving more consideration than can be given to it in this chapter. at this early point of an attempt to exhibit 'the real shelley,' it is, however, well to indicate why criticism should deal with the egotisms of the shelleyan poems precisely as criticism has long dealt with the egotisms of the byronic poems. however people may differ about the respective merits of the two poets, all persons must allow that byron and shelley were both egotists in the superlative degree,--and that differing from other poets in more unusual and admirable qualities, they differ from them also in surcharging their magnificent poetry with more or less misleading references to their private concerns, and with emotion and sentiment arising from their purely personal interests,--often from their purely personal discontents. in this respect, both poets strayed from the high poetic path; sacrificing art to egotism, fame to foible, greatness to vanity. if _childe harold_ was the wail of a single romantic sufferer for his own sake, _laon and cythna_ was the cry of a single romantic sufferer for his own as well as the world's sake. the poet's personality is forced upon the reader's notice no less resolutely in shelley's than in byron's poem. if it was byron's vanity to demand human sympathy as the victim of fate, it was shelley's vanity to solicit it as the victim of persecution. whilst the man of sin and mystery invited the world to admire his proud endurance of the doom that distinguished him from all other mortals, the angel of goodness and light invited mankind to worship him, for his unselfishness, his impatience of evil, his abhorrence of oppression, his ineffable benevolence, his heroic readiness to perish for the good of his species. both actors were equals in sincerity and in dishonesty. the man who has still to discover that sincerity underlies almost every display of human affectation, is a man who has failed in justice to a considerable proportion of his species. the pretender ever plays the character he desires in the most secret chamber of his heart to be mistaken for. byron and shelley were alike actors and alike sincere, each taking a part accordant with his conceptions of the sublime and admirable in human nature. in assuming the character of a libertine, 'a shameless wight, sore given to revel and ungodly glee,' byron assumed the character that interested and fascinated him. in assuming the character of the social martyr, shelley, true to his own nature, selected the character that appeared to him the most admirable. both characters were taken from the marvellous creations of the romantic literature on which the two poets fed from childhood to years of discretion. it was a literature that may be styled the romantic literature of the good principle and the evil principle. in taking a representative of the evil principle for his model, byron displayed his genuine disposition which, in spite of his engaging qualities and several generous endowments, was a disposition towards evil. in determining to be a representative of the good principle of human existence, as that existence was exhibited in the 'blue books,' and other literature of the circulating libraries, shelley made a choice no less true to his own more gentle and earnest nature. mere boys when they forced themselves into notoriety, neither of them could readily relinquish the part,--chosen so easily and naturally. shelley determined to be on the side of the angels, because his disposition was in the main towards goodness; byron went with the devils, because he found them upon the whole better and more congenial company than the angels of light. in other respects, their resemblance was striking. endowed with a memory that equalled byron's memory in retentiveness, though more liable to illusions, an imagination even more powerful than byron's imagination, and a sensibility no less acute than byron's sensibility, shelley resembled byron also in his habit of brooding over old sorrows, intensifying them by the exercise of fancy, and using them as instruments of self-torture. certainly in some degree, probably in a high degree, this habit is referable to the influence of byron's genius,--to the influence of the byronic poems, and also of their popularity. whilst success never fails to produce imitators, the affectations of the successful are curiously infectious. this was notably the case with byron's success, that putting the younger poets and poetasters into turn-down collars, caused them to train their voices to notes of what they deemed byronic melancholy, and to set their features into what they deemed expressions of byronic bitterness, and melancholy. it is not suggested that shelley was for a single minute one of the byro-maniacal apes. it is not hinted that he ever imitated byron, except in the way in which a loyal, enthusiastic, and altogether honest disciple may be seen to imitate a great master. from his boyhood to his last year, shelley regarded byron with a generous admiration, that once and again expressed itself in almost idolatrous language. unlike the shelleyan fanatics, who seek to exalt their favourite by decrying the only modern english poet likely to be rated as his superior, shelley ever regarded byron as the greatest living master of their art. scott, wordsworth, southey, coleridge, keats, tom moore, leigh hunt, to say nothing of minor minstrels, all had a share of shelley's never-stinted homage, but he never for any long time thought of putting the best and strongest of them on equality with the incomparable byron. to remember the terms in which he wrote and spoke of byron, is to think with a smile of all that has been written in these later years by poetasters and critics to byron's discredit. the enthusiasts, who have so clear a perception of the signs of shelley's influence over byron in the third canto of _childe harold_, are curiously blind to the far more important and conspicuous indications of byron's influence on shelley in _laon and cythna_. when the most has been said of the manifestations of shelleyan thought in byron's poem, it cannot be questioned that had the younger of the two poets never lived, the four cantos of _childe harold_ would have been substantially the same poem they now are. on the other hand, it is impossible for any one but a shelleyan enthusiast to believe that _laon and cythna_ would have been the same poem it now is, had byron never come into existence. written in the summer of , when the poet had been for five years, like all the younger poets of his time, living under the domination of byron's intellect, and had been for a still longer period an enthusiastic admirer of byron's writings; written in the summer following the one in which the still youthful aspirant to poetical renown had come under the personal influence of the great poet, whom he had so long desired to know personally, and had made at least one futile attempt to approach, _laon and cythna_ bears the most distinct marks of byron's influence in shelley's selection of the spenserian measure, in the poem's byronic egotisms, and in the pains taken by the poet to identify himself with the hero of the narrative. in all these particulars (to say nothing of other particulars which the reader of these pages can discover for himself), _laon and cythna_ resembles _childe harold_, just as the painting by a young artist, abounding in originality and natural vigour, is often seen to resemble the painting of an older artist, whose notions and treatment of colour, and whose manipulatory address, have been a manifest force in the aspirant's education. just as the painting of the younger artist in form and colour, without being either 'a copy,' or even 'an imitation,' in any dishonourable sense of the term, bears to the painting of the master a certain resemblance (of tone and treatment) that causes both works to be regarded in later times as 'works of the same school,' shelley's great poem resembles byron's great poem. byron was in no degree accountable either for the 'story' of shelley's poem, or for its incidents and conceptions of character. the same may be said of the prevailing sentiments, subordinate aims, and main purpose of the poem. whilst the prevailing sentiments of the poem are altogether foreign to byron's views on the religious, political, and social questions dealt with in _laon and cythna_, his writings are in evidence that he must have regarded shelley's approval of 'laon's' incest with his own sister as revolting in the highest degree. but though the substance of this extraordinary poem could not have proceeded from byron's brain and pen, the form of the work is distinctly byronic. shelley cannot have been unconscious of this resemblance of his poem to what was at that time byron's greatest achievement in song. _qui s'excuse s'accuse._ the very words of the preface, in which he anticipates a charge of 'presuming to enter into competition with our greatest contemporary poets,' and, whilst disclaiming the presumption, declares his 'unwillingness to tread in the footsteps of any who preceded him,' are words of evidence that he was fully and uneasily alive to the resemblance. his curious way of accounting for his choice of the measure which byron's poem had rendered more popular for the moment than any other measure, is only the poet's attempt to shut his eyes to the fact, that he selected the measure because _childe harold_ had rendered it more agreeable to his own ear than any other, and had also made it the measure most likely to commend his poem to the public taste. 'i have,' he says, 'adopted the stanza of spenser (a measure inexpressibly beautiful), not because i consider it a finer model of poetical harmony than the blank verse of shakespeare and milton, but because in the latter, there is no shelter for mediocrity; you must either succeed or fail.' though byron doubtless smiled at this reason for the adoption of the measure, which he had in a certain sense made his own, he must have been gratified by the delicate compliment to the poet who had adopted it with success. using the byronic measure (for the spenserian measure had become for the moment byron's property), shelley made a byronic use of matter taken from romances devoured in his childhood. 'treading in the footsteps' of his master, notwithstanding his assertions to the contrary, shelley followed the byronic example in attaching his own personality to the hero of his poem. not content with hinting poetically in the dedicatory stanzas to mary that he and laon are one, the author of _laon and cythna_ is at pains to declare more fully and precisely in the prose of his preface that laon's views on matters of religion and politics, on questions of government and misgovernment, on the vices of ecclesiasticism and the merits of vegetarianism, on the relations of the sexes and the æsthetics of love, are the views of percy bysshe shelley, esq., who has studied human nature in switzerland as well as england, and who, in consideration of his 'having trodden the glaciers of the alps, and lived under the eye of mont blanc,' should be regarded as a gentleman especially educated and peculiarly qualified to dogmatize on such matters to english persons who have never crossed the channel. both in the poem and dedicatory prelude he seizes every opportunity to impress on the reader that percy bysshe shelley is laon, the apostle of 'liberty, fraternity, and equality,' and that this preacher of the 'new evangel,' who at the close of the poem sails into paradise with his sister and the offspring of their incestuous intercourse in a boat made of 'one curved shell of hollow pearl, almost translucent with the light divine of her within,' is no other than percy bysshe shelley, esq., eldest son of the member of parliament for new shoreham, and heir-apparent to a sussex baronetcy. in these shelleyan egotisms the critical reader of the marvellous poem recognizes the very touch and trick of byron's way of dressing up details of his domestic woes and personal story for the delight and mystification of his readers. one of the most pathetic and effective of the egotisms is the poet's account of the misery he endured from hard-hearted masters and malicious boys whilst he was at school. just as byron seasoned the introductory stanzas of _childe harold's_ first canto with more or less imaginary particulars of his misspent youth, when 'few earthly things found favour in his sight, save concubines and carnal companie, and flaunting wassailers of high and low degree,' shelley seasoned the dedicatory verses of _laon and cythna_ with references to the wretchedness that preyed upon him when, walking forth upon the glittering grass, he wept and 'knew not why; until there rose from the near schoolroom, voices, that, alas! were but one echo from a world of woes-- the harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.' both descriptions were equally truthful and untruthful. the basis of truth in byron's poetical narrative of his misspent youth is that he kept the girl at brompton who used to ride and walk about london in boy's clothes, and that when he entertained three or four old college friends at newstead, they talked a good deal of nonsense and drank rather more champagne than was good for them. the basis of truth in shelley's narrative of his wretched boyhood is that he was often unhappy at school (_very_ unhappy at brentford), and that being of a soft and girlish temperament when he was at sion house, he sometimes fell a-weeping because the 'boys were so unkind to him.' the shelleyan narrative is not historically exact to his doings and experiences in either of his two schools. at brentford he was not remarkably insubordinate (as he was at eton), and did nothing to give the faintest justificatory colour to his vaunt of having devoted himself to studies prohibited or discountenanced by the masters of the establishment. at eton (where, though often unhappy, he was less given to crying than in his brentford days), instead of neglecting the studies of the college, he attained to considerable excellence in them. upon the whole, the weeping boy 'upon the glittering grass' bears more resemblance to the chicken-heart and milksop of dr. greenlaw's playground than to the unruly, fitfully riotous, and inordinately blasphemous young rascal, who was eliminated from eton with the least possible disgrace, even as in later time he was expelled in an irregular way, and with no needless humiliation, from oxford. and in consideration of this greater resemblance, the present writer has thought right to deal, in this chapter about the brentford schoolboy, with the verses that, in mrs. shelley's opinion and lady shelley's opinion, are a faithful picture of the lad at eton. it is certain that the little bysshe was an unhappy child at sion house, even to the time of his withdrawal from the school, when he had grown almost too tall, though certainly not too robust, to be called 'little.' but miserable children are curiously, pathetically clever in escaping from their misery. the smart of them over, bysshe soon dismissed from his mind those disagreeable visits to the doctor's study. in the pages of his ghost-stories and banditti-stories, his tales of satanic malice and knightly heroism, he forgot all about those very unkind boys. most of those delightful books he borrowed from the circulating library, but doubtless he had in his schoolroom 'locker' his own copies of his favourite novels. it cannot be questioned he had a peculiar and inalienable copy of _zofloya, or the moor_, which, yielding flowers of romance to be found in the ineffably absurd novels which he published in the opening term of his literary career, gave him also fine pieces of descriptive writing that, after doing service in _zastrozzi_ and _st. irvyne_, were worked with skilful art into the lofty song of _laon and cythna_. the urchin enjoyed his frequent walks under the playground's southern wall with his cousin tom medwin, till the latter left dr. greenlaw's sadly plebeian school, and went off to the public school which prepared him for oxford. though he cannot rely so confidently as he could wish on tom medwin's assurance, the present writer likes to imagine mr. medwin had better ground than his treacherous memory for saying that, when they were schoolfellows at sion house, he and his young cousin more than once played the truant; and rowing on the river more than once to kew, went on one occasion by water to richmond, where they visited the theatre and saw mrs. jordan in the 'country girl.' one would fain believe this of the little boy who, on growing to be a man, disliked the theatre almost as cordially as he had in former time hated professor sala's dancing academy. but one hesitates to trust in this matter to the biographer who seems to have erred in recording that shelley acquired a taste for boating, even at a time considerably prior to the period in which this secret and lawless trip to the richmond theatre is said to have been made. peacock, who can scarcely have been mistaken, was certain the poet's 'affection for boating began at a much later date' than his time at eton. walter s. halliday (shelley's friend at the public school) was no less certain, in february, , that at eton shelley 'never joined in the usual sports of the boys, and, what is remarkable, never went out in a boat on the river.' had shelley enjoyed boating at sion house, it is inconceivable that he (so passionately fond of the water in later time) would have avoided the river, or could have been kept from it at eton. as halliday was no such reliable authority as successive writers have thought, i should have hesitated to prefer his evidence to medwin's testimony on this point, had not the etonian witness been so emphatically sustained by love peacock. in regard to what he says of shelley's boating at brentford, mr. medwin professes to speak from his own knowledge. on the other hand, he acknowledges that, with respect to the poet's alleged love of boating at eton, he speaks on the worst possible authority--the poet's own equally delusive and retentive memory. 'he told me,' says medwin, _vide_ _the life_, v. i., p. , 'the greatest delight he experienced at eton was from boating, for which he had, as i have already mentioned, early acquired a taste.' such unsupported evidence from shelley is scarcely anything better than no evidence at all, on being opposed by such witnesses as halliday and peacock. from this chapter on shelley's school-days at brentford, one should not omit a pleasant glimpse that is afforded of the boy (in the company of his cousins, the groves, sons of thomas grove, of fern house, wiltshire, who married charlotte pilford, sister of the poet's mother) by a letter, dated to hogg, february th, , by charles henry grove. at that date it was in the memory of charles henry grove how, when a tender harrovian, _ætat._ nine, he saw his cousin bysshe for the first time. on this occasion the nine-year old harrovian, attended by his brother george, _ætat._ ten, and protected by a sufficient body-servant, picked bysshe up at brentford and carried him off, on the roof of the stage-coach to wiltshire, for the easter holidays. it lived in charles grove's memory, how, during these holidays he and his brother joined shelley in a feat of mischief that no doubt made the squire of fern wish them back at school. acting on bysshe's suggestion, the three took the carpenter's axes, and set to work cutting down some of the young fir-trees of fern park. as charles grove, _ætat._ nine at the time of this occurrence, was born in (_vide_ burke's _landed gentry_), and shelley was born in august, , this pretty 'piece of boys' mischief' may be assigned to the easter holidays of bysshe's twelfth year,--_i.e._ easter, ; about the middle of his whole time at sion house. it seems to have been towards the end of his time at brentford, that shelley experienced the delights of his tender attachment to the gentle schoolmate of his own age, with whom he used to hold romantic converse in the playground, and exchange 'good-night kisses' at the time for going to bed--the childish attachment so sweetly commemorated in the _essay on friendship_. what is the biographical value of that charming story, which one could believe no less readily than gladly, were it not told _of_ shelley _by_ shelley? had it proceeded from a man far less imaginative than shelley, and far less prone to mistake the creations of his fancy for sincere recollections, no cautious reader would regard this pleasant record of infantile affection as faithful in every particular to the actual circumstances of the childish attachment. on the other hand, the coldest and most suspicious peruser will be disposed to think the story substantially truthful, due allowance being made for the force of imagination, the deceitfulness of the equally retentive and fallacious memory, and the peculiar infirmity of the man who could not be trusted to give twelve fairly consistent accounts of any matter, however much he might desire to be precisely accurate. it is in favour of this estimate of the story that the essayist's portraiture of his former self harmonizes with the several other accounts he has given elsewhere of his character in childhood. in his later time shelley always thought of the child, from which he had developed, as a mild-mannered, tractable, gentle child. the attachment being remembered, as an affair of his twelfth or thirteenth year, it may be presumed to have stirred and held his heart towards the close of his time at brentford,--probably after tom medwin (who says nothing of the matter) left sion house. to see the brentford schoolboy's prominent blue eyes overflowing with tears of delight, under the music of his friend's voice, to watch the two urchins exchanging kisses, is to remember the girlishness of byron's early attachments, as well as the girlishness of his affectionate care for his harrow 'favourites.' from his first to his last hour at sion house the masculine forces of bysshe's two-sided nature were in abeyance. he was a gentle english girl rather than a gentle english boy. chapter v. the eton schoolboy. first year at eton--creation of the castle-goring baronetcy--sir bysshe shelley's last will--timothy shelley's children--miss hellen shelley's recollections--the etonian at home--the big tortoise--the great snake--dr. keate--mr. packe at fault--walter halliday--mr. hexter--mr. bethell--fagging--mad shelley--'old walker'--enthusiasm for natural science--the rebel of the school--lord high atheist--dr. lind's pernicious influence on shelley--poetical fictions about dr. lind--shelley's illness at field place--his monstrous hallucination touching his father--john shelley the lunatic--_zastrozzi_--premature withdrawal from eton. respecting the year of shelley's first term at eton, the authorities differ: one set of writers averring that he entered the school in his fourteenth year ( ), whilst other biographers record that he entered it in his fifteenth year ( ). lady shelley says, 'at the age of _thirteen_ shelley went to eton.' on the other hand, the usually exact thomas love peacock says, 'on leaving this academy' (_i.e._ sion house) 'he was sent in his fifteenth year to eton,' and mr. william rossetti says, 'he passed to eton in his fifteenth year.' though no prudent writer ventures to set aside lightly a date given by so careful and conscientious a biographer as the author of the _memoir of shelley_, i venture to think that mr. rossetti is at fault in this particular, having perhaps erred through reasonable reliance on the accuracy of mr. peacock, who seems, in taking a date from one of the books he was reviewing for _fraser's magazine_ (june, ), to have gone a barley-corn beyond mr. middleton's words. instead of saying that shelley _went_ to eton in his fifteenth year for the first time, mr. middleton (in his _shelley and his writings_, ) keeps to historic truth in merely stating, 'in , when shelley was in his fifteenth year, we find him at eton.' he neither says nor implies that the future poet could not have been found there in the previous year. on the contrary, his words indicate uncertainty as to the precise date of the poet's first appearance at the school. gaining his knowledge of the poet's career at eton from old etonians who were schoolmates there, mr. middleton was probably instructed in this matter by an old etonian who, whilst certain shelley was at the school in , could not speak positively to his being there in an earlier year. though the author of the _shelley memorials_ is curiously deficient in the communicativeness and accuracy to be looked for in a biographer professing to gather her materials 'from authentic sources,' it may be assumed that lady shelley is right on a matter from which the schoolboy's preserved letters and his father's domestic memoranda of the year would save her from going wrong. it favours this view of lady shelley's statement, that old mr. bysshe shelley was created a baronet by the duke of norfolk's influence on the rd of march, , when he was in his seventy-fifth year. at length the castle-goring shelleys had risen from the status of prosperous middle-class folk to the honour of the baronetage. having become a dignified commoner, with a dignity transmissible to his descendants, the horsham miser (who had sent his son to oxford) naturally felt that, instead of associating any longer with tradesmen's sons at sion house, his grandson (the heir of the heir to the castle-goring baronetcy) should make the acquaintance of the sons of the nobility and other territorial gentry. much though he grudged the fees for his baronetcy, and dreaded the school-bills, sir bysshe determined that his grandson should be educated up to his rank, and sent forthwith to eton. the future poet was still under dr. greenlaw's government, and his grandsire was counting the days still to elapse before he should clutch the long-coveted honour of the bloody hand, when the veteran took an important step (on th november, ) for the achievement of the grand ambition of his riper age and failing years. this ambition was to make the shelleys of his loins into the house of the castle-goring shelleys, and to endow the new house with a large and strictly entailed estate in land, that should place it securely amongst the great territorial families of sussex; a common-place ambition, that was the natural and matter-of-course ambition for a man of old bysshe shelley's character, career, and age. as he was his father's eldest son, mr. timothy shelley (the poet's father) naturally approved this design for making a big entailed estate, to which he would succeed on his sire's death. though they squabbled and wrangled with one another on minor pecuniary questions, the veteran and his son were of one mind on this point. whilst the old man was set on making a big entailed estate, his son was of opinion that the estate ought to be made. the materials of which it was proposed to construct this big estate were,-- (a) certain real estate, settled by deed of appointment (dated th august, ) on mr. bysshe shelley for life, and then on his son timothy for life, with, &c. (b) certain other real estate, settled, by certain indentures of lease and release (dated respectively th and th april, ) on the same bysshe shelley for life, and then on his same son timothy for life, with, &c., and (c) certain unsettled lands, the property and disposal of which were wholly in the same bysshe shelley: and one half of the same bysshe shelley's personal estate. after what has been said of old bysshe shelley's success in making money, it is needless to inform readers that c was by far the most important of these three several lots of estate:--that, though of considerable value, a and b were insignificant in comparison with c. what was the precise yearly revenue of a and b does not appear. at a time when he had no clear knowledge of the matter, the poet used to speak of the revenue as _l._ per annum. but whilst he certainly did not understate the income, there is reason for thinking he greatly exaggerated it. the rental may (for all i know positively to the contrary) have been _l._ a-year; but in estimating the poet's financial position, readers had better assume that the yearly income from a and b did not exceed, and may have been considerably less than, _l._ a-year. if the two lots of estate yielded a clear income of _l._ they were worth about , _l._ if they yielded as much as _l._, they were worth about , _l._ under the settlements, to which reference has been made, percy bysshe shelley (the poet) was, in the language of lawyers, tenant in tail male of a and b in remainder expectant on the deaths of his father and grandfather. that is to say, the fee simple of a and b would devolve on him absolutely after the deaths of his sire and grandsire. for the more clear information of non-legal readers, let it also be observed that, having this estate in a and b under existing settlements, percy had in a and b an interest that would vest in him at the attainment of his majority,--an estate which, on his coming of age, he would be able to charge, aliene, or will away from his kindred; an estate on which he would be able to borrow money, and could sell, or dispose of by testament, during the lives of his father and grandfather, or the life of either of them, no less than when on the deaths of both of them he should come in actual possession of the land. this being so, old bysshe shelley (son of the yankee apothecary) made a will on th november, , whereby he devised his unsettled lands (of c) to trustees, in trust to settle the same, in what lawyers designate 'strict settlement,' on his son timothy shelley for life, percy bysshe shelley for life, and percy bysshe shelley's sons successively, according to their seniorities in tail male, and then in default, &c., on other sons of timothy shelley aforesaid born in the testator's lifetime and their sons successively in tail male, and then in default, &c., on other sons of the same timothy, born after the testator's death, successively according to their seniorities in tail male; with similar limitations in default, &c., in favour of john shelley sidney, and robert shelley (timothy's younger brothers by half-blood), and their respective issue male. by his will the testator further bequeathed his personal estate to trustees, and directed half of it to be invested in land, to be settled in the same way as the already-mentioned lands. it is further directed by the will that all persons entitled to a shall concur in settling a as c, or forfeit for themselves and issue all the interest pertaining to them under the will in c. by the will, therefore, percy bysshe shelley stood to succeed on his father's death as tenant for life to the whole entailed estate, provided he concurred in arrangements whereby the real estate a (of which he was tenant in tail male in remainder expectant on the deaths, &c., &c.) would become part of the entailed estate. to take his place in succession to the very large estate, to be created by his grandsire's will, he was only required, on coming of age, to surrender his eventual absolute interest in a comparatively small estate, and take in lieu thereof a life-interest. nothing was required of him that is not often required of heirs under similar circumstances. nothing was required of him that (in case of his death in his nonage) would not have been required of his younger brother, or any other person similarly interested in a. such was the will of old bysshe shelley made in in abundant grand-paternal affection for the poet, long before any differences touching religion and politics had risen between the youngster and his father. this same will was in due course proved as the last testament of sir bysshe shelley, bart., in doctors' commons, in . at the moment of the future poet's departure for eton, it is well to remind the readers of his story, that he was the eldest child of his parents,--being senior to his eldest sister by a year and nine months. mistakes having been made about the poet in his earlier years, which would not have been made by his biographers, had they been aware of this fact, it is necessary to warn readers not to mistrust their present guide because he differs on this matter from several previous authorities. here is the list of the offspring of mr. and mrs. timothy shelley, of field place, with some particulars of the children, taken from the pedigree, mentioned in a previous chapter:-- . percy bysshe shelley, eldest son and heir-apparent, born at field place th august, , baptized at warnham th september following. . elizabeth shelley, eldest daughter, born th may, , baptized at warnham nd july following. . hellen shelley, nd daughter, born th january, , baptized th february following; died an infant, buried at warnham th may, . . mary shelley, rd daughter, born th june, , baptized at warnham th of july following. . hellen shelley, th daughter, born th september, , baptized at warnham th october following. . margaret shelley, th daughter, born th of january, , baptized at warnham th march following. . john shelley, nd son, born th of march, , baptized at warnham th of august following. a child of six years, when her brother went to eton for the first time, miss hellen shelley (who lived to be in her later middle age the chief source of information respecting his boyhood) may have still been in her seventh year, cannot have exceeded her seventh year by three full months, when he returned from eton to field place for his first etonian holidays. it follows that, instead of pertaining to an earlier period of his boyhood, miss hellen shelley's recollections of her brother relate to the eton schoolboy; to the youth between the date of his gentle extrusion from eton and entrance into oxford, to the university undergraduate, and to the youthful lodger in poland street, immediately after his by no means undeserved expulsion from his oxford college. it is not in the nature of things that his sister hellen (his junior by seven years and something more than seven weeks) should have remembered aught of her brother previous to his eton time, so clearly as she remembered the things narrated of him, by virtue of her own memory, in the letters of her pen published in hogg's first volume. it follows, therefore, that for a biographer to make the shelley of the warnham day-school, and the brentford boarding-school, out of these reminiscences, is to produce a precocious infant very much unlike what the schoolboy can have been in his earlier childhood; in fact, to set the reader wrong at the story's outset with a false shelley, instead of the real shelley. if miss hellen shelley may be trusted (and there is no reason to question the general fidelity of the lady's reminiscences), the etonian, at home for the holidays, taught his little sisters to personate angels of light and angels of darkness, spirits of the air and spirits of the fiery depths, with such eccentric and fantastic articles of clothing or other drapery as the children of big country-houses can usually discover in out-of-the-way wardrobes and closets when they have mind to 'play at dressing up' in the christmas holidays. he used also to play under their curious eyes, and to their alternate delight and terror, with his chemical toys and electrical apparatus. good cause had little hellen to hold her breath with alarm, and wonder what would come of the magical performance, when the mysteriously clever and daring bysshe was seen running through a principal passage of the old home towards the kitchen, whilst bearing in his outstretched hands a dish, that sent blue flames upwards even to the ceiling. better reason still had the small damsel to cry aloud, in strains that brought the elders of the family to her rescue, when the scientific experimentalist (who had on previous occasions inspired her with a reasonable aversion to his electrical jar) declared his humane purpose of curing her chilblains with a series of small shocks. himself a glutton of horrible tales, the etonian-at-home was ever ready with a harrowing narrative of tragic crime and ghastly consequences, when the girls begged him to tell them something terrible, by the flickering light of their play-room fire. he overflowed, also, with stories about the alchemist, cornelius agrippa, who was represented as living up aloft in a spacious garret, under the roof of field place, directly over the heads of the excited children, grouped about this playroom's only source of light. to their frequent entreaties for a personal introduction to the mysterious and benevolent cornelius, percy used to assure his sisters that in due course they should see the philosopher, his books, his lamp, his venerable beard, when he should migrate from the garret to the cave, soon to be dug for him in the orchard, and furnished with all the apparatus needful for his investigations and experiments. at other times percy entertained his sisters with anecdotes of the great tortoise, that had lived for centuries and grown to enormous magnitude in and near warnham pond. what he told them of the fabulous tortoise does not appear. it is so difficult to get anything but turtle-soup and hair-combs out of a tortoise of any kind, one would like to know how the boy contrived to inspire his auditors with a vivid interest in this creature of his imagination. to do so he may be presumed to have talked freely and with wild disregard for the teaching of the best authorities on natural history. towards the close of his eton time (or possibly somewhat later, between his withdrawal from eton and departure for oxford) percy bysshe discarded the big tortoise and replaced it with the great snake, that was supposed to have lived for three hundred years in the field place gardens, before it was killed by the scythe of the careless or ruthless gardener, during the childhood of its imaginative historian. biographers, who smile at the shelleyan girls for putting faith in their brother's taradiddles about the big tortoise, are firm believers in his taradiddles about the monstrous and venerable serpent. indeed, they are apt to be indignant with flippant sceptics, who declare themselves as ready to believe in the warnham tortoise as in the field place snake. how the snake had amused itself for three hundred years in the grass and flower-beds of the garden is not on the record. nor does it appear how the young historian came upon the evidence of its longevity. at oxford, hogg heard strange tales of the field place snake; and listening to them, as they came from his young friend's lips, the hard-headed north-countryman may well have wondered why his young friend told so many more lies than were necessary. but if hogg dismissed the great snake legends from his mind, as mere levities undeserving of remembrance, some of the poet's historians would have them treated more respectfully. believing in the great snake, and gushing over it in a style that appears slightly comical to unbelievers, mr. buxton forman ejaculates, 'we think of these things, and remember the anecdote of the "great old snake" of field place, beloved of the little percy, and killed by the scythe of the gardener, and almost wonder what inarticulate dirge the little boy uttered over his mutilated favourite'!!! it still remains for a royal academician to put on canvas this pathetic scene:--the child shelley uttering an inarticulate dirge over the corse of his mutilated favourite, whilst the remorseless and all unfeeling gardener pursues his daily wages with the fatal knife. other facts touching the etonian may be gleaned from miss hellen shelley's letters, or the pages of less delightful writers. sometimes he is seen taking his sisters for country walks. at other times he is seen on his pony, riding, perhaps, to 'the meet' of his grandsire's hounds; for much as he loved money, and much as he may have grudged the cost of his kennel, old sir bysshe kept hounds, and a huntsman and 'whips' almost to the last. there were times when he walked forth shooting, with a gun in his hand and a dog at his heels. on one occasion the humour seized him to don the garb of a farmer's hind, and bearing a truss of hay on his back walk across the field place lawn, and under the very windows through which his sisters were looking. it was, doubtless, some two years or more before this bit of rural masquerading, that he used to walk out in the evening, to look at the moon and stars, moving to and fro in the park, and in the warnham lanes, with the butler at his heels, to watch over him and take care of him. there was also a day, when this--in his sisters' eyes, so marvellous--etonian spoke to them seriously of his intention to buy a little gipsy-girl, and train her to love him and depend upon him. but nothing in all miss hellen shelley's reminiscences is more eloquent of the pride she took in her marvellous brother, than her recollection of the pleasure she took in admiring 'the beautifully fitting silk pantaloons,' and other sumptuous raiment he was allowed to order 'according to his own fancy at eton.' little hellen's delight was perfect when she saw this exemplary etonian standing, after the fashion of men and boys, with his back to the fire, posturing, and playing with his coat-tails, so as to display his slight figure and exquisite nether-garments to the best advantage. what though this superb brother now and then stained his little sister's pinafores and frocks with lunar-caustic, and otherwise injured them with the chemicals he used in his scientific experiments? going to eton in (probably in the early autumn) shelley left the school in disgrace, some time towards the close of . the exact date of his withdrawal from the college has never been revealed by the authorities of field place, who have been no less reticent respecting the circumstances that resulted in his premature removal from the seminary, where he failed to win the approval of the masters, though he succeeded eventually in making himself acceptable to the boys. why lady shelley, writing 'from authentic sources,' was thus silent on particulars of no slight moment, the present writer makes no suggestion. all he can say positively on these points is that shelley left the school in disgrace, which there is reason for thinking he richly merited, and left it at the time already stated. his eton career, therefore, cannot have exceeded three years by very many weeks. in so short a time, however, he endured more suffering than falls to the lot of an ordinary schoolboy, and at the same time achieved a reputation that long survived his departure from the school, and would have lived for several years in its traditions, even if his subsequent career had not given his former comrades at the famous seat of learning, other and stronger reasons for holding him in remembrance. on the girlish side of his nature, bysshe was no boy to conciliate the riotous, overbearing urchins of the public school. when the masculine elements of his constitution came to be in the ascendant, he made enemies of the masters; and at eton, in 'old keate's time,' to have a bad character with the masters was to come under the lash of a gentleman who surpassed mulcaster and busby as a severe disciplinarian. if any kind of posthumous renown is better than none, this gentleman may be numbered amongst the fortunate members of his profession; for his fame will not perish so long as orbilius is remembered. shelley soon learnt that dr. greenlaw's hand was light in comparison with the hand of the etonian master-in-chief; that his rods were feathers in comparison with the implements of torture wielded by dr. keate. succeeding a head-master, the mildness of whose rigour had rendered him the scorn of pedagogues and the jest of schoolboys, dr. keate ascended his throne with a purpose of restoring the discipline of the school to the ancient standard of etonian severity. just the man to accomplish this ambition, he failed only by raising the discipline something higher than the standard he proposed to his energies. it is recorded of this squat, stout, thickset, crooked-legged man, that a look of cruel glee played over his countenance as he conned the names of a heavy flogging-bill. a man of humour and a lover of good cheer, he was a hospitable entertainer; and it has been told admiringly of him, how he would leave his guests over their wine, and half-an-hour later return to them with heightened gaiety after flogging a batch of gentlemanly young culprits. if he has not been strangely maligned by history and tradition, he used to stand for the hour together over the penal block with his right shoulder well thrown back, and his right arm moving like a piece of machinery. he is said to have flogged eighty boys on a single morning, throwing his whole force into every stripe, smiling grimly as he went on in the path of duty, and finally retiring to his breakfast with an air of serene complacence pervading the visage, that bore so striking a resemblance to the visage of a bull-dog. prominence is here given to these matters out of deference to those of the shelleyan enthusiasts who, like mrs. shelley and lady shelley, insist that harsh and ferocious schoolmasters are to be held accountable for whatever was slightly amiss in the poet, before he shone forth a faultless creature. arising in no way from deficiency of materials, which, save in respect to one or two matters, are superabundant for the biographer's purpose, the chief difficulty in describing shelley's course at eton is the difficulty of discriminating between the trustworthy and delusive materials, and especially of separating the threads of pure fact from the threads of pure fiction used in about equal proportion in the manufacture of statements that, without the exercise of cautious and nice discernment, might be accepted as wholly true or altogether devoid of evidential value. for instance, in dealing with the statements by mr. packe, touching shelley's career at eton--statements to which lady shelley accords her unqualified credence and conclusive 'imprimatur'--it is by no means easy to separate the threads of truth from the threads of fable. 'among my latest recollections of shelley's life at eton,' says mr. packe, at the end of his letter, 'is the publication of _zastrozzi_, for which, i think, he received _l._ with part of the proceeds he gave a most magnificent banquet to eight of his friends, among whom i was included.' in these few words there are three mis-statements. as shelley left eton in the later part of , and _zastrozzi_ was not published before the th of june (or, at the earliest, before the end of may), , it is certain that the publication of the novel was no incident of shelley's life at the school. it being certain that shelley received never a farthing of publisher's money for the absurd performance, mr. packe must have been wrong in saying the author was paid _l._ for it. [mr. packe's words, 'for which, i think, he received _l._,' are, of course, to be read 'for which he received, i think, _l._'--_i.e._ as the statement of a witness, certain that a considerable sum was paid, though uncertain whether _l._ was the precise sum.] as the author received no money for the book, he cannot have given 'with part of the proceeds' (_i.e._ part of nothing) 'a most magnificent banquet to eight of his friends.' but though he gives three pieces of delusive evidence in three lines of type, it does not follow that the lines are of no evidential value. an honest person, writing in good faith, mr. packe may be fairly regarded as a person, remembering something about _zastrozzi_ in connexion with eton (where the novel, or some part of it, was certainly written); with remembering something, also, of shelley's farewell feast to a party of friends at eton; with remembering, moreover (or, at least, believing that he remembered), that shelley was said to have been paid _l._, more or less, for the literary production. these recollections (albeit the recollections of a very mistaken and very much misinformed witness) are not to be rejected as altogether valueless, but kept in reserve as honest statements and possibly veritable recollections, unfit to be used as testimony by themselves, but quite fit to be used in confirmation of similar recollections by other people. could it be shown in like way that each of the other guests, either at the time of the banquet or some time afterwards, was under the impression that the feast was paid for with publisher's money, no person competent to sift and weigh evidence would hesitate in coming to the conclusion that the banquet was given by shelley as a thing bought with money he had received from a publisher,--that the common impression of the eight independent witnesses was the result of representations made by the giver of the feast. but what was lady shelley about, when she--drawing her information from 'authentic sources,' and proclaiming the superiority of her book to all shelleyan biographies from 'unauthentic sources'--allowed the three lines of mr. packe's letter, and other equally faulty lines of it, to go before the public as sure and trustworthy information? if biographies from 'authentic sources' are made up in this fashion, readers may with reason come to prefer biographies 'from unauthentic sources.' as lady shelley has forced her literary method and address into contrast with those of the man of letters, whom she discharged with strange discourtesy, she must not resent the assurance that the comparison she has provoked is not to mr. hogg's disadvantage. in the sufficient evidences respecting shelley at eton, critical readers make the acquaintance of two very different shelleys:--the girlish shelley (of mr. walter halliday's letter) who 'was not made to endure the rough and boisterous pastime at eton,' never 'joined in the usual sports of the boys, and, what is remarkable, never went out in a boat on the river,' but preferred to ramble about clewer, frogmore, and stoke park, by himself, or with a single companion of congenial gentleness; and the combative shelley, whose unruliness and contumacious behaviour to his masters gained for him the office and title of 'the atheist' of the school. differing little from the moping and discontented lad of his last year at sion house, the girlish etonian exhibits several points of resemblance to byron in the earlier part of his unhappy time at harrow; and in like manner when he has risen to be the arch-rebel of the school, the saucy and combative etonian reminds one of the combative byron, leading the riotous harrovians, and rising with atheistical impudence against dr. butler's authority. in one respect shelley entered eton under circumstances far more advantageous than those that caused byron to hate his public school in the opening terms of his connexion with it. unlike byron, who went to harrow, so badly prepared for its studies, that, had it not been for dr. drury's sympathetic consideration, he would have been put (to his poignant humiliation) in a form of quite little boys, much younger than himself, shelley went to his public school well grounded in latin and greek. 'he had,' says medwin, 'been so well grounded in the classics, that it required little labour for him to get up his daily lessons.' medwin's testimony on this point is sustained by the evidence of messrs. packe and halliday, two of the poet's contemporaries at eton. during his stay at the public school, shelley seems to have resided successively at two different houses. getting his information from old etonians, who had known the author of _laon and cythna_ at eton, mr. middleton certifies that the future poet boarded, in , at the house of mr. hexter, the writing-master, 'one of those extra masters, some of whom resided at the college, and, holding an amphibious rank between the tutor and the dame, were allowed to take boarders.' subsequently he is found in the house of mr. bethell, the tutor whom mr. packe (possibly with no more justice than generosity) described half-a-century later as 'one of the dullest men in the establishment.' what mr. packe's qualifications were for passing judgment in this style on one of his former preceptors does not appear; but the solitary epistle, which gives him a place in these pages, would not warrant a confident opinion that brightness was mr. packe's distinguishing characteristic. fortunately, for school-masters, evidence given to their discredit by former pupils is never regarded as evidence of the highest quality by persons of discretion and judicial fairness. possibly mr. packe was as wrong about mr. bethell's intellect, as he was about the date of the publication of _zastrozzi_. but an idle word to the defamation of the eton tutor, with whom shelley came into conflict, was no word for lady shelley to withhold from the world. it has long been the practice of the shelleyan enthusiasts to think and speak the worst of every one with whom the poet had a difference,--to blacken every reputation that could be suspected of lowering the lustre of the poet, who under auspicious circumstances 'might have been "the saviour of the world."' that shelley, on the girlish side of his nature, was no boy 'to take kindly to fagging,' and on the masculine side of his nature was precisely the boy to detest a system under which he might be licked with a bamboo or a leather strap for hard-boiling an egg which he had been told to boil lightly, no one is likely to question. but though it is certain he disliked being made to fag, and more than probable that he showed this dislike in ways to be resented, not only by the proprietors of fags, but also by the most infantile of etonian conservatives, readers are under no obligation to accept for truth all the fine and melodramatic accounts of the efforts made, and sufferings endured by the poet, in order to put an end to so revolting a system of domestic tyranny. getting her fanciful notions of the matter from her husband's lips, mrs. shelley would have us believe that repugnance to fagging was the offence which brought him so often to the block, and rendered him alike unpopular with masters and boys. it is even averred that to put down fagging he organized a conspiracy of the junior etonians against the barbarous practice. that no such conspiracy was begotten and fostered by shelley is certain; for the old etonians, of whom medwin and middleton certainly (peacock and hogg almost certainly) made inquiries about the matter, had never heard anything of a movement which could not have failed to come to their knowledge, had it ever been an incident of scholastic politics in their time. the truth underlying these fictions is that shelley, like most junior boys, conceived a hatred of 'fagging,' suffered much from it, and having, unlike most junior boys, the rashness to declare the hatred, paid the penalty of his rashness, in being cuffed, licked, and silenced in various painful and exasperating ways. this seems to be the whole of the case, which he magnified in later time into a far greater affair. to peacock, he used to speak of the cruelties practised upon him by senior boys at eton, with a show of abhorrence only surpassed by his display of indignation and disgust at the monstrous barbarities done him by lord chancellor eldon. in still later time he doubtless spoke even more passionately to his wife of the fires of etonian persecution. men sometimes say strange things to their wives; and, in certain moods, wives are even quicker to believe the strange things, than in other moods to suspect untruth in the commonplace things told them by their lords. after brooding for twelve years or more over the sorrows and wrongs he endured at eton, the poet believed all he imagined about them. though shelley suffered no little at eton from 'fagging,' he suffered far more from the particular bullying that flourishes under the system he detested, quite as much as in schools where fags are unknown, and senior boys have no especial and peculiar slaves. in behalf of 'fagging' it is justly urged that if the master licks his 'fag,' he is quick on the score of dignity and ownership to protect him from maltreatment by other senior boys;--that if the 'fag' is bullied by his proper lord, he is secured by 'the system' from being bullied by a score of tyrants. none the less true is it that, though the system saves a junior boy from the tyranny of several tyrants acting individually and separately, it is powerless to guard him from the oppression of many tyrants acting conjointly and in mass. subject to the certain tyranny (more or less severe and irritating) of a single despot, the fag is also liable to the uncertain tyranny of the playground (_i.e._, of the multitude of his schoolmates, acting in unison), a tyranny which his peculiar owner can do little or nothing to moderate. in his earlier time at eton, shelley suffered more than most boys of his age from the tyranny of the playground. boys are quick to discover the peculiarities of their companions, and no less quick to discover something offensive in those peculiarities. having discovered the offensiveness, they conceive themselves morally entitled--and, indeed, by honour bound--to chastise the individual who by force of his disagreeable peculiarities offends them. of all peculiarities likely to offend a multitude of schoolboys and set them at war with a junior boy, none is more certain to give offence than a 'general queerness,' allied with unsociability. the shy, nervous, moping boy from field place had not been a week at eton before he was found guilty of 'general queerness.' he had not been there a month before he was found guilty of unsociability. these facts having been found against the boy who held aloof from other boys, the playground began to ridicule him, hoot at him, mob him. under these provocations the nervous and excitable boy vented his rage with shrill screams of fury. obviously, the boy who responded in this violent style was a boy worth the trouble of 'baiting.' it was good fun to hem him in, mimic his cries of rage, point derisive fingers at him, and burst into clamorous laughter, when he uttered a more than ordinarily shrill shriek of rage and anguish. when he clenched his fist, and rushed at the nearest of his tormentors with the intention of striking him, the playground fled before him--not in real terror, as lady shelley imagines--but with a mere show of fright simulated for his further annoyance, the promotion of general hilarity, and the maintenance of 'sport.' it was the practice of etonians, in shelley's earlier time, to assemble on dark winter evenings under the cloisters, and amuse themselves in this droll fashion. the name of a particular boy (one known probably to be in the rear of the multitude coming from the playing-grounds) was shouted aloud, as though he were needed for some urgent business. the cry having been thus raised, it grew louder and louder from the increasing energy and growing number of the voices. on the appearance of the boy owning the name, the clamour was redoubled. everyone drew to one side or the other to make a way for him. it was useless for him to proclaim his presence and beg the shouters to spare their lungs. no words of his utterance could be heard in the uproar. could they have been heard, any words from him would only stimulate the shouters to shout yet louder. there was no course open to him but to walk straight on through two lines of excited faces to the point, where the demand for his presence had originated. on coming to that point he found (if he did not know it before) that nobody wanted him, and was received with peals of laughter. in its origin the game was doubtless a lively, piquant, and comparatively inoffensive practical joke at the expense of a lad, who, imagining himself called for some serious cause, hastened at full speed to discover he had been summoned for nothing. but it is in the nature of practical jokes to degenerate into cruel jokes, however amiable they may have been in the first instance. as soon as this particular joke had lost its newness, the boy thus shouted for knew that he was being made a fool of, felt himself insulted, grew angry; his anger being further stimulated by some new variation of the game of torture. it having been discovered that shelley suffered keenly from the ridicule of the playing-fields, he was selected evening after evening for this particular 'baiting.' evening after evening the cry was raised of 'shelley, shelley, shelley!' as he ran the gauntlet of derisive faces and voices, fingers were pointed at him. not seldom he came in for rougher usage. if he was carrying books under his arm, a blow from behind scattered them on the ground. his clothes were pulled and torn. more than once a muddy football, deriving its impetus from a well-planted kick, came with the force of a spent shot down the narrow alley of deriders, caught him in his shirt-front, and bounding upwards, made his face as dirty as his frill. mr. middleton was assured by an eye-witness of these scenes that the fury, to which shelley was goaded by his tormentors, 'made his eyes flash like a tiger's, his cheeks grow pale as death, his limbs quiver, and his hair stand on end.' it is probable that the boy's shrill screeches of rage, wild gesticulations, and frantic appearance, whilst he was thus baited and ridiculed by the whole school, first suggested to his persecutors that 'mad' was the fittest epithet to put before his surname. anyhow, he was known in the school as 'mad shelley,' both before and after he had earned the less opprobrious designation of 'the atheist.' at a time when 'mad shelley' was the butt of the playing-grounds, eton was visited by an itinerant lecturer, who received permission to deliver a course of lectures on astronomy, chemistry, electricity, and mechanics, to the boys of the school. familiarly designated 'old walker,' this vagrant professor used to go about the country with his assistant-demonstrator, orrery, solar microscope, electrical machine, and other scientific apparatus; lecturing at the superior boys' schools and girls' schools of the provincial towns. without medwin's testimony to the point, it would have been safe to assume that the wandering lecturer, who was permitted to enlighten the boys of the most aristocratic of our great public schools, had also the honour of rendering the same service to the boys of dr. greenlaw's academy. medwin, however, speaks so precisely of the visit old walker paid sion house during bysshe's second or third year at the school, and of the lively interest taken by shelley in the professor's demonstrations, that he is not, in consideration of his frequent inaccuracies, to be declared guilty of error on the main facts of this part of his narrative. it is, of course, conceivable that blundering tom medwin assigned to the great room of the brentford academy incidents of a later date and another scene. but it is more probable he was guiltless of the mistake. anyhow, shelley had not long suffered under imputations of madness at eton, when he heard old walker's course of lectures for the second time, if medwin was right--for the first time, if medwin was wrong in the matter. at eton, 'old walker' had an eager devourer of his words, a delighted witness of his experimental demonstrations, in mad shelley. the lectures had on shelley all the effect they were designed to produce on intelligent lads. producing on him all the effect desired by the professor, they were also fruitful of results, that in the opinion of the eton masters far exceeded the limits of wholesome interest. it is conceivable that, had dr. keate, and mr. bethell, and mr. hexter, known how the boy would be stirred and excited by the lectures, old walker would not have received permission to deliver them to the collegians, or mad shelley would not have been allowed to be present at their delivery. like many other boys before and after his time, mad shelley was so taken by the lectures, that it is only a permissible figure of speech to say, he 'went mad' on natural science. before old walker cleared out of eton, the boy had become the owner of a solar microscope, and bought an electrical machine of old walker's assistant. in mr. hexter's house the boy (_ætat._ thirteen and fourteen) had shown more concern for english literature than for any other accessible means of pastime,--reading works of prose (as he had done at brentford), learning by rote passages from the english poets, and composing childish dramas with the assistance of a fellow-pupil and fellow-fag of the same house, named amos; amusing himself, in short, in accordance with his genuine and strongest intellectual taste and ambition. one of the happiest and most agreeable glimpses to be had of mad shelley in his earlier time of eton, affords a view of the boy, running nimbly up and down the stairs of mr. hexter's house, and singing out cheerily the witches' song of _macbeth_:-- 'double, double, toil and trouble: fire burn and cauldron bubble.' of the plays composed by the two boys nothing is known at the present date, save that they were performed by the author before a third fag of their house, matthews, who was the solitary witness of the performances, and, it may be hoped, an enthusiastically applausive one. in the new excitement and interests, to which old walker's lectures gave birth, shelley's care for english literature languished. like other children he cared only for the new toy. like other boys possessed by the scientific mania, he for a while delighted in nothing but his scientific apparatus, contrivances, experiments. for a time it was true that he cared for no learning that his masters taught. during this passion for the experimental study of scientific phenomena, one of his exploits was to lay a long train of gunpowder between a decaying tree and a point, at some distance from the tree, and then to fire the gunpowder by means of a burning-glass,--with a result altogether satisfactory to the youthful experimentalist,--but less satisfactory to the owner of the ancient tree, and by no means to the approval of the masters, who were responsible for the behaviour of the boys, and for the safety of the buildings of eton college. on another occasion, after his transference from mr. hexter's house to the house of the gentleman described by mr. packe as 'one of the dullest men of the establishment,' he was busy at dead of night in his bedroom with his 'chemical studies' (as they are grandly styled by the shelleyan enthusiasts), when he upset a frying-pan full of ingredients into the fire, with consequences that roused all the sleepers in the house, and made them in the morning congratulate themselves on not having been burnt to death in their beds by mad shelley. it certainly does not sustain mr. packe's contemptuous opinion of the tutor, that mr. bethell was bright enough to think he had better check his pupil's enthusiasm for scientific inquiry. it can scarcely be regarded as evidence of his dullness that this gentleman felt it his duty to see what mad shelley was after, and take steps to preserve his house and its inmates from the quick destruction, with which they were threatened by the rather lawless proceedings of an eccentric boy. with this purpose in view, mr. bethell paid shelley's room a visit at a moment, when the young gentleman was then and there enlarging his knowledge of nature, by the scientific production of a blue flame, though the boys of mr. bethell's house had been forbidden to produce blue or any other flame in their bedrooms. 'chemical experiments,' airily remarks lady shelley, who, taking the story from the page of a previous writer, seems to think it even more to her father-in-law's credit than to the tutor's manifest shame, 'were prohibited in the boys' chambers; and the tutor (mr. bethel) somewhat angrily asked what the lad was doing. shelley jocularly replied that he was raising the devil. mr. bethel seized hold of a mysterious implement on the table, and in an instant was thrown against the wall, having grasped a highly charged electrical machine. of course the young experimentalist paid dearly for this unfortunate occurrence.' and equally, of course, he deserved to pay dearly for the 'unfortunate occurrence.' positively this story is told in proof that young bysshe shelley was a youth of parts, genius, and exceeding sweetness of disposition. a boy (probably fifteen years old, possibly a year older by this time) is caught in his bedroom doing what he has been forbidden to do. coming upon the boy when he is so occupied, his tutor says, somewhat angrily, 'what are you doing?' instead of answering this by no means impertinent question in the respectful tone required by mere good breeding, the boy answers 'cheekily' (the shelleyan enthusiasts must pardon me for using a schoolboy's word, to describe the schoolboy's misdemeanour), 'i am raising the devil.' on seeing his tutor approach a powerfully charged electric battery, with outstretched hand, instead of crying out 'don't touch it, sir; it will do you injury,' the boy ('the young experimentalist!'), holding his tongue, allows his tutor to touch the machine, and to be thrown violently against a wall. lady shelley would have us think this 'young experimentalist' a nice, loyal, fine-natured, gentlemanly boy; would have us join in a shout of derision at 'one of the dullest men of the establishment;' would have us think this pleasant boy badly treated, because he was whipt for his misbehaviour. i cannot do as lady shelley would have me. on the contrary, knowing the temper and gracious qualities of public schoolboys, i have no doubt they will, for the most and best part, concur with me in saying, that shelley (superb poet though he became in later time) behaved badly in this business, and deserved all that he 'caught' from dr. keate for unruliness, so wholly 'out of form.' shelley having caused so much trouble with his experimental excesses, it was decided that, to prevent them from turning their bedrooms into laboratories and setting fire to rotten timber, the boys should at least for awhile be forbidden to play at being chemical students. a book on chemistry, which shelley had borrowed of mr. medwin, the horsham attorney (tom medwin's father), being found in the lad's room, it was sent by his tutor to mr. timothy shelley, of field place, who passed the volume on to its owner, saying in a note (referred to in the younger medwin's _life of shelley_), 'i have returned the book on chemistry, as it is a forbidden thing at eton.' as chemistry, thus forbidden in , cannot be supposed to have been forbidden in the school when old walker was permitted to make the boys take an interest in the science, it is a fair inference that the prohibition resulted in some degree from annoyances, coming to the school through the lecturer's most interested auditor. mad shelley's electrical machine, and other scientific apparatus, would probably have been sent to field place, together with the volume on chemistry, had he not already deposited them for safe keeping in the hands of a certain white-headed gentleman, who will soon receive the attention he merits at the hands of the present writer. those who knew shelley best in his boyhood did not imagine at the time, that the 'prohibition of chemistry' would dispose him to desist from the forbidden pastime. those who knew him best in later time concurred in thinking that the order to refrain from chemical inquiry and experiments would only quicken his enthusiasm for the proscribed amusement. 'might not this extraordinary prohibition,' asks mr. medwin, speaking from his personal knowledge of his cousin in boyhood and manhood, 'have the more stimulated shelley to engage in the pursuit?' in the same spirit, mr. rossetti remarks, with equal sagacity and justice. 'no doubt the great turn for chemical experiment which he developed at eton, and which became his chief passion there, had as much to do with an impressible fancy, and with the fact that chemical practice was prohibited to the schoolboys in their chambers, as with scientific tendencies.' it is certain, that instead of having any natural aptitude for the practice, shelley was unusually deficient in the qualities, requisite in a scientific experimentalist. a dreamer, a visionary, and an enthusiast, he wanted the nice touch, the fine perception of minute phenomena, the intellectual patience, the mental disposition for accuracy in the smallest details. it is certain that the man, who, even in his proper art, was curiously careless of verbal details, never had any sincere disposition for pursuits, in which nothing can be done without incessant attention to minutiæ,--for pursuits which repel the student, who does not delight in the painful vigilance and methodical exactness of scientific inquiry. had he played with the microscope to the last hour of a long life, as he played with it fitfully for several years after leaving eton, he would never for a single hour have been 'a worker' with it. he was singularly wanting in what mr. rossetti calls 'scientific tendencies.' on the other hand, it is no less manifest that in his earlier time a certain mental and moral perversity--a perversity by no means uncommon in young people, and only a few degrees less common in persons of mature age--gave him a keen appetite for fruit he was forbidden to pluck, and a distaste for whatever fruit he was required to enjoy. the majority of boys take to smoking (a very disagreeable pastime to beginners), even as thomas carlyle confessed he took to it,--'for the pure sin of it.' just as the chelsea sage began smoking because he was ordered not to smoke, the etonian shelley pursued chemistry because he was ordered not to pursue it. had it not been for the needful prohibition of the pastime, that threw the school into disorder and threatened boarding-houses with destruction, the enthusiasm for science, for which old walker's lectures were in the first instance accountable, would soon have died out. forbidden to play with his chemical apparatus and munitions, shelley cared for no other pastime, and maintained that the pastime was a serious pursuit. had the authorities of the school ordered every boy to study chemistry and astronomy, and put their ban on the pursuit of classical lore, shelley would soon have declared natural science a profitless kind of busy idleness, and would have 'wrought linked-armour for his soul' out of latin and greek books. this perversity must be borne in mind by those who would take a true view of the shelley of later times,--the shelley who at oxford soon ceased to care for the 'experimental studies' in which he was at liberty to waste his whole time, and cared especially for the sceptical writers whom he was admonished to avoid; the shelley who, on coming from the university into the wider world, threw himself into the arms of the revolutionary doctrinaires (before he had given three weeks to the study of political science), because his natural advisers,--the persons with the strongest title to direct him authoritatively,--bade and entreated him to give no heed to such dangerous teachers. having come into conflict with the eton masters on the blue-flame question, and the natural right of every eton boy to possess an electrical machine and use it at his pleasure for the humiliation of his tutor, shelley was nearing the time when the unanimous voice of the forms (_minus_ the masters) proclaimed him 'the atheist' of the school. under the persecutions of the playground, which had goaded him out of his girlishness into thought and action, that revealed the masculine forces of his nature, shelley was ceasing to be the sion house 'faint heart' and 'milksop,' when old walker visited eton. in the subsequent battle for freedom of scientific inquiry, the boy's combativeness became daily more and more apparent; his carelessness for his own skin and his contempt for dr. keate's rods more and more sublime, till mad shelley, ceasing to be everybody's butt, became a boy of pluck and merit to the whole school,--a possible martyr in the sacred cause of scholastic disorder,--a lad who cared not a fig for keate or any of keate's underlings. from the mad-dog of the eton playing-grounds, he had risen to the proud position of the eton atheist. the girlish shelley had for the moment become 'a boy,'--a very naughty boy! let there be no misunderstanding about this rather sensational title. a boy might be the eton atheist, and at the same time be a sound and unwavering believer in every doctrine of the thirty-nine articles. the gods of eton were only the masters of the school; the sceptics of eton were nothing more terrible than those naughty boys who held these masters full cheap, and questioned their natural fitness for the authority given into their hands. the atheist of eton was the boy who surpassed all the other naughty boys in contempt for the masters, and not content with questioning their natural fitness for their official eminence, boldly and utterly denied it. no etonian sceptic could question, no etonian atheist could deny the existence of gods who daily entered boys' names on flogging-bills. dr. keate's rods were no things to be ignored; the wielder of those rods was a person, whose existence could not be questioned. his character, however, was open to criticism, and the lord high atheist spoke his mind about it with freedom. before an etonian could rise to the position of lord high atheist, or even become a candidate for the office, it was needful for him to distinguish himself from ordinary deriders of the pedagogic species by some super-puerile extravagance of audacity. the youngster, who preceded shelley in the atheist's chair, had one dark winter's night taken possession of the huge, richly-gilded bunch of grapes, which hung in front of 'the christopher tavern,' and having so taken into his keeping the inn-sign, suspended it over the door of the head-master's house. in the morning, on rushing over his threshold to get to chapel in time for sacred service, this head-master ran full butt into the bunch of grapes, with consequences altogether satisfactory to the contriver and doer of the practical joke, who witnessed the successful issue of his arrangements from a convenient corner. it is needless to say that, after executing this feat in contempt of the greatest of the etonian gods, the borrower of the grapes was declared lord high atheist before he had lived another day. it is uncertain what egregious act of profanity raised shelley to the same eminence. possibly the affair with the electric battery, that hurled mr. bethell against the bedroom wall, may have contributed to the future poet's elevation to an office, which he does not seem to have disgraced. anyhow, it is certain that shelley became the lord high atheist of the school, and that he would not have attained to this distinction, had he not been regarded by his comrades as the most unruly and impudent boy of the establishment. whilst holding this office, not content with deriding the masters and disobeying their orders at every turn, the boy also distinguished himself by the fervour and blasphemous ingenuity with which he used to curse the king (george the third), and used also to curse his own father. it speaks ill for the tone of etonian manners during the poet's time at the public school, that the boys used to gather round the lord high atheist on a hint that he meant forthwith to curse his own father. the willing listeners never seem to have expressed disgust at the comminatory performance. on the contrary, the frequently repeated entertainment was thought so droll and piquant that, during his short stay at oxford, shelley was entreated, at least on one occasion, to curse his father yet again for the gratification of two or three of his former schoolfellows. hogg, who was present on this occasion, records that shelley yielded reluctantly to the entreaty; but he _did_ consent to the importunity of the old etonians, and 'delivered with vehemence and animation a string of execrations, greatly resembling in its absurdity a papal anathema.' though he joined in the 'hearty laugh,' that rewarded the performer, hogg, on the departure of the two or three etonians, exclaimed, 'why, you young reprobate, who in the world taught you to curse your father,--your own father?'--an inquiry to which shelley replied:-- 'my grandfather, sir bysshe, partly; but principally my friend, dr. lind, at eton. when anything goes wrong at field place, my father does nothing but swear all day long afterwards. whenever i have gone with my father to visit sir bysshe, he always received him with a tremendous oath, and continued to heap curses upon his head so long as he remained in the room.' ever ready, though he was, to give evidence to his father's discredit, the undergraduate did not venture to charge his father with retorting sir bysshe's maledictions. whilst mr. timothy shelley appears only to have sworn after a bad fashion of the period, the first baronet of castle goring exceeded the licence of blasphemy accorded to gentlemen by a custom, more honoured in the breach than the observance. it remains to be seen how the shelleyan enthusiasts will deal with the record of shelley's habit of cursing his father, when the public shall have been educated to approve every act of the poet's life; but at present they glide lightly over the ugly business in memoirs for the general reader, glossing it with suggestions of wilful misstatement or unconscious exaggeration on the part of the poet's earliest biographer. even mr. forman forbears to hint that shelley's resemblance to the saviour of the world is heightened by the poet's behaviour to his father. in the coteries, however, where the shelleyan apologists speak with less caution, these cursing bouts are sometimes referred to for evidence that, even in his boyhood, the author of _laon and cythna_ was a person of infinite jest and subtle humour. these apologists must bear with a writer who sees much to condemn, and nothing to admire, in such exhibitions of unfilial rancour and profanity. there are jokes and jokes;--those that can be enjoyed, those that can be tolerated, and those that are absolutely intolerable. the joke of a boy cursing his own father for the amusement of his schoolfellows is one of the intolerable kind. the reader may be safely left to select a fitter word than 'humourist' for the designation of the young gentleman, who amused himself and his friends in so revolting a manner. mr. walter s. halliday, by the way, must have forgotten all about these cursing-bouts, when he wrote to lady shelley, 'he' (_i.e._, the poet at eton) 'had great moral courage and feared nothing, but what was base, false, and low.' surely it is base and low for a boy to curse his own father for the pure fun of the thing. who was dr. james lind, chiefly famous (and infamous) as shelley's chief instructor in the science and art of cursing? drawing her facts from 'authentic sources,' lady shelley speaks of him as 'an erudite scholar and amiable old man, much devoted to chemistry, at whose house shelley passed the happiest of his eton hours.' 'he was a physician,' the lady adds, 'and also one of the tutors.' recording that dr. james lind bore 'a name well known among the professors of medical science,' mrs. shelley has also put it on record that 'the doctor often stood by to befriend and support the persecuted, and that her husband never, in after-life, mentioned his name without love and reverence.' shelley himself used to say of this amiable and erudite old man, 'he loved me, and i shall never forget our long talks, where he breathed the spirit of the kindest tolerance and the purest wisdom.' without alleging that he speaks from other and better authorities than the poet, his widow and his daughter-in-law, mr. rossetti says of shelley and his peculiar patron, 'the only official person whom he really liked there' (_i.e._ eton) 'was dr. james lind of windsor, a physician, chemist, and tutor, and a man of erudition, who superintended the youth's scientific studies.' had he only deserved half the praise lavished upon him, dr. lind would have been a man of extraordinary goodness. but, unfortunately, it is only too clear that he was a mischievous, malignant, hard-swearing old man, who gained great influence over the etonian shelley, and used it hurtfully. possibly lady shelley and later biographers were justified in writing of this bad old man, as though he held a tutorial office on the eton establishment; but without being in a position to speak positively to their discredit, the present writer ventures to entertain a doubt of their accuracy on this matter, and to give dr. james lind the full benefit of the doubt. if the doctor was one of the eton tutors, he was even a worse man than he is declared in these pages; for in that case the man, who encouraged shelley to study chemistry in defiance of the recent prohibition, and to persist in his contumacy to the masters of the school, was guilty of encouraging the boy to rebel against authority, which he was bound by honour and official obligations to maintain. the grey-headed tutor, who secretly stimulated the boy's rebellious spirit, and applauded him for it, was wanting in loyalty, and not guiltless of treachery, to his comrades in tutorial service. but in the absence of clear evidence to the contrary, it may be assumed that the amiable and extremely benevolent old gentleman, who taught a fifteen-or sixteen-years-old boy to curse his father, was under no especial obligation to have a care for the lad's moral health, apart from the general duty of every man to encourage what is virtuous, and discountenance what is vicious in all persons, over whom he has any influence. if mrs. shelley was right in saying dr. james lind made himself famous among the professors of medical science, it is strange that the fame at this date rests chiefly on the lady's certificate. though he has inquired of the persons most likely to have heard of dr. lind's services to science, the present writer has learnt nothing of the deeds from which so bright a fame should have proceeded. all that is known with certainty at this present date about this amiable and benevolent old man, apart from his pernicious intimacy with the young etonian, is that during shelley's time he was a medical practitioner (certainly no physician of the london college) following his vocation at windsor, that he had for his housekeeper a miss lind (his daughter or sister), that he was a hard swearer, and that, conceiving himself to have been badly treated by george the third, he used to make much of his grievance, and waste many words and much time in cursing the king who had done him evil. what the man's grievance was, that made him think so ill of poor old george the third, is wholly a matter for conjecture. the doctor may have been employed for awhile at 'the castle,' and been superseded by a younger doctor. he may have failed in some candidature for a medical office within the royal borough, and discovered grounds for attributing his misadventure to the influence of the castle. the grievance may have been a real one, or an affair of the imagination. all that can be told of the matter, in this year of grace, is that the doctor believed himself to have been 'infamously treated' by the king, and that, in a manner scarcely accordant with all that has been written of his amiability and benevolence, seldom allowed a day to pass without doing his best to consign his royal enemy to the lowest and darkest pit of perdition. the lord high atheist of the etonians used to join dr. and miss lind over their tea-table twice or thrice a-week, and after the meal spend in their society those happy hours (mentioned by lady shelley) during which he learnt how to curse his father more strenuously by hearing the doctor curse his king. the shelleyan enthusiasts are sometimes heard to suggest that hogg may have made too much of what shelley told him about the physician's comminatory taste and achievements. but there is no evidence that hogg was guilty of the exaggeration. nor is there any reason to suppose shelley was more than just to his teacher's consummate mastery of malediction. yet it was of this doctor, who swore so heavily over his willow-pattern tea-cups, whose swearing was so inexpressibly piquant to its youthful auditor, that shelley wrote some eight years later in _laon and cythna_, as though the man of oaths and imprecations were chiefly remarkable for philosophic dignity, sweetness of speech, mildness of manners. it was of his intercourse with this embittered and scurrilous apothecary, that the poet wrote in _prince athanase_ with equal melody and falseness:-- 'prince athanase had one belovèd friend, an old, old man, with hair of silver white, and lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend with his wise words; * * * * * such was zonoras; and as daylight finds one amaranth glittering on the path of frost, when autumn nights have nipt all weaker kinds, thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tost, shone truth upon zonoras; and he filled from fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost, the spirit of prince athanase, a child, with soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore and philosophic wisdom, clear and mild. and sweet and subtle talk now evermore, the pupil and the master shared; until, sharing that undiminishable store, the youth, as shadows on a grassy hill outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran his teacher, and did teach with native skill strange truths and new to that experienced man; still they were friends, as few have ever been who mark the extremes of life's discordant span.' it was to this amiable and wise physician that shelley was indebted for another practice, scarcely less hurtful to his moral character, and far more fruitful to him of disaster at the outset of life, than his revolting habit of cursing his own father. not content with teaching him to curse his parent, dr. lind taught the boy it was good fun to inveigle unwary people into scientific controversies, to trip them up with catch-questions, and then to laugh at them for being fools. by this mild-natured and benevolent physician (who is usually described as satisfying the boy's hunger for wholesome knowledge, and ministering to his spiritual needs) shelley, whilst at eton, was taught to write letters under assumed names to persons interested in, but only slightly acquainted with, chemistry,--in order to discover their ignorance, and then have the pleasure of laughing insolently at it. the letters written for this amiable purpose (under dr. lind's instruction) were for the most part written deceitfully,--_i.e._ with a false show of being written by a young and ingenuous inquirer after truth, and with a false name and address. can any diversion be imagined more likely to infuse a boy with self-conceit and arrogance, to inspire him with the temper most foreign to genuine love of knowledge, and giving him a taste for underhand trickery, to train him how to indulge it habitually? yet the good and wise dr. lind taught the boy to amuse himself in this ungenerous and deceitful way. by-and-bye, the disastrous consequences of this practice on the boy's career at oxford will be seen. that shelley on coming to oxford was so disputatious, so overflowing with scorn for minds he deemed weaker than his own, so ungenerously eager to prove himself wiser than his teachers, so ungenerously quick to show people they were fools, and mock them for being fools, must be attributed in a great degree to his premature introduction (by the humane and judicious dr. lind) to the violent delights of controversy. one of the correspondents, whom the boy thus lured into profitless disputation, is said to have threatened him with a flogging from dr. keate; a threat that is said to have determined the etonian henceforth to approach strangers under cover of a false name and address. had the threat been carried out and the flogging given, the boy would have taken no more than he deserved for his bad manners. to dr. lind the poet was also indebted for his earliest lessons in free thought on matters pertaining to religion. hogg is a good authority for this statement. having thus sown the seeds of religious scepticism in the mind of his young friend, this exemplary physician left them to grow in a congenial soil. it does not appear that the doctor ever troubled himself to observe the consequences of his action in this matter, after his pupil left eton. nor does it appear that, after leaving eton, shelley ever troubled himself to visit, or correspond with, the virtuous sage to whom he declared himself so deeply indebted. for good or evil it cannot be questioned the boy of tender age was influenced in no slight degree by the tutor who educated him to write false epistles, to curse his father, and to repudiate christianity. on finding themselves disposed to regard the 'egotisms' of the shelleyan poems as passages of veracious autobiography, readers should correct the tendency to error by remembering, how the hard-swearing windsor doctor was idealized into the virtuous hermit of _laon and cythna_ and the no less virtuous philosopher of _prince athanase_; how the boy (the poet's former self), who delighted in the doctor's profane and scurrilous utterances, was idealized into the young prince whose heart harboured 'nought of ill,' whose 'gentle, yet aspiring mind,' was alike remarkable for justice, innocence, and various learning; and how, in course of time, the poet believed so completely all his fanciful pen had written to the doctor's honour, that he used to speak of him as an example of wise, stately, and virtuous old age. according to words, spoken by the poet to his second wife, dr. lind's benevolence and dignified demeanour were qualified by youthful ardour. his locks were white, his eyes glowed with supernatural expressiveness, his countenance and mien were eloquent of amiability. 'i owe to that man,' shelley used to ejaculate, 'far, ah! far more than i owe to my father; he loved me, and i never shall forget our long talks, when he breathed the kindest toleration and the purest wisdom.' in this strain shelley used to talk of the man who taught him to curse his own father,--of the man whom he would have remembered only as a profane old reprobate, had he been less completely the victim of his own delusive fancy. it has already been told how shelley spent his eton holidays at field place; how he took his sisters for walks, entertained them with his scientific toys, amused them with romantic stories, and dazzled them with his eton air and stylish clothing; and how he strolled forth by starlight and moonlight to gaze at the heavenly bodies. but precise mention has still to be made of an incident of the etonian's life under his father's roof, to which readers may well give their best attention. at a time when dr. lind's pernicious influence over him was at its height, shelley suffered at field place from a febrile attack attended with delirium,--the illness of which he spoke to william godwin's daughter, before her elopement with him, in these words-- 'once when i was very ill during the holidays, as i was recovering from a fever which had attacked my brain, a servant overheard my father consult about sending me to a private madhouse. i was a favourite among all our servants, so this fellow came and told me as i lay sick in bed. my horror was beyond words, and i might soon have been mad indeed, if they had proceeded in their iniquitous plan. i had one hope. i was master of three pounds of money, and, with the servant's help, i contrived to send an express to dr. lind. he came, and i never shall forget his manner on that occasion. his profession gave him authority; his love for me ardour. he dared my father to execute his purpose, and his menaces had the desired effect.' these words were spoken by shelley to mary godwin on the 'night that' (to use her own words) 'decided her destiny; when he opened at first with the confidence of friendship, and then with the ardour of love, his whole heart to me.' mrs. shelley is at great pains to impress her readers with a sense of the precise accuracy of her report of the words, which, it is suggested, determined her, or at least were largely influential, in determining her, to fly with the object of such atrocious paternal malignity. the substantial accuracy of the lady's report is put out of question by hogg, who declares that he heard 'shelley speak of his fever and this scene at field place more than once, in nearly the same terms as mrs. shelley adopts.' it appears, therefore, that, whilst the accuracy of mrs. shelley's report is unquestionable, the statement made to her by her husband is one of the few statements respecting himself, which he repeated at different times with no important variation; the substantial consistency of his several accounts being evidential at least of the earnestness with which he pondered the narrative, and in some degree of the sincerity of his avowals of its truthfulness. like so many of the poet's stories about himself, it was a curious mixture of fact and fiction. as the story, so thoroughly believed and steadily repeated by its teller, points to the period when shelley began to regard his father with morbid fear and aversion, and also to the circumstances that gave birth to so unnatural a state of feeling, it is well to inquire how much of this marvellous story was true, and how much of it was illusion. no discreet and judicial hearer of the story ever gave the slightest credit to the chief and most painful statements of the narrative,--viz., that mr. timothy shelley intended to send his fever-stricken boy to a madhouse, and had been heard to express this intention. the evidence being conclusive that he was an affectionate father and kindly gentleman, the notion that he was capable of any such atrocity can have been nothing more than one of the sick boy's delirious fancies. had mr. timothy shelley been a less amiable person, his abundant sensitiveness for the honour of field place (the honour of the newly-created castle goring family), and his nervous care for the world's opinion, would have saved him from the blunder of sending the sick boy to a lunatic asylum; the blunder, moreover, of consigning to a madhouse the son who, as a lunatic, could not have concurred in the resettlement of family estates, for which his concurrence was requisite, and the squire was greatly desirous. old sir bysshe was not more desirous than his son timothy for the resettlement of the estates a and b. a man of affairs, mr. timothy shelley, would have known that, whilst imprisoned as a lunatic, his son could not resettle the estates; knew also that, by barbarously throwing him into a madhouse, he would create in his son's mind a state of feeling that would be fatal to the scheme for getting him to join in the resettlement, on his liberation or escape from the madhouse. had he been morally capable of so atrocious an offence, self-interest would have preserved the squire of field place from the iniquitous purpose, about which shelley's wild story made him gossip lightly and loudly. hogg gave not a moment's credence to the ghastly and revolting particulars of the story. the other hearers of the story, to whom hogg makes reference, concurred with him in ascribing these particulars to hallucination, which continued to prey on the patient's light and flighty brain, long years after his recovery from the fever that gave birth to the morbid fancy. even lady shelley seems to take the only sensible view of this part of the affair, though she does not go the length of saying her father-in-law was the victim of hallucination-- 'from the indiscreet gossip,' she says, 'of a servant, who had overheard some conversation between his father and the village doctor, bysshe had come to the conviction that it was intended to remove him from the house to some distant asylum:--' language certainly implying that the sick boy's fancy was erroneous. hogg says:-- 'it appeared to myself and to others also, that his, _i.e._ shelley's recollections, were those of a person not quite recovered from a fever, which had attacked his brain, and still disturbed by the horrors of the disease. truth and justice demand that no event of his life should be kept back, but that all materials for the formation of a correct judgment should be freely given.' other particulars of the story may have been no less baseless. that a servant told him of his father's purpose, that he gave this servant orders and means to despatch a messenger to dr. lind, may have been mere fancies of the delirious brain. on the other hand, lady shelley may have had better authority than the poet's words for attributing the painful conviction to a servant's gossip. it can also be readily imagined that the sufferer from the distressing fancy gave his pocket-money to a servant, and bade him be off to windsor for the doctor. these are points on which the reader may be left to form his own opinion, but he must altogether acquit mr. timothy shelley of intending to send his boy to a madhouse. the indisputable facts of the story are these:--the boy had a febrile illness attended with delirium; whilst ill he suffered from a fancy that his father meant to send him to a lunatic asylum; after this notion had fastened on the disordered brain, dr. lind was sent for; in compliance with the summons dr. lind came from windsor to field place, and attended the boy till he was better. a reasonable view of these facts is that during his delirious sickness the patient expressed a strong desire to see dr. lind, and that, in their natural desire to do the best for their child's comfort and recovery, mr. and mrs. shelley invited the doctor to come to field place. even dr. lind with all his eccentricity would not have presumed to visit field place without an invitation from the master of the house. still less would he have ventured to force his way into the sick chamber against mr. timothy shelley's wish. the statement that he dared mr. shelley 'to execute his purpose,' and brought him to a sense of decency by 'menaces,' is simply ridiculous. ever reluctant though she is to discredit any of the poet's statements, lady shelley shows her opinion of the wildest extravagances of his marvellous story by being silent about them. something should be said about the probable time of this illness. circumstances point to the latter part of as the period in which dr. lind attended shelley in field place. shelley may have been right in regarding the illness as an incident of one of his 'holidays;' but there are grounds for thinking it more probable that the illness ran its course during one of the eton terms. four-and-thirty years after the poet's death, miss margaret shelley could remember that, whilst her sister hellen was at school at clapham, bysshe was sent home from eton to be nursed through an illness. 'i went to school before margaret,' miss hellen shelley wrote in , 'so that she recollects how bysshe came home in the midst of the half-year to be nursed; and when he was allowed to leave the house, he came to the dining-room window, and kissed her through the pane of glass.' hellen's age (she was born in ) seems to indicate that this illness cannot have taken place earlier than the autumn of . even then she would have been young to go to boarding-school. if this was the illness mentioned in the poet's strange story, dr. lind's visit to field place is a simple affair. sent home when he was already sickening for an illness, the patient had been under dr. lind's medical treatment before he was sent home to be nursed through an illness that would probably prove a severe one. what more natural and in the ordinary course of things, when the boy grew worse, and the village apothecary wished for 'a second opinion,' than for mr. timothy shelley to summon the windsor doctor who had seen the patient in the earliest stage of the malady. the conversation between mr. timothy shelley and the village apothecary, which is said to have been so indiscreetly reported to the sick boy, may have turned wholly on the question, whether dr. lind should be sent for. dr. lind unquestionably was summoned; and as mr. shelley was at field place at the time, no one else is likely to have dispatched the summons. had he imagined dr. lind had already been, or would soon be, the boy's instructor in hard swearing, mr. shelley would, doubtless, have sent for another doctor. as the future poet left eton towards the end of ; as the illness of the marvellous story occurred during the height of dr. lind's influence over the boy; as that influence was certainly an affair of the later half of bysshe's stay at eton ( - ); and as shelley was certainly sent home from eton to be nursed through an illness when his sister hellen (born in september, ) was already at school and in 'the middle of her half-year,' most readers will concur with the present writer in thinking the illness mentioned in the story and the illness mentioned in the letter were one and the same illness,--and that the illness at the earliest took place in the autumn of , at the latest in the spring of , _i.e._ when shelley was sixteen years old. if this manner of dealing with sure facts is acceptable to readers, they may congratulate themselves on having discovered the six months, at the beginning or end of which, the poet was first possessed by the fancy that his father was looking out for a pretext for locking him up in a madhouse:--the hideous fancy that (to use love peacock's words) 'haunted him throughout life.' how came this ghastly and absolutely groundless fancy to take this early and enduring hold of his mind? the answer must be sought in the poet's ancestral story, the characteristics of the romantic literature of which he had been a greedy devourer from his early childhood, and the conditions of his life at eton. the answer to be extorted from these three sources of information is doubtless an answer, resting on inference and conjecture from facts, almost as much as upon facts themselves. still it is an answer worth having, though veined with uncertainties. the shelleys, who eventually blossomed into the castle goring house, resembled the eighteenth and nineteenth century byrons in having a distinct strain of madness. mention has already been made of the newark apothecary's elder brother, whose story is told in the following words of the castle goring pedigree:-- 'john shelley, of fen place, aforesaid, esq., nd son, _a lunatic_. bapt. at worth st september, ; died unmarried at uckfield, th october, , buried at worth th same month.' this long-lived lunatic, who did not escape from his dismal doom in this world, till he had entered his seventy-seventh year, is a significant feature of the poet's ancestral story. brother of the newark apothecary, this madman, whose affliction caused him to be set aside in the arrangements of the family (to his younger brother's advantage), was the first baronet's uncle, the poet's great-great-uncle. the obscurity of the families, with whom this lunatic's ancestors intermarried before his period, precludes the discovery of the number of the various channels through which insanity may have come to his brain. but it is not to the physiological credit of the castle goring shelleys, that their ancestors married so many heiresses. families, whose men have married for money in successive generations, are usually seen to suffer in bodily stamina and mental health from what has come together with money to the family story. there is, of course, no reason why an heiress should not be as healthy as a poor parson's daughter. but there is nothing in money to exempt its possessor from struma in its various forms; and so long as he can win in his bride the first object of his desire, money, the male fortune-hunter is apt to shut his eyes to the indications that the advantages of the money must be taken with serious attendant drawbacks. families, famous for marrying heiresses, whether they intermarry with noble stocks, or, like our poet's ancestors, with mere gentle yeomanry (_i.e._ squireens entitled to bear arms), are seldom famous for the qualities that render individuals gracious and existence delightful. if they endure for centuries, such families often do so by suffering for centuries. to account for the same revolting fancy, allowance must also be made for the morbid literature on which the boy had been mentally suckled from his tender infancy,--the tales of domestic horror and cruelties, in which he had revelled from early childhood. to the producers and readers of that literature, no character was more attractive than a wretched being unjustly dealt with as a lunatic by barbarous relations. it is at least probable that the stories of such cruelty, flowing as they did from the press in the period when monk lewis threw the audience of a crowded theatre into hysterical anguish by his monodrama of _the captive_, may have inspired the boy with a morbid apprehension of life-long imprisonment in a mad-house. even more likely to produce the same agonizing apprehension, were some of the more painful incidents of his life at eton, if their terrorizing power was intensified by the knowledge that one of his not very remote collateral ancestors had been confined justly or unjustly as a lunatic. the nervous boy who was hunted and baited in the eton playing-grounds, by a multitude of lads, shouting at the top of their voices, 'mad shelley, mad shelley, mad shelley!' had good reason to suspect that something in his behaviour and idiosyncrasy must have suggested the imputation of insanity. 'i have seen him,' says one of the spectators of these frequent scenes of cruelty and suffering, 'surrounded, hooted, baited like a maddened bull; and, at this distance of time (forty years after), i seem to hear ringing in my ears the cry which shelley was wont to utter in his paroxysms of revengeful anger.' the torture, which made so deep and enduring an impression on the boy who only witnessed it, affected far more strongly the boy who was the object of the persecution. to the end of his life, the poet (given like byron to brood over the sorrows of his childhood) used to speak with passionate resentment of the barbarous malice of the boys, who either exasperated him with an accusation they knew to be groundless, or, worse still (if they really thought him insane), mocked him for the affliction that entitled him to their compassion. in his later time at eton, when he was distinguishing himself by contumacy and insolence to the masters of his school, his father was of course informed of his insubordination and other scholastic offences. could his word be taken (which it may not be) on the matter, shelley was twice expelled from eton, and twice (at his father's entreaty) re-admitted to the school, before he was dismissed from it for the third and last time. it cannot be doubted the atheist of college gave the masters good reasons for wishing him away from the school, and for requesting mr. shelley to remove him from an establishment that, fruitless of benefit to him, suffered not a little from his disorderliness. it is probable that the squire of field place was aware of the maledictions poured upon him by the etonian scapegrace. it is unlikely that the boy, so unruly and contumacious at school, was submissive and respectful to his father in the holidays. there is no evidence before the world that the lad received personal chastisement at his father's hands. but it is conceivable he was so corrected by the member for new shoreham, in days when fathers of unimpeachable humanity and affectionateness applied the bamboo and the birch to their sons in a way, that would now-a-days be justly stigmatized as barbarous and revolting. it is, however, certain that the essentially amiable, though rather choleric, squire, had much trouble to manage his heir, and that their inharmonious intercourse was attended with friction and collisions, that could not fail to make such a son regard his sire with suspicion and aversion. if he was familiar with the story of the uckfield lunatic, either from the gossip of old servants, or from the free speech of that lunatic's nephew (old sir bysshe), what more likely and natural than for the etonian scapegrace to think that his fate might resemble his great-great-uncle's fate,--that he might be set aside as a lunatic to his little brother's advantage in the arrangements of his family,--that his father was already looking about for a pretext and an occasion for sending him to a mad-house? but, it may be asked, was peacock justified in going so far as to say of the poet, that 'the idea, that his father was continually on the watch for a pretext to lock him up, haunted him through life?' was the delusion so absolutely unintermitting? were there no times when the hideous fancy passed from his brain? no lucid intervals when he saw he had in this matter been the dupe of his own imagination? no times, moreover, when he forced himself back into the delusion by an effort of will and fancy, similar to those imaginative exercises in which byron was so expert and curious an operator? in answer to these questions, it can only be said that there is no evidence of intermissions in the delusion, and that peacock probably intended to say no more when he remarked that the morbid fancy, which certainly held the poet's mind in his later time, 'haunted him through life.' to the present writer, indeed, it is conceivable that there were times when the poet's mind got the better of the most hideous of the several delusions that troubled it from time to time. the present writer can also conceive there were times when the poet, by the exercise of his will, sustained his belief in the delusion, even as the dreamer can for a few seconds by pure volition persist in believing a dream, which may be described as overlying his consciousness of its unreality. one of the prime dogmas of the school of metaphysicians, whose tenets shelley embraced with cordial conviction of their truth, is that belief is independent of volition. the dogma is true in respect to perfectly logical and altogether sound minds. but there are unsound minds that are capable of shaping their opinions and determining their belief by processes of volition. minds subject to manifest and distressing illusions are not to be rated as perfectly logical and altogether sound. shelley's mind certainly was liable to such delusions. it is conceivable he would not have insisted on the separateness of belief and volition with so much needless emphasis and passion, had he not been uneasily conscious,--troubled and irritated by a criminatory sub-consciousness--that in some matters (such for instance as his delusion respecting his father) he believed what he ought not to believe, and could by strenuous volition save himself from believing. some such thought as this was perhaps in peacock's mind, when he spoke of the 'semi-delusions' of the man whom he loved so heartily. returning to eton after recovering from the fever, of which so much has been said in foregoing pages of this chapter, shelley, to the end of his time at the public school, continued to be in most respects the same boy he was on rising to the office of lord high atheist. persisting in contumacy and unruliness he left the school in disgrace, though not under any ignominy to preclude him from the advantages of further education at one of the universities. in one particular, however, he seems to have changed his course towards the close of his etonian career. the passion for scientific amusements (let them not be called 'studies') having in some degree spent itself, he devoted the greater part of his leisure to literary exercise, in the hope of winning premature distinction as a man of letters,--an ambition he certainly would not have entertained, had he been so seriously set on scientific inquiry, and occupied with scientific interests, as successive biographers have represented. on th may of , whilst still a boarder in mr. bethell's house, shelley wrote messrs. longman & co., the eminent publishers of paternoster row, london, a boyish letter, informing them that he was writing a romance, and expressing his wish for them to publish it. the publishers were informed that, as he was 'the heir of a gentleman of large fortune in the county of sussex,' their correspondent was not writing for money, though he would gladly take a share of any pecuniary profits, resulting from the production of his work. as the publishers endorsed this puerile letter with a memorandum of their readiness to look at the story on its completion, it may be assumed that the manuscript of perhaps the most ludicrous tale of all english literature was submitted to the publishers' reader. as the absurd performance was not published till the end of may, or an early day of june, , and was then published by messrs. g. wilkie and j. robinson, of paternoster row, it may be assumed that after considering their reader's opinion of the story, messrs. longman & co. declined to publish it,--or at least to publish it on terms the author could consent to accept. though it is certain shelley left eton prematurely and on account of misbehaviour, the particular misconduct which resulted in his dismissal from the school is unknown. to peacock (who at the time smiled secretly at the 'semi-delusion,' even as in later time he smiled at it openly in the pages of _fraser's magazine_), shelley averred that he was sent away from eton for striking a penknife through the hand of one of his school-fellows, and pinning it to a desk. of course, shelley said the ferocious act was the result of extravagant provocation. to satisfy impartial readers that shelley did not pin his schoolfellow's hand to a desk with the blade of a pen-knife, it is enough to say that his comrades at eton had no recollection of any such incident in his career at the school. how shelley came to account in so remarkable a manner for his premature withdrawal from the public school, is not left altogether to conjecture. though he makes no reference to the affair in his _fraser_ article, peacock, on hearing shelley's astounding story, was doubtless mindful of the case of the military gamester, whose hand (in an early year of the present century) was pinned with a steel fork to the table of a famous gambling-club, as a convenient preliminary to the exposure of what was concealed between his wrist and cuff. whilst it is certain that shelley was _not_ dismissed from eton for the cause he stated, it is by no means improbable that he was sent home on account of his amiable habit of cursing his own father,--a practice that cannot have favoured the moral tone of school, and on coming to the knowledge of the masters would necessarily move them to a strong expression of disapproval. it accords with this conjecture, that the etonians, who called on shelley at oxford in hogg's presence, obviously regarded his singular way of proclaiming his hatred of his father as the grandest and most memorable of his offences at school. the young man, whose reluctance to repeat the form of cursing for the amusement of his old schoolfellows may be fairly attributed to regretful shame, would naturally in later time shrink from confessing he had been sent away from eton for so heinous a misdemeanour. but though he left eton in disgrace with the masters, the atheist of the school does not seem to have fallen out of favour with the boys, whose regard he had won by extravagances of unruliness. hogg speaks of the books (greek or latin classics, each inscribed with the donor's name) given to shelley by his comrades on his withdrawal from the college, and reasonably urges that the 'unusual number' of these parting gifts is sufficient evidence of his eventual popularity with his schoolfellows. chapter vi. zastrozzi; a romance. by p. b. s. literary ambition--biographical value of _zastrozzi_--the etonian shelley's disesteem of marriage--review of the romance--julia and matilda--conceits of the romance reproduced in _laon and cythna_--egotisms of the prose tale and the poem--the original of count verezzi and laon. the literary diversions, that occupied a considerable part of his leisure at eton, are note-worthy indications of shelley's intellectual tastes and aims at a time, when delusive biography represents him as possessed by a passion for scientific studies. having in his earlier terms at the school found congenial pastime in the composition of childish dramas, he amused himself, after coming under dr. lind's hurtful influence, with translating some of the earlier chapters of pliny's _natural history_. medwin assures us it was the boy's intention to produce a complete english version of that curious medley of fact and fable, but relinquished the enterprise almost at the threshold, on account of his inability to comprehend the philosopher's chapters on the stars. in his perplexity the youthful translator is said to have sought the aid of dr. lind, who avoided the difficulties submitted to his consideration, and at the same time preserved his credit for masterly erudition, by telling his disciple that he had better not waste his time on passages which the best scholars could not understand. in accordance with this prudent counsel, the aspirant to literary eminence bade adieu to pliny the elder, and looked about him for an easier way of winning the distinction for which he hungered. in the spring of , he bethought himself that he would compete with the artists of prose-fiction, and write a novel that should make him as famous as mrs. anne radcliffe and mr. matthew lewis. if the son of a west indian planter could in his nonage write a novel so famous, that he was universally styled after its title 'monk' lewis, surely 'the heir of a gentleman of large fortune' (as the etonian described himself in his letter to messrs. longman and co.) might in his nonage produce a romance that should cause him to be talked about as zastrozzi shelley. to accomplish this ambition, shelley went to work on the novel which, certainly begun in mr. bethell's house, and talked about before he left the school, was perhaps written to the last line at eton; though, in consequence of the delays and postponements which usually attend a literary aspirant's first steps to celebrity, it was not published by messrs. g. wilkie and j. robinson, of paternoster row, till the summer of , when the author had been for some seven or eight weeks a member of the university of oxford. though the idolaters of shelley's genius have small reason to thank his most voluminous editor for recovering so absurd a performance from the oblivion that covers most of his puerile follies, the poet's biographers, and all who are interested in his story, have cause for gratitude to mr. buxton forman, for reprinting in clear type the ludicrous tale, which enables them to examine the mental stuff and texture of the seventeen years' old boy (sixteen years and nine months old when he began the story, seventeen years and ten months old when he published it) who, fairly forward in greek, could throw off latin prose and verse, of more than average goodness, with singular facility. were it not for _zastrozzi; a romance_, by p. b. s. ( ), one would be without evidence that percy bysshe shelley, the poet of free love, did not leave eton without conceiving the disregard for the religious sanctions of marriage, which developed into a strong repugnance to the institution, and a cordial disapproval of all the restraints imposed on wedlock by law and custom. readers seriously bent on knowing the real shelley, who has been so artfully and dangerously replaced in these later years by the fictitious shelley, will do well to give their best attention to the following summary of the story which reveals so much of the poet's character and disposition, at the moment when he crossed the line that divides boyhood from manhood. zastrozzi; a romance. by p. b. s. the action and successive tragedies of this curious performance result from the craft, energy, and diabolical vindictiveness of pietro zastrozzi, the illegitimate son of olivia zastrozzi, who in her fifteenth year was seduced, under promise of marriage, by the count verezzi, an italian nobleman. more heartless than a majority of the seducers, who impart piquancy to the novels in which our grand-parents delighted, this nobleman of a southern clime, instead of allowing her the means of subsistence usually accorded in romantic literature to cast-off mistresses, refused to give his victim a crust, when, deserting her and her child (the villain of the book!), he threw himself into the arms of the heiress who became his wife,--and in due course the mother of another count verezzi, the virtuous count of the narrative. possessing every virtue but womanly discretion and the power to forgive her enemies, the wretched and exemplary olivia zastrozzi died in her thirtieth year, after enjoining her son, pietrino, to avenge his mother s wrongs. having, in language appropriate to a pious son, mitigated his mother's mortal agonies with a vow to do her bidding, pietrino passed from her grave to the cruel world, with a virtuous resolve to compass the destruction of his own father (the elder count verezzi), his own half-brother (the younger count verezzi), and any persons in whom the same virtuous young count should be strongly interested. on coming to full manhood, olivia zastrozzi's son, seizing the happy moment and making the most of it, plunged a dagger into his father's heart, sending him without shrift to the pit that is reserved in the nether regions for the seducers of trustful womankind. having disposed of his father in this summary fashion, pietro zastrozzi determines to wreak his vengeance on his half-brother by means more secret, ingenious, and horrible. biding his time till the young count verezzi has won the love of julia marchesa di strobazzo, whose affection he worthily reciprocates, and has also gained unintentionally the love of matilda contessa di laurentini, whose passion he is most desirous of avoiding, pietro zastrozzi is quick to see his advantage in the mutual jealousy and aversion of the two ladies, and in the embarrassments certain to arise from their idolatry of the same man. to afford his exemplary mother's soul the vindictive satisfaction for which so pure a spirit is naturally pining, pietro zastrozzi approaches these ladies, and, by a series of subtle stratagems and diabolical contrivances, brings them and their count to extremities of passion and despair; and to deaths, that under the more skilful manipulation of mrs. radcliffe or _monk_ lewis, would have rendered _zastrozzi_ a superlatively thrilling and sensational romance. resembling one another in the nobility of their lineage, and the enormity of their wealth, and the reputation that had come to them, these two heroines are alike admirable for their different styles of beauty. whilst julia is a gentle blonde, matilda is a cleopatra, with dark rolling eyes, and breasts made to heave with voluptuous desire. each of these ladies is in love with the count at the beginning of the story, which opens with particulars of his seizure at an inn near munich, as he is journeying southwards to the damsel of his preference. captured at this tavern, whilst he breathes heavily and lies helpless under a stupor of zastrozzi's contrivance, the count verezzi is thrust into a chariot, and conveyed to his place of imprisonment with all the celerity attainable on rough roads, in days long prior to the invention of the steam-locomotive. drawn by relays of horses, that are put to their fullest speed by bernardo (the postillion) the chariot moves rapidly throughout the day, till on the approach of nightfall it quits the post-road, and makes slower progress through the rugged underwood of a forest, to the jaws of a cavern yawning in a darksome dell. in this cavern the count--fastened by a chain to the rock of the cavern's inmost recess, and fed upon bread and water--is confined for several days and nights, till the rock of his dismal dungeon is broken up during a thunderstorm by a scintillating flash of lightning! on the morrow of this remarkable storm, the youthful count is discovered in a plight, which causes his persecutors to liberate him from his manacles, and to call in a physician, who, after carrying the youth out of brain-fever (quite as skilfully as the hermit, _alias_ dr. lind, in _laon and cythna_ carries laon out of brain-fever under similar circumstances), recommends that he should be conveyed, without loss of a single moment, to a scene of tranquillity. in compliance with this advice, the captive is lifted again into the chariot, and conveyed by zastrozzi and his subordinate villains (ugo and bernardo) to a cottage, standing in the middle of a wide and desolate heath, to which they come after four hours' rapid posting. in that cottage, tended by an old woman (one of zastrozzi's creatures), and watched by ugo and bernardo, the count remains till, on his convalescence, he knocks bernardo down-stairs (in the temporary absence of zastrozzi, ugo, and the old woman), and clearing out of the humble tenement, reaches the vicinity of passau, where he is sheltered and hospitably entertained by the peasant claudine,--an amiable old woman, who gets her living by raising flowers for the passau market. the scene now changes to one of the rural palaces of matilda la contessa di laurentini--a palace of gothic architecture, whose battlemented walls rise high above the lofty trees of the surrounding forest; the palace in which the marchesa julia's faithful servant, paulo, dies from the fatal potion, administered to him by zastrozzi and matilda. as paulo's only offence against la contessa matilda is his loyalty to his own mistress, one is constrained to pity the poor fellow, though he makes matters needlessly unpleasant by groaning in his death-torments with excessive loudness, and rolling his eyes in a revolting manner. despatching zastrozzi to naples to watch the movements of julia la marchesa di strabozzi, and seize the first opportunity for murdering her, matilda la contessa di laurentini migrates from her battlemented palace to her hotel in passau, on the banks of the danube, where she passes her time in meditating schemes for her rival's extinction, and taking measures to get possession of her beloved verezzi. on the failure of these measures, the countess grows desperate, and in the violence of her despair is on the point of drowning herself in the danube, when, instead of dropping in the water, she falls into the arms of a casual wayfarer. of course, this casual wayfarer is verezzi, who, after saving her from the guilt of self-murder, carries la contessa off for the night to claudine's cottage. on the morrow, the countess returns to passau, attended by verezzi, who henceforth lives with the lady till he expires in her presence. not that he yields at once to her overtures for his consent to their union. for a time, la contessa matilda gets nothing more agreeable from her domiciliation with her beloved verezzi, than the pleasure of ministering to the brain-sickness and despondency of the invalid count, who, regarding her by turns with frigid pity, distrustful tenderness, and vehement detestation, persists in vexing her ears with rapturous praises of his adorable marchesa julia. acting on zastrozzi's advice, matilda di laurentini assures her guest that julia is dead, and even causes him to think her dead. but vain the assurance, bootless its success! instead of seeking consolation in the arms of la contessa di laurentini, the count verezzi persists in idolizing his marchesa, protesting that he is bound to her for ever--as much bound to her now that she is dead, as he was bound to her when she was alive. but though she cannot draw him to her embrace, matilda la contessa gains a gradually growing influence over the count by 'her siren illusions and well-timed blandishments.' soothing him in his wilder moods, cheering him in his dejection, matilda di laurentini diverts him with piquant speech, fascinates him with the music of her harp and voice, and animates him with the society she attracts to her salon. playing the part of his ministering angel, she conceals from verezzi the real nature of the passion, whose fierceness and animality would revolt him. 'her breast,' the reader is told, 'heaved violently, her dark eyes, in expressive glances, told the fierce passions of her soul; yet, sensible of the necessity of controlling her emotions, she leaned her head upon her hand, and when she answered verezzi, a calmness, a melting expression overspread her features. she conjured him, in the most tender, the most soothing terms, to compose himself; and, though julia was gone for ever, to remember that there was yet one in the world, one tender friend, who could render the burden of life less unsupportable.' at length joy comes to this tender friend, whose demeanour is so mild and conciliatory to the count verezzi, though, in his absence, her bosom often heaves violently, whilst her dark and lustrous eyes emit glances, eloquent of the soul's fiercest passion. matilda la contessa di laurentini, and her idolized count, have journeyed from passau to yet another of her stately homes,--the castella di laurentini, standing in a gloomy and remote spot of the venetian territory; a palace surrounded by a darksome forest, and lofty mountains that 'lift their aspiring and craggy summits to the skies,'--when the lady achieves her purpose by a melodramatic stratagem. to win the count, she is admonished by zastrozzi to 'dare the dagger's point,' and is, at the same time, instructed by her counsellor _how_ to dare it. in accordance with the instructions, matilda la contessa leads verezzi to a convenient spot of her picturesque demesne--a spot where, on the right hand, the thick umbrage of forest trees would render indistinguishable any person lurking about; whilst on the left, there yawns a frightful precipice, at whose base a deafening cataract dashes with tumultuous violence around misshapen and enormous masses of rock, lying at the foot of the gigantic and blackened mountain, which rears its craggy summit to the skies. matilda and verezzi are looking down the precipice, when a man, who has been instructed to play the part of an assassin, rushes with upraised dagger on the count, who deems himself the mark of the bravo's weapon. a second later, and the contessa di laurentini, hurling herself between the two men, receives the descending poniard in her right arm. disappearing in the forest, the sham-bravo leaves the uninjured verezzi with the wounded contessa,--the one overflowing with gratitude to his preserver, whilst the other exults in the success of her artifice. soon after this theatrical scene, the count, yielding to matilda di laurentini's 'siren illusions and well-timed blandishments,' addresses her as his wife, adding '_and though love like ours wants not the vain ties of human laws, yet, that our love may want not any sanction which could possibly be given to it, let immediate orders be given for the celebration of our union_.' their marriage having received the vain sanction of human laws, matilda and verezzi enjoy a brief term of tempestuous bliss. on her wedding-day, 'matilda's joy, her soul-felt triumph, is too great for utterance,--too great for concealment. the exultation of her inmost soul flashes in expressive glances from her scintillating eyes, expressive of joy intense--unutterable. animated with excessive delight, she starts from the table, and seizing verezzi's hand, in a transport of inconceivable bliss, drags him in wild transport and varied movements to the sound of swelling and soul-stirring melody.' by this time, the virtuous verezzi has so completely succumbed to 'siren illusions' that instead of showing any disapproval of the contessa's forwardness, or any annoyance at being dragged about thus sportively, he exclaims with delight, 'come, my matilda, come, i am weary of transport,--sick with excess of unutterable pleasure.' in the earlier days of the honeymoon, one circumstance alone moderates matilda's happiness. though the count thinks julia la marchesa is dead, the contessa has received no intelligence of a successful issue to her arrangements for her rival's murder. this source of uneasiness passes away, however, for a time, when zastrozzi assures the countess he has removed julia di strabozzi with poison. but malignant fate soon puts a period to the feverish felicity of the husband and wife. ere they have been married a month, matilda la contessa di laurentini is summoned before the inquisition. in their alarm at the letter of citation, the count verezzi and matilda (albeit the latter has been warned by zastrozzi to keep away from the capital) fly to a secluded dwelling in the eastern suburb of venice, in the hope of living there in concealment from the agents of the dread tribunal. at venice matilda soon discovers that zastrozzi's warning was not given without reason. they have not been there many days, when one evening she and the count behold the pensive and melancholy marchesa di strabozzi, gliding over the laguna in her magnificent gondola, surrounded by 'the innumerable flambeaux which blazing about rival the meridian sun.' whilst the count discovers that the marchesa, the real possessor of his heart, is still alive, the contessa matilda discovers that zastrozzi has deceived her with a false announcement of her rival's death. at the same time, the pensive and melancholy julia di strabozzi discovers that her count verezzi is living on terms of suspicious familiarity with matilda di laurentini. these discoveries are followed by dramatic incidents and tragic scenes. sitting with matilda in the villa of the eastern suburb, the count verezzi is in the act of drinking to her, with protestations of eternal fidelity, when the pensive and melancholy julia appears at the supper-table. 'my adored matilda!' the count is saying, 'this is to thy happiness,--this is to thy every wish; and if i cherish a single thought which centres not in thee, may the most horrible tortures which ever poisoned the peace of man drive me instantly to distraction! god of heaven! witness thou my oath, and write it in letters never to be erased! ministering spirits, who watch over the happiness of mortals, attend! for here i swear eternal fidelity, indissoluble, unutterable affection, to matilda!' no sooner has the count verezzi delivered himself of this oration than julia comes into the room. the count has been taken at his word! the ministering spirits are in attendance! if she has not appeared as a witness against him, julia has come to inquire why her affianced suitor is living so intimately with matilda. no wonder that verezzi dashes the goblet to the ground! that his frame is agitated with convulsions! that, 'seized with sudden madness, he draws the dagger from his girdle, and with fellest intent raises it high!' 'raised with fellest intent,' the gleaming poniard is in a trice buried in the count's breast. whilst 'his soul flies without a groan, his body falls upon the floor bathed in purple blood.' furious at the spectacle, matilda plucks the weapon from her husband's corse, and rushes upon the pensive and melancholy intruder, who, seeing mischief in the contessa's flashing eyes, and danger in the ensanguined weapon, turns and flies towards the door. 'nerved anew by this futile attempt to escape her vengeance, the ferocious matilda seizes julia's floating hair, and holding her back with fiend-like strength, stabs her in a thousand places, and with exulting pleasure again and again buries the dagger to the hilt in her body, even after all remains of life are annihilated.' on throwing the dagger from her, matilda di laurentini regards a terrific scene with sullen gaze. as it takes at least two seconds to plunge a dagger up to the hilt into the tenderest flesh and to withdraw the weapon for another blow, the countess must have spent considerably more than half-an-hour in stabbing the marchesa's body. bearing in mind the amount of muscular effort requisite for driving a dagger up to the hilt into a human body, one is not surprised to learn that the murderess exhausted herself. bearing in mind also the number of square inches on the surface of a woman's body, no reader will question that julia's body was frightfully disfigured by the thousand stabs in a thousand different places. julia's murder is of course followed by the punishment of the murderess, and of the supreme villain who may be said to have educated her to perpetrate the monstrous crime. zastrozzi is racked to death. no particulars are given of matilda di laurentini's last agonies, but the reader is left under the impression that she has died or will die by the executioner. published in a single duodecimo volume, this tale of horror contains about as many words as a single volume of an ordinary three-volume novel. perhaps more horrors have never been crowded into so short a romance. the tortures endured by verezzi during his successive imprisonments afflict the memory. verezzi's father is poniarded to death by his bastard son. julia's faithful servant, paulo, dies in the presence of his poisoners, groaning horribly and writhing in hideous convulsions. matilda makes a futile attempt to throw herself into the danube. the dagger-scene in the vicinity of the castella di laurentini would not have been more terrific had the mock-assailant been a veritable bravo. the count verezzi commits suicide. julia is stabbed in a thousand different spots of her body. zastrozzi is racked to death. the contessa di laurentini is left for execution. affording not a single indication of literary taste or wholesome sentiment, the story is badly written, morbid, unnatural, and superlatively foolish, from its first to its last page. to shelley's reasonable and honest biographers, the performance is of great value and interest on account of the view it gives of the future poet's culture, attainments, and mental condition towards the close of his career at eton. allowance should of course be made for the author's youth, his inexperience of human nature and society, and the difficulties besetting every puerile essayist in an arduous department of literature. but when all allowances have been made, the book remains a thing of evidence to the utter discredit of all the fine things that have been written by certain of the poet's adulators about his intellectual precocity. he would not have laboured at this crude tale in his seventeenth year, corrected it for the press, and published it in his eighteenth year, hoping to win fame by it, had he, in his boyhood, acquired the knowledge of english literature, for which several historians of his earlier career have given him credit, or had he been the sincere and strenuous student of natural science the same writers have declared him. had he perused the works of the higher english writers with critical discernment as well as delight, the etonian would have written his mother tongue with less inelegance and feebleness. had his care for natural science exceeded the commonplace curiosity of a youth, given to play tricks with an air-pump, an electrical machine, and a chest of chemical materials, his mind would have been too fully occupied to have a hankering for the miserable distinction that comes to the writers of bad novels. though it is not regarded as a faultless performance in the coteries of the shelleyan enthusiasts, passages of considerable merit and indications of fine feeling have been discovered in this superlatively foolish story, by some of the gentlemen who have in these later years constituted themselves the peculiar guardians of shelley's honour, and the especial interpreters of his philosophical utterances. in the superabundance of his veneration for every line written, and every scrap of paper known to have been touched by the poet, mr. buxton forman, is educating the english people to regard _zastrozzi_ as a performance that, instead of being perused lightly and laughed over merrily, should be studied with due regard to the various readings of its two different editions,--the original edition of , and the reprint of , in _the romancist and novelist's library_. wherever those editions differ by an inverted comma, a mark of punctuation, a dropt letter, or a letter too many, mr. buxton forman calls attention to the difference, as though each trivial diversity of the two texts were a matter of high importance. believing that delicate meanings may be found in the poet's occasional slips of spelling, mr. forman calls attention to the remarkable fact, that the word 'ceiling' in the reprint is spelt 'cieling' in the original edition; the no less curious and significant circumstance that the word 'escritoire' of the later edition is spelt _escrutoire_ in the edition that passed straight to the world from the author's own hand and eye. in like manner we are invited to notice the difference of a perfectly formed 's' between the 'mishapen' of shelley's own text, and the 'misshapen' of the reprint. mr. forman calls attention to an even bolder departure from the original text in the reprint, which may well be regarded with suspicion and mistrust by the shelleyan specialists. whilst the original edition contains the sentence, 'the most horrible scheme of vengeance at at this instant glances across zastrozzi's mind,' the editor of the edition has the daring (not altogether innocent of irreverence) to omit the second 'at.' from the standpoint and principles of an editor, who regards shelley as a being who might have been the saviour of the world, mr. buxton forman is of course right in attaching great importance to these differences of the two editions, of an almost sacred performance. but to the profane mind of the present writer, who, instead of thinking shelley in any respect comparable with the saviour of the world, and conceives him to have been a rather foolish schoolboy in the earlier months of , a very foolish oxford undergraduate in the later months of , and a still more foolish undergraduate in the earlier months of , it appears that these differences of the two editions of _zastrozzi_ are of no more importance than the proverbial difference between 'tweedledum' and 'tweedledee.' it is, however, interesting to observe how the hero of the puerile novel corresponds with the hero of _laon and cythna_,--to observe also how shelley (holding to crudities and fantastic fancies, which any other man of similar strength would have hurled to his soul's rubbish-bin), reproduces in the great poem some of the subordinate details of the immature romance. the victim of secret enemies and relentless persecutors (even as laon is the victim of similar enemies and persecutors, and even as shelley himself suffered from a conspiracy headed by his unnatural father, ever watching for a pretext for locking him up), the count is torn from julia di strabozzi, and carried to a cavern in a darksome forest, even as laon, after being torn from cythna, is conveyed in a state of unconsciousness to the cavern of the column-surmounted rock. on entering the cavern in the wood, verezzi recovers consciousness, even as laon recovers his powers of observation on approaching the 'cavern in the hill.' the darkness of the tortuous way, by which the count's enemies lead him to the inmost cell of the cavern, is qualified by no ray of light, but for awhile the cell is illumined by bernardo's solitary torch, even as the cavern under the hill, which serves as a passage to laon's grated prison, is lit by the solitary torch, carried by one of his captors. in _zastrozzi_, it is said, 'after winding down the rugged descent for some time, they arrived at an iron door, which at first sight appeared to be part of the rock itself. everything had till now been obscured by total darkness, and verezzi, for the first time, saw the faces of his persecutors, which a torch borne by bernardo rendered visible.' in _laon and cythna_ it is written, 'they bore me to a cavern in the hill beneath the column, and unbound me there; and one did strip me stark; and one did fill a vessel from the putrid pool; one bare a lighted torch, and four with friendless care guided my steps the cavern-paths along, then up a steep and dark and narrow stair we wound, until the torch's fiery tongue amid the gushing day beamless and pallid hung.' after bringing him into his prison, the count verezzi's persecutors put an iron chain about his waist, and leave him fast bound to the cruel rock that cuts his tender flesh, even as laon is bound with chains in his cage upon the mountain's top. in _zastrozzi_ it is written, 'his triumphant persecutor bore him into the damp cell, and chained him to the wall. an iron chain encircled his waist; his limbs, which not even a little straw kept from the rock, were fixed by immense staples to the flinty floor; and but one of his hands was at liberty to take the scanty pittance of bread and water which was daily allowed him.' in _laon and cythna_ it is read, 'they raised me to the platform of the pile, that column's dizzy height:--the grate of brass thro' which they thrust me, open stood the while, as to its ponderous and suspended mass, with chains which eat into the flesh, alas! with brazen links, my naked limbs they bound: * * * * * i gnawed my brazen chain, and sought to sever its adamantine links, that i might die.' from the fever which results from the barbarities inflicted upon him in the forest cavern, and from the terror consequent on the thunderstorm that shatters the walls of his prison, the count verezzi is recovered by the ministrations of a physician, who, after carrying him through the crisis of the malady, prescribes conditions of existence more favourable to mental tranquillity. very much the same happens to laon, who is restored to sanity from the sheer madness, that seizes him and preys upon him in the brazen cage, by the wise physician who visits him under the guise of a hermit, and conveys him to the tranquil retreat, where he eventually regains his faculties. in _zastrozzi_ it is written,--'a physician was sent for, who declared that, the crisis of the fever which had attacked him being past, proper care might reinstate him; but, that the disorder having attacked his brain, a tranquillity of mind was absolutely necessary for his recovery. zastrozzi, to whom the life, though not the happiness, of verezzi was requisite, saw that his too eager desire for revenge had carried him beyond his point. he saw that some deception was requisite; he accordingly instructed the old woman to inform him, when he recovered, that he was placed in this situation, because the physicians had asserted that the air of this country was necessary for a recovery from the brain-fever, which had attacked him. it was long before verezzi recovered--long did he languish in torpid sensibility, during which his soul seemed to have winged its way to happier regions. at last, however, he recovered, and the first use he made of his senses was to inquire where he was.' in _laon and cythna_ the hero of the poem describes his release from prison and his recovery from fever in the following terms:-- '... in the deep the shape of an old man did then appear, stately and beautiful, that dreadful sleep his heavenly smiles dispersed, and i could wake and weep. and when the blinding tears had fallen, i saw that column, and those corpses, and the moon, and felt the poisonous tooth of hunger gnaw my vitals, i rejoiced, as if the boon of senseless death would be accorded soon;-- when from that stony gloom a voice arose, solemn and sweet as when low winds attune the midnight pines; the grate did then unclose, and on that reverend form the moonlight did repose. he struck my chains, and gently spake and smiled; as they were loosened by that hermit old, mine eyes were of their madness half beguiled, to answer those kind looks--he did infold his giant arms about me, to uphold my wretched frame, my scorchèd limbs he wound in linen moist and balmy, and cold as dew to drooping leaves;--the chain, with sound like earthquake, thro' the chasm of the steep stair did bound. * * * * * ... we came at last to a small chamber, which with mosses rare was tapestried, where me his soft hands placed upon a couch of grass and oak-leaves interlaced. * * * * * thus slowly from my brain the darkness rolled, my thoughts their due array did re-assume thro' the inchantments of that hermit old; then i bethought me of the glorious doom of those who sternly struggle to relume the lamp of hope o'er man's bewildered lot; and, sitting by the waters, in the gloom of eve, to that friend's heart i told my thought-- that heart which had grown old, but had corrupted not.' from these passages of the puerile romance and the mature poem, readers may see how shelley nursed and nourished every fancy that entered his brain; how, growing gradually in form and beauty under his fostering egotism, the conceits of his puerile inventiveness developed into the conceptions of his poetical genius; and how he weaved the story of his own life out of imaginations as baseless, and in the earlier stages of their development as grotesque, as the phantasies of departing slumber. the imprisonment of laon was the outgrowth of verezzi's imprisonment. the hero of the poem resembles the hero of the romance in being the victim of secret and unscrupulous enemies; and in that respect they resembled the poet who created them,--the poet who only escaped captivity such as theirs by repeatedly flying from foes, bent on throwing him into a dungeon. the fever that seized laon in the grated cage, and the fever that nearly killed verezzi in the gloomy forest were romantic reproductions of the fever percy bysshe shelley endured at field place. the tyrant who put laon between brazen bars, and the villain who chained verezzi in the darksome cavern, had their prototype in the unnatural father (of the poet's 'marvellous story' to his second wife), who was set on sending his wretched heir to a madhouse. the physician who, braving a tyrant's vengeance, rescued laon from confinement and ministered to his mental disease, was the same hard-swearing windsor doctor who, facing the malicious despot of field place, saved percy bysshe shelley from his appointed doom, and carried him out of brain-fever. it was thus that shelley wrote his wild views of his own story into the byronic 'egotisms' of his literary productions:--the 'egotisms' which the shelleyan enthusiasts would have the world accept as pieces of substantially veracious autobiography. chapter vii. between eton and oxford. literary interests and enterprise--a.m. oxon. letter--shelley's hunger for publisher's money--winter - --nightmare--_the wandering jew_--medwin in lincoln's inn fields--the fragment of ahasuerus--its influence on byron and shelley--matriculation at oxford--shelley at the bodleian--john ballantyne and co.--shelley in pall mall--stockdale's scandalous budget--_victor and cazire_--their original poetry--who was cazire?--felicia dorothea browne--illumination of young ladies--harriett grove--the groves and shelleys in london--shelley's interest in harriett grove. having written a large portion of his first publication (_zastrozzi; a romance_) by th may, , shelley had little leisure for 'scientific studies' between that date and the christmas holidays of - . the literary aspirant during those twenty months worked successfully (in some of the cases, simultaneously) on ( ) _zastrozzi_; ( ) _the nightmare_; ( ) _original poetry of victor and cazire_; ( ) _st. irvyne, or the rosicrucian_, his second published romance; ( ) _the wandering jew_; ( ) the verses to be regarded as the first sketches for _queen mab_; ( ) the _posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson_; ( ) the very careful analysis of hume's _essays_ used in the composition of _the necessity of atheism_, that resulted in his expulsion from university college, oxford; ( ) a novel, described in the letter of th december, , to stockdale, as 'principally constructed to convey metaphysical and political opinions by way of conversation,' and ( ) a novel (never finished) that was designed to give the death-blow to intolerance. with so many literary irons in the fire, he cannot have spent many half-hours in playing with the scientific instruments and apparatus that figured so conspicuously in his college rooms. during the same period, he found time for journeys to and fro between field place and oxford; at least one stay of several weeks in london; a good deal of miscellaneous reading; much sentimental and sceptical correspondence, by letter, with miss felicia dorothea browne; much correspondence of the same nature with miss harriett grove; long walks with medwin in st. leonard's forest; long walks with hogg in the neighbourhood of oxford; and some participation in the field-sports, seldom altogether neglected by country gentlemen. whether _zastrozzi_ (published on or a little before th june, ) was written to the last lines at eton, is uncertain. bearing in mind every young author's impatience to see himself in print, and having regard to the natural consequences of this impatience in the excitable shelley, i am disposed to think the book would have appeared sooner, had it been ready for the printers before the unruly etonian left the public school. time, doubtless, was wasted in the futile negotiation with the messrs. longman & co. but the delay from this cause would scarcely account for the long postponement of the publication, if the author finished the ms. under mr. bethell's roof, and on receiving it back from the longmans, sent it straight to messrs. wilkie and robinson. whilst the external evidence that shelley wrote the letter is too light for the scales of criticism, the internal evidence is conclusive that he was not the contributor of the 'a.m. oxon's' epistle, in behalf of lord grenville's candidature for the chancellorship. medwin's assertion is idle in respect to the composition, whose style shows it was not, could not have been, written by the author of the puerile letters to the messrs. longman, messrs. wilkie and robinson, and stockdale,--the puerile prose of _zastrozzi_ and _st. irvyne_,--and the scarcely less puerile prose of the letters and addresses written by the poet in ireland. a comparison of the 'a.m. oxon' letter of november , with the numerous examples of shelley's english prose, will satisfy the critical reader that shelley did not, because he could not, write the epistle in behalf of lord grenville. the question is one of those questions where the evidence of style is conclusive. it is conceivable the 'a.m. oxon' letter was well spoken of at field place, that it was written at mr. timothy shelley's instance, that medwin was told shelley wrote it, that shelley claimed the authorship of the letter. establish all these points, produce a copy of the letter in shelley's hand-writing; and the evidence of style would be none the less conclusive, that shelley did not write the letter. towards the close of , and throughout the earlier months of , shelley was 'at home,' writing briskly for fame, and with a keen appetite for 'publisher's money,' which byron, at the outset of his literary career, was of opinion no nobleman or other gentleman of high degree could accept, without sullying his honour. in his nonage, the author of _zastrozzi_ asked publishers for their money with a steadiness, that would probably have been less unwavering, had it been old sir bysshe's practice to tip his grandson bountifully. not that the desire for payment was wholly due to the need of it. in taking wages for the work of his pen, he would have regarded them as no less honourable than convenient. the etonian, whose friends seem to have thought, that he entertained them with his literary earnings, was no youth to feel shame in taking publisher's money, or to miss it for want of asking for it. on the contrary, at the outset of a literary career (that from the commercial point of view, was worse than absolutely profitless) he liked to be credited with winning what he never won, and could ask for payment, though he had only the faintest hope of getting it. throughout his time at eton, shelley saw much of tom medwin during vacations. during the winter of - , the cousin, who would soon go to oxford, and the cousin, who would soon leave it for the army, were inseparable companions. during their long walks through the leafless glades of st. leonard's forest--in the clear frosty air and under the bright skies, that had a most exhilarating effect on their spirits--these two young men of common blood and kindred tastes discoursed with more enjoyment than discretion on the principles of poetry and romantic prose, of ancient science and modern culture. this was the winter, when they set to work on the production of a wild story (with a hideous witch for its principal character), that seems to have justified its title of _nightmare_, before they ceased writing alternate chapters of the morbid tale, and threw themselves with greater enthusiasm into the much higher and more arduous enterprise of a grand 'metrical romance on the subject of the _wandering jew_,'--an enterprise in which the two cousins were encouraged and influenced (though not actuated from the commencement) by one of those accidents, which so often influence, and sometimes determine, the course of human genius. on his way through lincoln's inn fields, tom medwin picked up at a bookstall the following passage, from a free english rendering and adaptation (with variations from the original) of christian d. f. schubart's rhapsodical poem _der ewige jude_. 'ahasuerus the jew crept forth from the dark cave of mount carmel. near two thousand years have elapsed since he was first goaded by never-ending restlessness to rove the globe from pole to pole. when our lord was wearied with the burden of his ponderous cross, and wanted to rest before the door of ahasuerus, the unfeeling wretch drove him away with brutality. the saviour of mankind staggered, sinking under the heavy load, but uttered no complaint. an angel of death appeared before ahasuerus, and exclaimed indignantly, "barbarian! thou hast denied rest to the son of man; be it denied thee also, until he comes to judge the world!" 'a black demon, let loose from hell upon ahasuerus, goads him now from country to country; he is denied the consolation which death affords, and precluded from the rest of the peaceful grave. 'ahasuerus crept forth from the dark cave of mount carmel--he shook the dust from his beard--and taking up one of the sculls heaped there, hurled it down the eminence; it rebounded from the earth in shivered atoms. this was my father! roared ahasuerus. seven more sculls rolled down from rock to rock; while the infuriate jew, following them with ghastly looks, exclaimed--and these were my wives! he still continued to hurl down scull after scull, roaring in dreadful accents--and these, and these, and these were my children! they _could die_; but i! reprobate wretch, alas! i cannot die! dreadful beyond conception is the judgment that hangs over me. jerusalem fell--i crushed the sucking babe, and precipitated myself into the destructive flames. i cursed the romans--but alas! alas! the restless curse held me by the hair,--and i could not die! 'rome, the giantess, fell--i placed myself before the falling statue--she fell, and did not crush me. nations sprung up and disappeared before me;--but i remained and did not die. from cloud-encircled cliffs did i precipitate myself into the ocean; but the foaming billows cast me upon the shore, and the burning arrow of existence pierced my cold heart again. i leaped into etna's flaming abyss, and roared with the giants for ten long months, polluting with my groans the mount's sulphureous mouth--ah! ten long months. the volcano fermented, and in a fiery stream of lava cast me up. i lay torn by the torture-snakes of hell amid the glowing cinders, and yet continued to exist.--a forest was on fire: i darted on wings of fury and despair into the crackling wood. fire dropped upon me from the trees, but the flames only singed my limbs; alas! it could not consume them.--i now mixed with the butchers of mankind, and plunged into the tempest of the raging battle. i roared defiance to the infuriate gaul, defiance to the victorious german; but arrows and spears rebounded in shivers from my body. the saracen's flaming sword broke upon my scull: balls in vain hissed upon me; the lightnings of battle glared harmless around my loins; in vain did the elephant trample on me, in vain the iron hoof of the wrathful steed! the mine, big with destructive power, burst upon me, and hurled me high in the air--i fell on heaps of smoking limbs, but was only singed. the giant's steel club rebounded from my body; the executioner's hand could not strangle me, the tiger's tooth could not pierce me, nor would the hungry lion in the circus devour me. i cohabited with poisonous snakes, and pinched the red crest of the dragon. the serpent stung, but could not destroy me. the dragon tormented, but dared not to devour me.--i now provoked the fury of tyrants: i said to nero, thou art a bloodhound! i said to christiern, thou art a bloodhound! i said to muley ismail, thou art a bloodhound!--the tyrants invented cruel torments, but did not kill me.--ha! not to be able to die--not to be able to die--not to be permitted to rest after the toils of life--to be doomed to be imprisoned for ever in the clay-formed dungeon--to be for ever clogged with this worthless body, its load of diseases and infirmities--to be condemned to hold for millenniums that yawning monster sameness, and time, that hungry hyæna, ever bearing children, and ever devouring again her offspring!--ha! not to be permitted to die! awful avenger in heaven, hast thou in thine armoury of wrath a punishment more dreadful? then let it thunder upon me, command a hurricane to sweep me down to the foot of carmel, that i there may lie extended; may pant, and writhe, and die!' what consequences ensued from young medwin's accidental discovery of this fragment amongst the litter of the london bookstall! the finder of the scrap carried it to shelley, shelley carried it to byron; and both poets were powerfully affected, permanently influenced by it. it gave byron the thought of the lines in _manfred_. 'i have affronted death--but in the war of elements the water shrunk from me, and fatal things pass'd harmless--the cold hand of an all-pitiless demon held me back, back by a single hair, which would not break. in fantasy, imagination, all the affluence of my soul--which one day was a croesus in creation--i plunged deep, but, like an ebbing wave, it dash'd me back into the gulf of my unfathom'd thought. i plunged amidst mankind--forgetfulness i sought in all, save where 'tis to be found, and that i have to learn--my sciences, my long pursued and super-human art, is mortal here--i dwell in my despair-- and live--and live for ever.' so strongly held to his last hour was shelley by the thought which came to him, through the scrap of dirty paper taken with worthless stuff from a bookstall, that whilst ahasuerus appears once and again in his own character and personality in the poet's works, the reader of those works comes no less often on cursory references to the undying wanderer, and on lines that would never have been penned, had it not been for shelley's deep and frequent ponderings of the hideous doom of deathlessness, accorded to the supreme sinner of christian romance. ahasuerus the jew figures in _queen mab_ ( - ) and _hellas_ ( ); he was in the poet's mind when he meditated the lines of _alastor_ ( )-- 'o, that god, profuse of poisons, would concede the chalice which but one living man has drained, who now, vessel of deathless wrath, a slave that feels no proud exemption in the blighting curse he bears, over the world wanders for ever, lone as incarnate death!' shelley's subsequent misconception of the way in which the tragic fragment came into his possession, may be regarded as one of the trivial consequences, though by no means the least curious consequence, of the degree in which the fragment possessed his fancy. as there is no evidence that the author of _queen mab_ was in london shortly before the time when the fragment first came under his eyes, and much evidence that he was away from london throughout the certain period, covering the uncertain day on which the fragment was picked up at the bookstall, there is no reason on the score of medwin's peculiar mental infirmity to question the accuracy of his precise statement that he was the finder of the transcript, which he describes as 'not a separate publication,' but a thing that 'mixed up with the works of some german poet' seemed to have been 'copied ... from a magazine of the day.' the words of medwin's precise averment touching this matter are-- 'mrs. shelley is misinformed as to the history of the fragment from the german, which i, not shelley, picked up in lincoln's-inn-fields (as mentioned in my preface to ahasuerus), and which was not found till some of the cantos had been written.' mrs. shelley certainly could produce in support of her statement an authority she was bound to regard as respectable. for at the foot of the _queen mab_ note ( - ), from which i have just transcribed the fragment, shelley says-- 'this fragment is the translation of part of some german work, whose title i have vainly endeavoured to discover. i picked it up, dirty and torn, some years ago, in lincoln's-inn-fields.' thus in the course of something less than three years (a period scarcely to be described by so comprehensive a term as 'some years ago') shelley, whilst remembering the scene of the discovery, had come to imagine himself the discoverer, a misapprehension not to be omitted from the schedule of facts, to the credit of those of the poet's nearest and dearest friends, who have spoken of the little reliance to be placed on his statements respecting himself and his affairs. the first glimpse of shelley at oxford is obtained immediately after his matriculation on th of april, , when the tall, slight, long-necked youth, with a square cap on his minute head, and a new gown hanging from his rather round shoulders, entered the bodleian library, in the hope of seeing the book from which the fragment had been taken. had the german book been given him, the freshman would have learnt nothing from it, for he knew nothing of the german tongue at this point of his career. ignorant alike of the title of the book he wished to see, and of the name of its author, the undergraduate asked for _the wandering jew_,--a request that probably caused the librarian no less amusement than surprise. the librarian had never heard of a book so entitled, but was not wholly ignorant of a periodical (edited by one of the wits of the great frederick's court) which bore the name of interest. having come to the famous library, under an impression that it contained every book of every language, mr. percy bysshe shelley, of university college, was not a little disappointed at failing to get a view of the only book he for the moment had a strong desire to look at. the incident points to the time when the youngster was full of the marvellous jew, and wanted the book for aid in his poetical enterprise. enough is known of the poem, that was perused by campbell and offered to the ballantynes of edinburgh, to warrant a strong opinion that originality of thought was not one of its characteristics. one of the cousins (medwin) lived to think it 'a sort of thing such as boys usually write, a cento from different favourite authors;' and probably the other author would have described the puerile performance even more unfavourably, had he written about it in his later time. the vision in the third canto was taken from lewis's _monk_, one of the bad novels in which shelley delighted. the crucifixion scene seems to have been lifted bodily into the manuscript from a published work; it was (to use medwin's words) 'altogether a plagiarism from a volume of cambridge prize poems.' bold play was doubtless made with 'the fragment' by the joint authors, who differed on one important particular,--shelley wishing to leave the jew at large, whilst medwin wished to put a period to the wretch's sufferings by killing him at the end of the last canto. when seven or eight cantos had been made up in this fashion, the patchwork of shameless plagiarisms was copied fair from the first to the last line by shelley, and sent off to the edinburgh publishers who, after keeping the authors a long while in suspense, declined their proposal (without returning the ms.) in the following terms:-- '_edinburgh, september th, ._ 'sir, 'the delay which occurred in our reply to you respecting the poem you have obligingly offered us for publication, has arisen from our literary friends and advisers (at least such as we have confidence in) being in the country at this season, as is usual, and the time they have bestowed on its perusal. 'we are extremely sorry, at length, after the most mature deliberation, to be under the necessity of declining the honour of being the publishers of the present poem;--not that we doubt its success, but that it is, perhaps, better suited to the character and liberal feelings of the english, than the bigoted spirit which yet pervades many cultivated minds in this country. even walter scott is assailed on all hands at present by our scotch spiritual, and evangelical magazines, and instructors, for having promulgated atheistical doctrines in the _lady of the lake_. 'we beg you will have the goodness to advise us how it should be returned, and we think its being consigned to the care of some person in london would be more likely to ensure its safety than addressing it to horsham. 'we are, sir, your most obedient humble servants, 'john ballantyne & co.' the religious sentiments, which the publishers thought less likely to offend english than scotch readers, were probably the same 'opinions on religion, whose inconsequence' medwin declares to be a sufficient indication that the poem was the composition of two different writers. that the publishers had reason to think these sentiments little adapted to the feelings of their fellow-countrymen of north britain will appear probable to readers who recall the part played by ahasuerus in _queen mab_,--a poem that resembled the poem of _the wandering jew_ in containing passages that were the direct offspring of the memorable fragment. medwin says that on their completion, shelley sent the seven or eight cantos 'to campbell for his opinion on their merits, with a view to publication,' and that the author of the _pleasures of hope_ returned the ms. with the remark that there were only two good lines in it:-- 'it seemed as if an angel's sigh had breathed the plaintive symphony,' lines, by the way (medwin adds), 'savouring strongly of walter scott.' the peculiarities of mr. medwin's habitual inexactness countenance the suspicion that, though the poem came under campbell's critical consideration _through_ shelley's act, the author of the _pleasures of hope_ would not have seen it had he not been the particular literary friend and adviser, whose 'opinion' determined john ballantyne and co. not to publish the work. anyhow, campbell read and condemned the poem which the publishers declined,--the poem which shelley (on receiving the letter of th september, , from the edinburgh publishers) lost no time in offering to john joseph stockdale, the pall mall (london) publisher, whose dealings with the poet and the poet's father were laid before the public in _stockdale's budget_ ( ). in one of the several puerile letters, whose style affords conclusive testimony that he was not the author of the _a.m. oxon._ letter, shelley wrote to stockdale from field place on th september, (just a month before he went into 'residence' at oxford): 'i sent, before i had the pleasure of knowing you, the ms. of a poem to messieurs ballantyne and co., edinburgh; they have declined publishing it, with the inclosed letter. i now offer it to you, _and depend upon your honour as a gentleman for a fair price for the copyright_. it will be sent to you from edinburgh. the subject is _the wandering jew_. as to its containing atheistical principles, i assure you, i was wholly unaware of the fact hinted at. _your good sense will point out to you the impossibility of inculcating pernicious doctrines in a poem, which as you will see is so totally abstract from any circumstances which occur under the possible view of mankind._' the words, which the present writer has caused to be printed in italics, should hold the reader's attention for a moment. whilst the desire for money, indicated by the earlier set of words, is noteworthy, the second set of words should be examined as an example of the oxonian's epistolary style at a time when some of his adulators have declared him capable of writing vigorous prose. not quite seven weeks after the date of these significant sets of words, shelley (now an oxonian 'in residence') is writing on th november, , to the pall mall publisher: 'i am surprised that you have not received _the wandering jew_, and in consequence write to mr. ballantyne to mention it; you will doubtlessly, therefore, receive it soon.' five days later ( th november, ), writing again to his publisher from university college, the youthful literary aspirant says, 'if you have not yet got _the wandering jew_ from mr. b., i will send you a ms. copy which i possess.' nearly a fortnight later ( nd december, ), he writes from his college to the same correspondent: 'will you, if you have got two copies of _the wandering jew_ send one of them to me, as i have thought of some corrections which i wish to make,--your opinion on it will likewise much oblige me:'--words showing that shelley had sent his 'reserved copy' of the poem to pall mall, that he assumed it was in mr. stockdale's hands, and that he thought it possible mr. stockdale was also in possession of the transcript which should have been sent to him from edinburgh by the ballantynes. the words also show that the young author was in some excitement about the fate of his poem, and eager to hear whether the publisher would produce the metrical romance, and, 'as a gentleman' pay him 'a fair price for the copyright.' unless stockdale's memory failed him on the matter in , neither of these copies came to his hands.--'it is singular,' he says in his scandalous _budget_ ( ), 'that, after all, the poem of _the wandering jew_ never reached my hands, nor have i either seen or heard of it from that time.' from this not altogether reliable statement it seems that there was a miscarriage of the second and 'reserved' transcript of the poem, sent by shelley himself from field place to pall mall. for the removal of a scarcely noteworthy misapprehension, it may be observed there was no similar miscarriage of the other copy; the evidence being abundant that the ms., sent by shelley from field place to edinburgh, was _not_ lost through miscarriage on its way from edinburgh to pall mall. this ms. cannot have miscarried for the simple reason, that it was never despatched by the ballantynes to mr. stockdale's place of business. instead of being sent to london, in accordance with the suggestion made by the ballantynes themselves, and in accordance with the instructions sent to them by shelley, mainly in consequence of their suggestion, the ms. rested at edinburgh till , when, some nine years after the poet's death, it came to light;--a discovery that was speedily followed by a publication of some portions of the metrical folly (medwin says 'four of the cantos') in _fraser's magazine_. after throwing off _the wandering jew_, which even mr. buxton forman, with all his reverence for every scrap of paper blotted by the poet, has excluded (with the exception of a few verses) from his authorized edition of the poet's writings, shelley, with the assistance of a friend, produced in the spring or summer of , the volume of poetry entitled _original poetry, by victor and cazire_,--the edition of miserable rhymes, noticed in the _british critic_ of (_vide_ professor dowden's very noteworthy article in _the contemporary review_ of september, , on 'some early writings of shelley'), that was suppressed soon after its untimely birth, because at least one of the poems was discovered to be scandalously wanting in originality; to be, in fact, a gross and disgraceful plagiarism of one of monk lewis's pieces of sensational verse. ignorant of the name of shelley's coadjutor in this discreditable business, mr. garnett is at much pains to show, who could not have been the coadjutor, who may not be supposed to have been the coadjutor, and who might have been the coadjutor. hogg could not have been the coadjutor, because he had not yet made the poet's acquaintance. tom medwin was not the coadjutor. but mr. garnett is of opinion that miss harriett grove may have been the coadjutor. 'a more likely coadjutor,' he says, 'would be harriet grove, shelley's cousin, and the object of his first attachment, who is said to have aided him in the composition of his first romance, _zastrozzi_.' it is strange that so exemplary a shelleyan expert as mr. garnett dealt thus respectfully with what shelley told medwin, or medwin imagined himself to have been told by shelley, about harriett grove's part in the composition of _zastrozzi_. there is no more truth in the fable that harriett grove wrote some of the chapters of _zastrozzi_, than there is in the fable that she was the harriett of the dedicatory prelude to _queen mab_. possibly shelley saw his pretty cousin in her wiltshire home, when he went from brentford to fern for the easter holidays, in the company of her harrovian brothers. probably the cousins saw one another on other occasions, when they were small children; but when they met at field place in the summer of , they came together as new acquaintances. there is decent, though not conclusive, evidence that they had never looked on each other before that summer. it is certain that their brief intimacy, attended with innocent flirtation and cousinly correspondence, was an affair of the later six months of :--that _zastrozzi_ had been written to the last line, sent to messrs. longman and co., declined by those publishers, sent to messrs. wilkie and robinson, printed by them, and almost, if not actually published, before the dawn of that brief intimacy. so much for what has been written about harriett grove's participation in the authorship of the earlier of shelley's inexpressibly ludicrous novels. the poet's coadjutor in the unfortunate business of the _original poetry_ was his sister elizabeth, and it is easy to see how shelley manufactured the fanciful name 'cazire' out of so dissimilar a name as elizabeth. he may be presumed to have made it out of the letters of his sister's name and a single epithet of affection, on principles familiar to students who are versed in the romantic curiosities and fanciful contrivances of eighteenth-century english literature. isabel and elizabeth are the same name with differences of garniture. in each case iza is the veritable name. to call a woman izabel, or izabella, is to call her 'the beautiful iza.' to call her elizabeth (el iza beata) is to style her 'the blessed iza.' in being christened elizabeth, the eldest of shelley's sisters was named iza. the letters out of which shelley made the fancy-name 'cazire,' were the letters of cara iza == dear iza. of course he used no letter twice. rule of art forbade him to use the same letter twice. first he took the letters of the name, and by reversing their order made them spell 'azi.' by prefixing to 'azi' the 'c' of cara, and putting the 'r' of the same epithet after the 'i' of 'cazi,' he made the name 'cazir,'--a name to which he gave a more feminine appearance by adding to it the initial letter of his sister's familiar name, elizabeth. hence 'cazire.' even as the byron of southwell green employed ridge, the newark bookseller, to print and publish his three first volumes of verse, the shelley of field place appointed a horsham printer to make a printed book of the _original poetry_, which he and his sister had put together. the edition, thus printed at horsham in the late summer or early autumn of , though it can scarcely be said to have been published there, seems to have been an edition of fifteen hundred copies. if the youthful authors looked for a brisk sale in sussex, that would enable them to pay their printer as soon as he should ask for his money, they were disappointed. if the horsham printer worked off the edition, under the notion that he would have no difficulty in getting payment of his little bill from the young gentleman of field place, or from the member of parliament for new shoreham, or from old sir bysshe shelley, he, too, was disappointed. for in the autumn (towards the end of august or on one of the earliest days of september), , the oxford undergraduate entered for the first time the place of business of mr. john joseph stockdale, and with a countenance eloquent of anxiety besought the publisher to satisfy the demand of the importunate horsham printer, and taking over the stock of printed copies to offer them for sale in his usual way of business. had he been a youth of no social quality, instead of being the eldest son of a well-known member of parliament, who was reputed to be the heir of the wealthiest commoner of sussex, the petitioner for relief from an embarrassing position would probably have been bowed out of the publisher's office with more promptitude than courtesy. but the heir-apparent of the heir-apparent of the inordinately rich sir bysshe shelley, baronet, was no person for mr. john joseph stockdale to repel. in a few years the beardless undergraduate might himself be one of the richest of england's dignified commoners. an arrangement was made between the man of business and the youth of quality; and on th september, , the pall-mall publisher received from the horsham printer fourteen hundred and eighty copies of the _original poetry: by victor and cazire_, a work forthwith announced in the principal london papers as on sale 'by stockdale, jun., , pall-mall,' at the price of _s._ per copy, in 'boards.' the book's career, under these circumstances, was brief. it had not been re-published many days, at the longest not more than two or three weeks, and the copies sold or put into circulation cannot, at the boldest computation, have exceeded a hundred, when, on examining the book closely (examining it, probably, in consequence of something he had heard to the volume's discredit) the publisher came to the conclusion that the work must be withdrawn and suppressed. a fraud on the public, an infringement of at least one author's copyright, a thing published with a deceptive title-page, the _original poetry_ was found to contain poetry by monk lewis. it may be conceived how surprised shelley was to find he had induced a london publisher to accept for the original poetry of himself and his friend, poetry that, instead of being what he declared it to be, was stolen poetry. no fine words, no specious phrases, can put out of sight the fact that this business was an ugly business. shelley was not a child when he thus put wares under a false name on a london tradesman. he had entered his nineteenth year when he did this distinctly discreditable thing. to separate shelley as far as possible from what he necessarily regards as an awkward and humiliating affair, mr. garnett has recourse to a representation which, instead of according with the probabilities of the case, is discountenanced by several facts. 'it was but too clear,' says the author of _shelley in pall mall_, 'that shelley's colleague, doubtless under the compulsion of the poet's impetuous solicitations for more verses, had appropriated whatever came first to hand, with slight respect for pedantic considerations of _meum_ and _tuum_.' what evidence could mr. garnett produce that the pilfered matter was put into the book, not by shelley but by his coadjutor? that the poet had pressed his coadjutor impetuously for more verses? that, in consequence of his impetuous solicitations for more verses, shelley's coadjutor took verses out of a printed book, and palmed them off on him as verses of her own composition? what evidence could mr. garnett produce that shelley was unaware that the volume of so-styled original verse contained poetry which had been 'appropriated ... with slight respect for pedantic considerations of _meum_ and _tuum_?' no evidence of any kind, over and beyond these words by the mendacious and rascally stockdale:-- 'i fully anticipated the probable vexation of the juvenile maiden-author, when i communicated my discovery to mr. p. b. shelley. with all the ardour, incidental to his character, which embraces youthful honour in all its brilliancy, he expressed the warmest resentment at the imposition, practised upon him, by his coadjutor, and intreated me to destroy all the copies.' of stockdale's motives of self-interest and vindictiveness, in writing of shelley in a laudatory style, something will be said by-and-by. for the present it is enough to remind the reader that the concoctor of the scandalous _budget_ ( ) was writing from memory, more than sixteen years after the incidents to which he refers. that shelley's coadjutor was spurred into wrongful action by 'the poet's impetuous solicitations for more verses,' is a touch of fiction for which we are indebted to mr. garnett's imagination. as no copy of the suppressed edition is known to be in existence, and all our certain knowledge of the contents of the volume comes from stockdale's meagre and mendacious narrative, it is useless to inquire what will probably never be known--what proportion the purloined matter bore to the original writing of the book, and how far the purloined matter was manipulated and re-dressed by the pilferer or pilferers? it is scarcely conceivable that the stolen stuff was lifted from one book to the other without any verbal alteration. should a copy of the _original poetry_ be recovered, i should expect to find the least original of its pieces to be specimens of bold, free, manifest plagiarisms--not verbatim transcripts. that shelley was a partner to such plagiarisms in we know from medwin's candid account of the way in which they made up the cantos of _the wandering jew_. that shelley used to perpetrate such plagiarisms single-handed, and for his own sole use, in , we know from the plagiarism from byron's _lachin-y-gair_ (_hours of idleness_) to be found in _st. irvyne_. lewis's _monk_ was boldly pilfered for the benefit of the third canto of _the wandering jew_, a canto altered and added to by shelley after medwin had rough-written it. monk lewis's writings were so much admired by shelley, and so familiar to him, that whilst he (with a strong taste for literary imitation) may be assumed, almost as a matter of course, to have plagiarized some parts of them at some time or other, he was not likely to have overlooked the quality of any plagiarism from monk lewis in the verses given him by his sister for their joint enterprise. it follows that, whilst there is no sufficient evidence in support of mr. garnett's account of the affair, several facts point to the probability that, instead of being perpetrated by miss shelley, the plagiarisms, which made it needful to withdraw and suppress the 'original poetry,' were done by her brother's own hand. yet mr. garnett declares it not merely clear, but 'too clear,' that shelley was nothing more than the simple and unsuspicious victim of an unworthy coadjutor. at the same time to minimize the discredit, accruing to shelley from her misconduct, it is observed lightly that, instead of stealing, she only 'appropriated whatever first came to hand, with slight respect for pedantic considerations of _meum_ and _tuum_.' it is thus that disagreeable matters are glossed for the benefit of the poet, who might have been the saviour of the world. mr. rossetti, by far the most discreet and able of shelley's apologists, would win a favourable verdict for the poet in respect to this _victor and cazire_ business, on the plea that so youthful and unworldly a writer is not to be supposed to have studied the law of copyright. 'one can but speculate on the question whether shelley was himself in fault in this matter, or whether he had been duped by his coadjutor. there was certainly some tendency to secretiveness in his early literary attempts; and it may be doubted whether the etonian scatterbrain would have seen much harm in appropriating stanzas or whole compositions from lewis if they fell in with his notions,--or, indeed, whether he had ever perceived or pondered the meaning of the word copyright. stockdale, at any rate, does not seem to have considered himself aggrieved by shelley, as he soon after undertook the publishing of _st. irvyne_; in fact, after some serious rows during their business connexion, he continued enthusiastic as to the young author's character and honour.' by all means let shelley have the benefit of the lenient judgment of a publisher, who came to ruin through his own dishonourable conduct. the publisher, who gave english literature _the memoirs of harriet wilson_, is scarcely the person on whose evidence a proud man would care to rely for the vindication of his own or his friend's honour. the plea that shelley probably knew nothing of the law of copyright, reminds one of the similar plea, which caused lord justice knight bruce to declare in his proper court, that 'to be honest it was not necessary to be an attorney.' in truth, the question is wholly beside shelley's knowledge or ignorance of that law. every eton boy knows whether he has done a set of latin verses for himself, or copied them from another boy's paper; knows also that he is telling an untruth when he expressly declares himself the maker of the verses which another boy has composed for him. if shelley knew the book contained poetry, that was written by neither of the individuals indicated in the title-page,--contained poetry that was _not_ original in the sense of the title,--he was guilty of an untruth. for reasons already stated, i cannot question he had this knowledge, and was guilty of an untruth, which he would not have uttered to the publisher and the world, had he been (as lady shelley declares him to have been) more outspoken and truthful than other boys; or (as mr. walter s. halliday declares him to have been) remarkable for 'great moral courage' and dislike of everything that was 'false.' were it a solitary instance of departure from truth in the poet's career, his present biographer would be at less pains to call attention to this matter, as an affair that should not be without effect on our final estimate of an equally interesting and puzzling character. after placing the copies of the _original poetry_ in mr. stockdale's hands, shelley naturally wished the same publisher of light literature to produce _st. irvyne; or, the rosicrucian_,--a novel of which so much will be said in the next chapter of this volume, that it is enough in the present page to say the young author was at work upon it in the summer and autumn of , and probably began to work upon it soon after sending the copy of _the wandering jew_ to john ballantyne and co. enough has been said of the verses that, written by shelley in - (probably in the earlier half of ), may have been the first sketches and studies for _queen mab_. it is, however, well to refer again to the metrical performances that, engaging shelley's attention in the autumn of , were published by the oxford printer and bookseller, j. munday, in the middle of the november of that year, under the title of _posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson_. in a contemptuous notice of the _victor and cazire_ poems, the _british critic_ ( ) spoke of the volumes as 'sentimental nonsense and very absurd tales of horror' in terms, that seem to dispose of mr. d. f. maccarthy's suggestion that the _posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson_ may be a mere reproduction of the _victor and cazire_ poems, _minus_ the verses that might have brought the publisher into the court of chancery. in comparing byron's story with shelley's story, one is struck by the numerous resemblances and coincidences of the two careers. even as byron employed a country printer to produce his first volume of boyish verse, shelley employed a country printer for the production of his first book of jingle. even as the indiscretions of byron's first book constrained him to suppress it, shelley was forced to suppress his first thing of rhymes by fear of consequences. what was the year of shelley's correspondence with miss felicia dorothea browne (afterwards mrs. hemans), the correspondence, in which he impregnated her mind with sceptical thought, and so far disturbed her religious life that mrs. browne (felicia's mother) wrote to mr. medwin the elder, begging him to use his influence with shelley, so that he should desist from writing to the girl he had never seen? in the absence of dated documents, i answer this question with some hesitation by assigning the interchange of letters to . there are reasons for giving a somewhat earlier date to the correspondence, and reasons for thinking the boy and girl were writing to one another even so late as the spring of . but, speaking doubtfully, i regard the interchange of epistles as an affair of the spring and summer of . with his usual ambiguity of expression, medwin says, or seems to say, that he made miss felicia dorothea browne's acquaintance in north wales at the beginning of or somewhat before that year; subscribed for a volume of her poems when she was sixteen years old; and on his return from north wales (in the earlier part of ) spoke of her and her writings to shelley, in terms that caused him to write to the young lady. the perplexing mr. thomas medwin writes thus:-- 'in the beginning of the first of these two years' (_i.e._ and ), 'i showed shelley some poems to which i had subscribed by felicia browne, whom i had met in north wales, where she had been on a visit at the house of a connexion of mine. she was then sixteen, and it was impossible not to be struck with the beauty (for beautiful she was), the grace, and charming simplicity and _naiveté_ of this interesting girl; and on my return from denbighshire, i made her and her works the frequent subject of conversation with.... he desired to become acquainted with the young authoress, and using my name wrote to her, as he was in the habit of doing to all those who in any way excited his sympathies. this letter produced an answer, and a correspondence of some length passed between them, which, of course, i never saw, but it is to be supposed that it turned on other subjects besides poetry. i mean that it was sceptical. it has been said by her biographer, that the poetess was at one period of her life, as is the case frequently with deeper thinkers on religion, inclined to doubt; and it is not impossible that such owed its origin to this interchange of thought. one may, indeed, suppose this to have been the case, from the circumstance of her mother writing to my father, and begging him to use his influence with shelley to cease from any further communication with her daughter,--in fact, prohibiting their further correspondence.' medwin is obviously not right in his dates. born on rd september, , felicia browne (hemans) attained the age of sixteen on rd september, . if he made the young lady's acquaintance at the end of , or in the beginning of , she was only fifteen years of age when he first made a bow to her. if she was in her seventeenth year when he first saw her, the meeting took place on some day between rd september, , and rd september, . it is much more probable that he was right about her age than about the year. the girl's precise age is much more likely than the precise number of the year, in which he first saw her, to have lived in his memory. the admiration with which he regarded and remembered her is a state of feeling much more likely to have been caused by a girl of sixteen than a child of fifteen. if he made her acquaintance at the end of , he made it at a time closely preceding the winter in which he saw so much of shelley. if he made her acquaintance at the close of , or the beginning of , he would have had fewer opportunities for speaking about her to his cousin (still an eton schoolboy); and in the spring and summer of , he would scarcely have been cognizant of the correspondence of the boy at eton and the girl in wales. in the winter of - , and in the following spring, he would naturally know of the correspondence, and hear something of the letters he was not permitted to see. it matters little whether the correspondence was an affair of this year or that year. the important fact is that, whilst still a stripling, the future poet opened a correspondence with the young lady, and used the opportunities of the correspondence to infuse her with sceptical sentiment, and disturb her faith in the religion in which she had been trained. what might come to miss felicia browne from his intrusion on her spiritual life was no question to trouble him. what misery might ensue to the girl's mother and other kindred from his action was no matter for him to consider. the rights and feelings of parents were rights and feelings to which the young gentleman (who might have been the saviour of the world) was sublimely indifferent, whenever it pleased him to talk with a school-girl (whose acquaintance he had made without the sanction or knowledge of her parents) on the evidences of christianity, the soul's immortality, the existence of the deity. no less heedless was he of his own mother's wishes, anxieties, fears, hopes, when the humour came upon him to enlighten his sisters on matters about which she wished them to be left in ignorance. himself a passionate disbeliever of the christian religion, shelley was possessed by a passion for making other people sharers of his disbelief, especially for raising the young ladies of his acquaintance to his own philosophical contempt for the delusions of christianity. any one who humoured his propensity to win converts to his own particular infidelity was a philosopher; every one who presumed to oppose it was an intolerant bigot. in the indulgence of this passion for making converts to unbelief, he was selfish. without receiving or seeking mrs. browne's permission to address her daughter on matters pertaining to religion, or to have any kind of confidential relations with her, he opened a correspondence with the sixteen-years-old girl, and did his best to lure her from the religion in which she had been educated,--and was so far successful as to shake her faith in christianity. a few weeks or months later, without receiving or seeking mrs. grove's permission to address her daughter (a young girl of his own age) on matters of religion, he did his best by spoken words and written words to lure the girl from christianity, though he must have known that he could not effect his purpose without inflicting inexpressible pain on his mother's sister. knowing his mother's repugnance to infidelity, he did his best to lure his eldest sister (a girl of poetical sensibility and genius, who idolized him) from the christian religion. in the following year, finding harriett westbrook still a sixteen-years-old school-girl, who held the usual religious views of an english school-girl educated within the lines of the established church, he approached her without asking her parents' authority to do so, lured her from christianity to atheism, set her in rebellion against her father, and having made her an undutiful daughter and an atheist, married her,--marrying her instead of making her his mere mistress, _only_ because hogg made him see he was bound in honour to make her his lawfully wedded wife, before possessing himself of her person. in this period of his early manhood, he approached other girls of tender age in the same manner,--addressing them on matters of religion, disturbing their spiritual life, and shaking their faith in christianity, when he did not succeed in his efforts to extinguish it. with the single exception of miss harriett grove (who does not seem to have suffered from his sophistries) he seems to have been more or less successful in all his attempts on the faith of young girls. in acting thus to young girls, without the sanction or knowledge of their natural guardians, the apt pupil of the hard-swearing windsor doctor is declared by the most fervid of his admirers to have been justified, because he was a sincere and earnest teacher of what he believed to be the truth, an enthusiastic assailant of error, and a fervid enemy of intolerance. though his action was often strangely wanting in candour and openness, was sometimes odiously secretive and treacherous towards the parents of the young girls with whose faith he tampered, the sincerity of his religious sentiments and utterances is open to no suspicion. it is unquestionable that he believed what he tried to make others believe,--that he was wholly convinced and absolutely certain of the falseness of the opinions which he entreated other people to repudiate as false. it cannot be doubted he was an enthusiastic assailant of what he thought to be error, and the majority of his acquaintance thought to be the reverse of error. in one sense, he was no doubt a disinterested assailant of what he thought to be error. but how about his tolerance? his hatred of intolerance? for the moment we are not thinking of the italian shelley, who, after warring wildly with all who differed from him in opinion, desisted in some degree from the bootless strife,--on discovering that what was truth to him might be error to higher intelligence, that the people from whom he differed in opinion had the same right to their manifestly erroneous opinions as he had to his possibly erroneous views; that human creatures could not be forced out of their errors by passionate speech; that disputants fighting with subtle arguments and hot words might be as essentially intolerant as disputants fighting with instruments of torture and blazing faggots. to say that the shelley, who, after surviving the phrensies of his earlier manhood, wrote the _essay on christianity_, was devoid of tolerance would be unjust. but how about the shelley who wrote _laon and cythna_, who raved against religion in _queen mab_, and was moved by hatred of error to teach harriett westbrook (ætat. ), harriett grove (ætat. ), his sister elizabeth (ætat. ), felicia browne (ætat. ), that christianity was made up of monstrous fables and delusions; that the christian religion was accountable for the worst evils of human society; that the sentiment of the christian faith was pernicious and execrable. was this enemy of intolerance chiefly remarkable for tolerance? whilst railing at the world's want of tolerance, shelley was himself a caricature of intolerance. in regarding shelley during the earlier stages of his crusade against christianity, more especially in regarding his endeavours to dispel the religious delusions of felicia browne, harriett grove, his sister elizabeth, harriett westbrook and other young ladies of his acquaintance, readers should judge him at least quite as severely as they would judge any young man of the present period, whom they should detect in sapping the religious faith and disturbing the religious life of young girls, still under their governesses. i might even go a step further and say that they should judge him even more severely than a young man of the present period: as in these days of free thought, when it is questioned by a considerable minority of people whether children are the better for being kept well within the lines of religious orthodoxy, a young man guilty of infusing the damsels of his familiar circle with sceptical sentiment, would offend social opinion less flagrantly and universally, than the oxford undergraduate who was guilty of such conduct in days, when society was almost unanimous in attaching the highest value to religious orthodoxy, and in believing that to depart from it was to lay aside the only effectual armour against temptations to immorality. still, it is enough for readers to judge shelley in this matter, precisely as they would judge a youthful delinquent of the present period, when the wholesome opinion still prevails that the man is guilty of heinous domestic treachery, who abuses the opportunities of familiar intercourse, so as to disturb the religious life of the young people of his acquaintance, and lure them from the tenets in which their natural guardians have educated them, and desire them still to be educated. what would the readers of this page say of any clever etonian or oxford undergraduate, whom they should overhear and catch in the very act of luring a girl of tender age from the religion of her parents (the religion in which they wish to confirm her) into atheism? i conceive most readers of this page would pass judgment on the offender, without reference to the relative merits or demerits of the religion the girl was being lured to repudiate. i do not hesitate to say that in such a case i should tell the youthful apostle of free thought my opinion of his conduct, in a few words of homely english, that would make his ears tingle;--and the words of homely english would be none the less stinging and disdainful, because i knew the young gentleman to be a rather clever fellow, and even thought him likely to write good poetry some years hence. why do i presume to say without hesitation that miss harriett grove's correspondence with, and so-called engagement to, her cousin, percy bysshe shelley, were affairs of the year , whilst lady shelley (writing '_from authentic sources_') declares them to have been affairs of the previous year ? the authorities have blundered curiously about this affair of the two cousins. mr. thomas love peacock makes a great slip, where he says that 'shelley's expulsion from oxford brought to a summary conclusion his boyish passion for miss harriett grove.' letters published in hogg's first volume put it beyond question that, whilst the brief familiar intercourse was an affair of the latter half of , it was all over by the end of that year, or at latest before the end of the christmas holidays of - . shelley had ceased to sigh for harriett grove, some weeks before the expulsion. in the note, which reveals his disposition to think the dedicatory verses of _queen mab_ may after all have been addressed by the poet in the first instance to harriett grove, mr. forman does an injustice (for which he has, however, a sufficient excuse) to mr. thomas medwin, in representing him as giving the summer of as the summer in which the young lady and the poet 'met for the first time, since they had been children, at field place.' an inexact author must be read with proper regard for his besetting infirmity, even as an unsound horse must be handled with due regard for his particular unsoundness. half-a-score facts show that in speaking of the winter of (the winter next after shelley's withdrawal from eton), medwin was speaking of the winter of - . from that date on p. , vol. i., of the _life of shelley_, the narrative is carried on throughout the winter and ensuing spring into the summer, when, on p. of the same volume, the biographer says, 'it was in the summer of this year that he became acquainted with our cousin, harriet grove;'--obviously meaning the summer of . lady shelley, who makes free use of medwin's book (blunders and all), probably made her mistake of the year by reading medwin, even as mr. forman in later time read him, without sufficient care. what does mr. charles henry grove (harriett's brother) say about the matter in a very interesting letter? writing from torquay on th february, , when still only in his rd year, this gentleman (after mentioning the brentford schoolboy's visit to fern for the easter holidays), remarks:-- 'i did not meet bysshe again after that till i was fifteen, the year i left the navy, and then i went to field place with my father, mother, charlotte, and harriet. bysshe was there, having just left eton, and his sister, elizabeth. bysshe was at that time more attached to my sister harriet than i can express, and i recollect well the moonlight walks we four had at strode, and also at st. irvings; that, i think, was the name of the place, then the duke of norfolk's, at horsham. [st.[ ] irving's hills, a beautiful place, on the right-hand side as you go from horsham to field place, laid out by the famous capability brown, and full of magnificent forest trees, waterfalls, and rustic seats. the house was elizabethan. all has been destroyed.] that was in the year . after our visit to field place, we went to my brother's house in lincoln's inn fields, where bysshe, his mother, and elizabeth joined us, and a very happy month we spent. bysshe was full of life and spirits, and very well pleased with his successful devotion to my sister. in the course of that summer, to the best of my recollection, after we had retired into wiltshire, a continued correspondence was going on, as, i believe, there had been before, between bysshe and my sister harriet. but she became uneasy at the tone of his letters on speculative subjects, at first consulting my mother, and subsequently my father also, on the subject. this led at last, though i cannot exactly tell how, to the dissolution of an engagement between bysshe and my sister, which had previously been permitted, both by his father and mine.' the bracketed words being regarded as 'editorial comment,' this quotation from mr. charles henry grove's letter, and all the rest of the epistle, are lucid and strenuous. the writer of so good a letter may have exaggerated the fervour of shelley's passion for his cousin harriett, and made a regular engagement out of a mere appearance of mutual liking that promised to ripen quickly into a formal betrothal (of these errors i have no doubt mr. charles henry grove was in some degree guilty); but he was not likely to be wrong about the year, remembered as the year in which he was fifteen, and the year in which he left the navy. that he was right about the year appears also from divers of shelley's letters to hogg. it requires no great effort of the imagination to create pleasant scenes and incidents from the little that is recorded of this meeting and association of the two families of the wiltshire groves and sussex shelleys, families having their homes too far apart to see much of one another in pre-railway time. harriett and percy bysshe had not seen each other (if we may trust medwin) since they were children. no wonder the young man was favourably impressed by his fair cousin,--a singularly beautiful girl of graceful figure, clear blue eyes, a singular superabundance of light golden-brown tresses, a complexion comparable with his own complexion for show of pink and white, but surpassing it in clearness and freedom from freckles. cousins of the same age almost to a day, they resembled one another in several personal particulars; but the girl had the advantage of her cousin in the delicate symmetry of her countenance, and the fine straightness of the feature that rendered the fault of his small, turn-up nose more noticeable. in the dignity and composure of her carriage she also had the advantage of the oxford undergraduate, whose movements were too nervous, and impetuous, and irregular for stateliness. this difference of bearing and gesture in the two cousins corresponded with the difference of their temperaments,--his quick and vehement impulsiveness, her calm self-possession. perhaps shelley liked the lovely girl all the more for her coldness, just as byron was fascinated by the frigid placidity of miss milbanke's demeanour. that he had reason to admire her is unquestionable. after a lapse of six-and-thirty years, tom medwin (who was one of the family party at field place in , and in those thirty-six years had seen many charming women in divers lands) could recall no woman comparable with her for beauty. possibly the meeting of the two families had been arranged by the elders to see if the two cousins were likely to care more than a little for each other. it was not in human nature for the two families to live together for two months without thinking that it might result in a wedding. mr. grove (_ætat._ , a country gentleman with a large family:--i find no sufficient reason to credit him with clerical quality, though he is styled a clergyman by one of the poet's biographers; burke only styles him 'esquire') may well have liked the thought of matching his lovely daughter with the heir-apparent of the heir-apparent of the prodigiously wealthy baronet of castle goring. mrs. grove would have been a strangely unreasonable woman to think her nephew no sufficient match for her beautiful daughter. the member for new shoreham and mrs. shelley of field place may well have thought an early engagement, with a prospect of early marriage, precisely the thing to keep their eccentric, troublesome, scatterbrain boy steady and straight at oxford. whilst the eton-oxford man certainly liked his cousin well enough to enjoy the notion of becoming her husband, at least one member of the family party was desirous, intent, busy on making a match out of such promising materials. this would-be match-maker was bysshe's sister elizabeth,--the iza of cazire, at the same time her brother's idol and idolater, a girl of no common beauty and mental endowments, a maiden clever with her pen and yet cleverer with her pencil. at her own instance, and at his request, to please her brother and to please herself, she threw herself into his purpose, and pleaded in his behalf to the beauty of fern, declaring he possessed every noble quality, and was free from every failing of his sex; insisting that he and the cousin whom he admired so enthusiastically were designed by heaven for one another; and imploring the tranquil, too unresponsive beauty to rate bysshe at his proper worth, and prize his expressions of affection far higher than she seemed to prize them. the poet must have mistrusted his power to win and hold the beauty when he asked his sister to help him; and before she entreated the beauty to be merciful, miss shelley must have felt her brother sorely needed her assistance. my impression is that from first to last shelley never had any hold whatever on miss grove's affections, that he was no clever suitor, that circumstances were from the outset against him. before she came to field place there may have been an understanding between the young lady and the somerset gentleman whom she married in the following year; an understanding that, whilst binding her lightly though securely to him, left her free to amuse herself with a little innocent flirtation with her cousin of field place. i have reason to suspect that when she consulted her father and mother about bysshe's sceptical views after corresponding with him for several months, she produced the letters not so much for the benefit of their advice as for the assistance they would afford her in inducing them to relinquish a scheme on which they had set their hearts, and to sanction a scheme on which she had set her heart nine months since. i cannot question that bysshe diminished and weakened any slight chance he may have had of winning the beauty's hand by talking sceptically to her, and otherwise carrying her through the primer of infidelity. instead of taking the new doctrine to her heart, she was at first a little frightened by it, and then strongly determined by it to take a path of life, in which she would not be attended by the scatterbrain heir to the brand-new castle goring baronetcy. still every girl likes to be admired, and miss grove liked her cousin's admiration none the less because his sister entreated her so prettily to accept it responsively. there was no reason why she should disappoint the brother and sister with a promptitude, that would put a premature period to an agreeable holiday. the obvious wishes of the elders of both families may also have disposed the young lady to temporize. that the elders of the family party wished for the match when the groves went from field place to town, may be inferred from the arrangement for the speedy reunion of the young people in lincoln's inn fields. that bysshe, mrs. shelley, and miss shelley, followed the five groves to london so quickly, and spent a month with them under the same roof of lincoln's inn fields, is a significant fact. in london, as the reader doubtless remembers, the poet had other business to look after besides the pursuit of his cousin's affection. it was needful for him to come to an arrangement with a london publisher respecting those already mentioned fourteen hundred and eighty copies of _original poetry_, by victor and cazire. needful, also, was it that he should find a publisher for _st. irvyne, or the rosicrucian_, which would soon be ready for the press. the poet's first visit to mr. john joseph stockdale's place of business in pall mall was paid whilst he was staying with his mother, and his sister, and harriett the enchantress, under his cousin grove's house, hard by lincoln's inn. since he entered the publisher's office with a countenance eloquent of anxiety, one can imagine the relief it was to cazire (the sharer of his literary toil and anxiety) to learn from victor, on his return from pall mall, that he thought he saw a way out of the bother with that embarrassing horsham printer, who wanted his money so much sooner than was reasonable and convenient. but though she cannot have rated him highly as a partner in the dance, and does not seem at any moment to have thought seriously of taking him for a partner through life, the cousins played together prettily for two summer months. the moonlight walks at strode and about st. irving's hills were followed by no less agreeable visits to the sights of the town. and when miss harriett returned to wiltshire, and the youthful poet went back to field place, there was a commencement or renewal (mr. charles henry grove is uncertain which it was) of their correspondence through the post, that came to an end in, or shortly before, the ensuing christmas holidays. it is not surprising that spectators of the game, who, of course, could see but little of it, mistook for an engagement what to outsiders seemed so likely to become an engagement, though it never was an affair (if i read the facts aright) that could have ended in marriage. peacock was justified in saying far too much had been made of this affair. on shelley's side, it certainly was no grand passion. on harriett's side it probably was nothing more than an innocent, perfectly feminine, and scarcely avoidable, flirtation. to please her parents rather than herself, she was something more complaisant to her cousin than she need have been. to please him, she answered the letters he rained down upon her--letters it would have been uncivil in her to leave altogether unnoticed. after fuming for a week or ten days, on being told he might not write to her again, shelley never pretended that his heart had been seriously concerned in the affair, that he was a blighted being, that harriett grove had dealt him a blow comparable with the blow that drove byron in anguish from annesley. in this matter, at least, he was wholly guiltless of affectation, even whilst in his first annoyance he fumed and blustered in a very absurd fashion, vowing war to the bitter end with the demon intolerance, that had severed him from his harriett. he played a perfectly natural, though scarcely heroic, part, when he had taken time to wipe his eyes and recover his temper. the affair with his cousin had been ended only a few months, when he went off cheerily to scotland with the sixteen-years-old daughter of a licensed victualler. after leaving oxford, shelley never talked any nonsense about harriett grove's unkindness, never affected to have suffered much from her rejection of his suit, never accused her of having treated him badly. and so long as he lived, no nonsense was written or talked about the matter by the poet's friends. but when he had been dead for some few years, it occurred to the shelleyan zealots, who were decrying byron on serious questions for the advantage of their peculiar bard, that less important matters might be handled in the same way to the benefit of the poet, whom (to use an americanism) they were 'running' against the author of _childe harold_. hence the extravagant talk about shelley's ancient lineage and patrician quality. if the opposition poet was a baron of the realm, a man of splendid lineage, a descendant from the norman buruns, the poet of 'the zealots' was next in succession to an english baronetcy, a gentleman of norman ancestry, a worshipful personage, who had reason to value himself on his relationship to the penshurst sidneys, and on being heir to wealth that could purchase a score such places as newstead abbey. hence, also, the talk about byron's egotistic selfishness, insincerities, and affectations, which made him show disadvantageously in comparison with shelley, who was (of course) so remarkable for simplicity and devotion to the truth, so invariably considerate for the feelings of other people, and so incapable of talking about himself in his poetry! hence, also, the disparagement of byron's singular facial loveliness. when he discovered that byron's nose was too big for his face, and declared it had the appearance of having been imposed upon the face instead of growing naturally out of it, leigh hunt was trying (even in respect to so trivial a matter as a single feature) to reduce the poet he hated, to an equality with the poet, whose too small nose was 'a turn up,'--a blemish, that the 'shelleyan enthusiasts' have done their best to withhold from the poet's posterity. hence, also, the practice of making far too much of shelley's passion for harriett grove, and its disappointment. readers do not need to be reminded what good running byron made during life with his droll piece of romance about his passion for mary chaworth, and the ruin that came to him from its disappointment;--the fiction, that originated in vanity and sentimentalism, being subsequently embellished and emphasized at the instigation of the poet's spite against his unforgiving wife. but the sympathy and admiration, that came to byron during his life from this fantastic and lovely bit of poetical fibbing, were trivial in comparison with the compassion and charity, lavished upon him in the grave by the thousands and hundreds of thousands of simple persons, who had been taught by his verse to believe he would have abounded in all the social virtues, had it not been for that unfortunate business with mary chaworth. under these circumstances, it is not surprising that the zealots, who persisted in 'running' shelley against byron, determined to 'run' harriett grove against mary chaworth, and to teach mankind that byron's passion for mary was no grander an affair than shelley's passion for his harriett (the first). chapter viii. st. irvyne; or, the rosicrucian: a romance. by a gentleman of the university of oxford. venal villains--'jock' instructed to 'pouch' them--at work on another novel--the dog of a publisher--devil of a price--_st. irvyne_--irving's hill--review of _st. irvyne_--wolfstein the magnanimous--megalena de metastasio--olympia della anzasca--eloise st. irvyne--the virtuous fitzeustace--ginotti's doom--the oxonian shelley's repugnance to marriage--his commendation of free love--parallel passages of _zastrozzi_ and _st. irvyne_--the verses of _st. irvyne_. as the hour drew near for the publication of _zastrozzi_, shelley was urgent with his publisher to spend money in getting favourable reviews of the superlatively foolish book. the publisher declining to part with his money for that purpose, the literary aspirant (more truth-loving though he was than other boys, if lady shelley may be trusted) discovered a grievance in mr. robinson's niggardly reluctance to bribe the reviewers. as the man of business would not make needful arrangements with the 'gentlemen of the press,' shelley declared his intention (in a letter dated st april, ), to see that the 'venal villains' were properly 'pouched.' many a boyish author has talked and written in the same vein, and even tipt a 'venal villain' for a lying paragraph, without bearing himself in later time so as to acquire a reputation for untruthfulness or for labouring under semi-delusions. a biographer might well disdain to notice so trivial an indication of a readiness to tamper with the truth and fib by deputy, had shelley's veracity never been called in question in later time. under the circumstances of the case, one does not make too much of the small matter, in remarking that, whilst it accords with the action of the young man who offered verse for sale as 'original poetry' with the knowledge that it was not 'original,' this resolve to buy insincere praise, in order to deceive the public and win money or homage from credulous readers, is out of harmony with the fine things that have been said of the poet's sublime sincerity and passionate abhorrence of falsehood. if medwin was right in saying _zastrozzi_ was favourably reviewed and declared 'a book of much promise,' the critic must have been a sufficiently 'pouched' and 'venal villain.' in the same letter of st april, , the poet and novelist, who ten days later donned cap and gown at university college, is seen at work on another novel, in the hope that it will bring him _l._, and place him before the world as the author of the _new romance_ in three volumes. if 'jock' (otherwise styled mr. john robinson, of paternoster row) won't pay him 'a devil of a price' for his new poem, and at least _l._ for his new romance, 'the dog shall not have them.' it was thus the youngster swaggered over a sheet of paper on april fools' day, about his dog of a publisher, and the devil of a price the dog must pay him for the finest fruit of his genius. the young man boasting of the _l._ he meant to have for his _new romance_ in three volumes, was the same boy who seems to have set it about that he had been paid _l._ for _zastrozzi_. what the poem was, does not appear. it may have been the 'original poetry' that wasn't original, or the _wandering jew_ that was subsequently offered for a devil of a price, or a gentlemanly price to the messrs. ballantyne and co. of edinburgh, and mr. john joseph stockdale, of pall mall, or even the first meagre sketch of _queen mab_; but i am inclined to think it was _the jew_. _zastrozzi_ having fallen dead from the press (of course, for no other reason than the dog's neglect to pouch the villains), jock was not in the humour to drop money either on the poem for which 'a devil of a price' would be nothing more than fair payment, or on the novel that, on being finished and 'fitted' for the press by a publisher, instead of filling three volumes was (in bulk) a slighter and meaner book than _zastrozzi_. placed in mr. stockdale's hands in september, , and 'fitted' for public perusal by mr. stockdale himself, this performance in prose fiction was published by the pall mall bookseller (not on the payment of _l._ to the author, but altogether at the author's cost and risk) in december, , under the style and titles of _st. irvyne_, or, _the rosicrucian_, the first of the two titles being an adaptation of the names of the ducal seat (st. irving's hills)[ ], in whose glades and gardens he had walked by moonlight with the more cold than faithless harriett, not six months since. for insufficient reasons _st. irvyne, or, the rosicrucian_--an even wilder piece of lunacy than _zastrozzi_--has been assigned to a german source. german tale-wrights may have been in some slight degree accountable for its morbid extravagances, even as they were indirectly accountable for some of the several hundreds of similar english romances, that were produced in the poet's boyhood by the imitators of mrs. radcliffe and monk lewis. but to speak of it as a tale _from_ the german, or even _after_ the german, is to be guilty of a misdescription. consisting of two separate stories, stitched together by an inexpert handler of the literary needle, _st. irvyne_ is just such a performance as might have been looked for from the author of _zastrozzi_, eager to produce a second romance, before 'clearing out' of the state of mental disease, that was partly the effect and partly the cause of the efforts that resulted in the earlier story. something must be said of both parts of the tale that, dropping still-born from the press, would have been absolutely forgotten, had it not been for the author's subsequent celebrity. part, no. i. consenting to participate in the adventures and fortunes of the alpine brigands, by whom he has been captured, the youthful and 'high-souled' wolfstein--an outcast from his noble family and from the society of his equals--makes the acquaintance of ginotti the rosicrucian, whilst the latter is acting as first lieutenant under cavigni, the captain of the banditti. almost at the same time he falls under the influence of megalena de metastasio, daughter of a wealthy italian count, who has been despoiled, murdered, and thrown down a yawning precipice by the comrades of the magnanimous wolfstein. the association of the brigands with wolfstein is of no long duration: for when he has made two attempts to poison their chieftain (the second attempt being successful), the allied robbers expel wolfstein of the lofty soul from their brotherhood. in justice to the magnanimous wolfstein, it must be admitted he did not poison cavigni without provocation. not only does the robber-chief presume to force his unacceptable addresses on the lovely megalena de metastasio, but follows up this presumption with a threat of ravishing her. 'then,' cries the robber-chief, 'if within four-and-twenty hours you hold yourself not in readiness to return my love, force shall wrest the jewel from the casket.' ere the four-and-twenty hours have passed, cavigni has drained the poisoned chalice, and is rolling in torments at his murderer's feet. saved by ginotti from the death to which other robbers would fain consign him, wolfstein goes off with megalena to genoa, where they enter the best society. on the eve of their withdrawal from the alpine cave, megalena shows 'wolfstein jewels to an immense amount':--a sight that causes the high-souled wolfstein to exclaim, 'then we may defy poverty; for i have about me jewels to the value of ten thousand zechins.' when they have settled themselves in their genoese home, wolfstein of the lofty soul shocks megalena by begging her to become his wife without a nuptial ceremony. 'and is my adored megalena,' he asks, 'a victim then to prejudice?... does she suppose that nature created us to become the tormentors of each other?'--questions that of course convince megalena she ought not to stand out for the empty forms of lawful wedlock. 'yes, yes,' the young lady exclaims with equal courage and sobriety. 'prejudice, avaunt! once more reason takes her seat, and convinces me that to be wolfstein's is not criminal. o wolfstein! if for a moment megalena has yielded to the imbecility of nature, believe that she yet knows how to recover herself, to reappear in her proper character.' people differ in their notions of propriety. to old-fashioned persons megalena may seem to 'reappear in a very improper character.' she and the high-souled wolfstein henceforth live together as husband and wife without being husband and wife. they 'acted on emotional theories of liberty.' but then, as mr. froude would say, they were so young and enthusiastic! the course of their mutual affections can scarcely be used as an argument for free love. they 'act on emotional theories of liberty' in other matters. turning pettish and restless, megalena plunges into 'dissipated pleasures.' less enamoured of his ringless bride than harassed by her caprice, the high-souled wolfstein takes to gambling, and forms an embarrassing intimacy with the ardent and lovely olympia della anzasca (daughter of the count and countess of the same rather uncomfortable name), a young gentlewoman, whose passions, stimulated by 'a false system of education and a wrong expansion of ideas,' impel her to quit her father's palazzo one evening, and pay wolfstein a visit, just as he and megalena are sitting down to a late supper. 'to what, lady olympia, do i owe the unforeseen pleasure of your visit? what so mysterious business have you with me?' inquires wolfstein, on entering the room to which the untimely and unattended visitor had been shown. acting on an emotional theory of liberty, the lady olympia della anzasca ejaculates, 'oh! if you wish to see me expire in horrible torments at your feet, inhuman wolfstein, call for megalena, and then will your purpose be accomplished!' having no wish to see the lady olympia die in so unsuitable a place, wolfstein, instead of calling for megalena, replies, 'dearest lady olympia, compose yourself, i beseech you. what, what agitates you?' 'oh! pardon me, pardon me,' exclaims the lady olympia, with 'maniac wildness,' 'pardon a wretched female who knows not what she does! oh! resistlessly am i impelled to this avowal; resistlessly am i impelled to declare to you, that i love you! adore you to distraction!--will you return my affection? but, ah! i rave! megalena, the beloved megalena claims you as her own; and the wretched olympia must moan the blighted prospects which were about to open fair before her eyes.' with the propriety, to be looked for in a gentleman whose megalena is supping in the next room, and may come upon the scene at any moment, the high-souled wolfstein exclaims: 'no reflection in the present instance is needed, lady. what man of honour needs a moment's rumination to discover what nature has so inerasibly planted in his bosom,--the sense of right and wrong? i am connected with a female whom i love, who confides in me; in what manner should i merit her confidence, if i join myself to another? nor can the loveliness of the beautiful olympia della anzasca compensate me for breaking an oath sworn to another!' on hearing this 'dreadful fiat of her destiny,' olympia swoons at wolfstein's feet, a swoon from which she recovers, just as megalena sweeps into the room, at the instance of natural curiosity respecting the cause of olympia's visit. at the sight of megalena's 'detested form,' the 'passion-grieving' olympia, faintly articulating 'vengeance!' rushes into the street and bends her rapid flight to the 'palazzo di anzasca.' when olympia has thus departed in her 'passion-grief,' wolfstein protests he has never given the fair anzasca's passion any encouragement. 'what further proof,' he asks of megalena, 'can i give but my oath, that never in soul or body have i broken the allegiance that i formerly swore to thee?' 'the death of olympia!' answers megalena. 'what mean you?' ejaculates wolfstein. 'i mean,' says megalena, 'i mean that, if ever you wish again to possess my affections, ere to-morrow morning olympia must expire.' 'murder the innocent olympia?' 'yes.' 'will nothing else convince megalena that wolfstein is eternally hers?' 'nothing!' says megalena. ''tis done then,' replies wolfstein the magnanimous, ''tis done. yet' (he mutters), 'i may writhe, convulsed in immaterial agony, for ever and ever--ah! i cannot. no, megalena, i am again yours; i will immolate the victim which thou requirest as a sacrifice to our love. give me a dagger, which may sweep off from the face of the earth one who is hateful to thee! adored creature, give me the dagger, and i will restore it to thee dripping with olympia's hated blood; it shall have first been buried in her heart.' armed with the dagger, which megalena puts in his hand, the high-souled wolfstein goes off to the palazzo della anzasca (or 'di' anzasca, the author uses 'della' and 'di' indifferently), enters it, unobserved follows olympia to her bedroom, hides himself in the room till olympia has put herself to bed, and remains in his convenient corner of the chamber, till she breathes the heavy breath of slumber. the moment for the ruthless deed has come. dagger in hand, wolfstein of the exalted soul glides to the sleeper's bed, watches her angelic features, gazes on the angelic smile that plays over her countenance, nerves himself to deliver the fatal blow, raises the poniard, and then--throws it from him. the noise of the falling dagger rouses olympia to consciousness. she is awake and recognizes him. they speak to one another. for a moment olympia imagines he has relented, and has come to give her the strongest proof of his affection. another moment, and discovering her mistake, she leaps wildly from her bed. 'a light and flowing night-dress,' runs the narrative, 'alone veiled her form; her alabaster bosom was shaded by the light ringlets of her hair, which rested unconfined upon it. she threw herself at the feet of wolfstein. on a sudden, as if struck by some thought, she started convulsively from the earth; for an instant she paused. the rays of a lamp, which stood in a recess of the apartment, fell full upon the dagger of wolfstein. eagerly olympia sprung towards it, and, ere wolfstein was aware of her dreadful intent, plunged it into her bosom. weltering in purple gore she fell; no groan, no sigh escaped her lips. a smile, which the pangs of dissolution could not dispel, played on her convulsed countenance; it irradiated her features with celestially awful, although terrific expression. "ineffectually have i endeavoured to conquer the ardent feelings of my soul; now i overcome them," were her last words. she uttered them in a tone of firmness: and, falling back, expired in torments, which her fine but expressive features declared that she gloried in.' the victim of 'a false system of education and a wrong expansion of ideas' is at rest. all is silent in the chamber of death. as the stir, certain to ensue on the tragedy of olympia's bedroom, may render genoa a perilous place of residence for the man she adored and the woman she detested, wolfstein and megalena fly to bohemia, in which country he has recently succeeded to immense wealth, through his uncle's death. part, no. ii. consisting of six chapters and a concluding note, the second part of this marvellous combination of two several tales relates chiefly to the fortunes of eloise st. irvyne, who accompanies her dying mother from the chateau de st. irvyne in france to geneva, where the elder lady expires of a lingering malady, after solemnly admonishing her daughter to beware of any man she may encounter, who shall be 'a man enveloped in deceit and mystery.' such a man eloise has already encountered on her journey to geneva; and she falls under his fatal influence immediately after her mother's death. just as wolfstein induces megalena to become his ringless bride, nempere prevails on eloise de st. irvyne to become his mistress. growing weary of his victim's fascinations soon after he has gained possession of her body, the villain nempere (who in due course turns out to be ginotti, the rosicrucian) offers eloise st. irvyne as a mere _fille de joie_, in payment of a gambling debt, to the dissolute but essentially honourable chevalier mountfort,--an englishman of ancient lineage and noble rank. too chivalrous to take advantage of the power he has acquired by purchase over the victim of nempere's licentiousness and perfidy, the chevalier mountfort places eloise with an adequate allowance in a picturesque cottage, under the chivalric surveillance of the exemplary fitzeustace (an irish gentleman), who eventually makes her his wife. having thus provided for eloise, the chevalier mountfort goes off in pursuit of nempere, to chastise him for his villany. eloise is left in good hands. 'he is an irishman,' the chevalier has remarked to eloise of the gentleman to whose care she is consigned, 'and so _very moral_, and so averse to every species of _gaieté de coeur_ that you need be under no apprehensions. in short, he is a love-sick swain, without ever having found what he calls a congenial female.' the virtues of this irish gentleman are regarded by mr. denis florence maccarthy as indicative that, whilst writing _st. irvyne_ in the summer of , shelley was already disposed to regard the irish with favour. in eloise this 'love-sick swain' discovers the 'congenial female' for whom he has long been seeking. admiring her beauty, he hangs upon the music of her lips, pining for the time when he shall be permitted to salute them. nothing in her history moderates his passion for nempere's abandoned mistress. in his judgment it is nothing to her disadvantage that she has been seduced, and is on the point of giving birth to a child of shame. when she answers his prayer for their immediate union by saying: 'know you not that i have been another's?' he replies with passionate fervour: 'oh, suppose me not the slave of such vulgar and narrow-minded prejudice. does the frightful vice and ingratitude of nempere sully the spotless excellence of my eloise's soul?' when eloise gives birth to nempere's son, fitzeustace officiates by turns as the mother's doctor and the infant's nurse. at moments when he is necessarily 'absent from the apartment of the beloved eloise, his whole delight is to gaze on the child, and trace in its innocent countenance the features of the mother he adores.' eloise having at length consented to become his wife, this irish gentleman remarks: 'but before we go to england, before my father will see us, it is necessary that we should be married. nay, do not start, eloise: i view it in the light that you do; i consider it as but a chain which, although it keeps the body, still leaves the soul unfettered; it is not so with love. but still, eloise, to those who think like us, it is, at all events, harmless; 'tis but yielding to the prejudices of the world wherein we live, and procuring moral expediency at a slight sacrifice of what we conceive to be right.' thus admonished, eloise consents to the slight sacrifice of what she conceives to be right, and promises to pass to her fitzeustace's conjugal embraces through the narrow gate of lawful matrimony, instead of by the broad and higher way of free love. 'well, well,' she says reluctantly, 'it shall be done, fitzeustace; but take the assurance of my promise that i cannot love you more.' partly, in palliation of the lady's weakness and fitzeustace's excessive care for the world's opinion in this business, the author of the romance remarks in his own person: 'they soon agreed on a point, in their eyes of so trifling importance, and arriving in england, tasted that happiness, which love and innocence alone can give. prejudice may triumph for awhile, but virtue will be eventually the conqueror.' reappearing, in the last chapter, to compass the high-souled wolfstein's destruction, ginotti, _alias_ nempere, is left eventually in the darksome vaults of st. irvyne's ruinous abbey, to endure 'a dateless and hopeless eternity of horror,' as a gigantic and conscious skeleton, with 'two pale and ghastly flames glaring in his eyeless sockets.' the way in which the narrative is wound up surpasses all human understanding. after 'fitting' the manuscript for the press, mr. john joseph stockdale may well have entreated shelley to reconsider some passages of the story, and to explain or alter, certain matters of the _dénouement_. in answer to the publisher's request for explanations and further instructions, shelley wrote lightly from university college, oxford, on th november, :-- 'dear sir,--i return you the romance by this day's coach. i am much obligated by the trouble you have taken to fit it for the press. i am myself by no means a good hand at correction, but i think i have obviated the principal objections which you allege. 'ginotti, as you will see, did _not_ die by wolfstein's hand, but by the influence of that natural magic which, when the secret was imparted to the latter, destroyed him.--mountfort being a character of inferior import, i did not think it necessary to state the catastrophe of _him_, as at best it could be but uninteresting.--eloise and fitzeustace, are married and happy i suppose, and megalena dies by the same means as wolfstein.--i do not myself see any other explanation that is required.--as to the method of publishing it, i think, as it is a thing which almost _mechanically_ sells to circulating libraries, &c., i would wish it to be published on my _own_ account. 'i am surprised that you have not received the _wandering jew_, and, in consequence write to mr. ballantyne to mention it; you will doubtlessly therefore, receive it soon.--should you still perceive in the romance any error of flagrant incoherency, &c., it must be altered, but i should conceive it will (being wholly so abrupt) not require it. i am your sincere humble servant, percy b. shelley. 'shall you make this in one or two volumes? mr. robinson, of paternoster row, published _zastrozzi_.' the author's explanations in no degree diminish the difficulty of understanding the story. on the contrary, they rather increase the difficulty. having done his duty in calling the author's attention to some of the story's most glaring absurdities, and having (as he imagined) no pecuniary interest to be cautious for in respect to a work that was to be published at the charges of the young gentleman who, sooner or later, would, of course, be able to pay a heavy bill, mr. stockdale sent to the printers the thing of lunacy, of which mr. garnett says: 'worthless as _st. irvyne_ is of itself, it becomes of high interest when regarded as the first feeble step of a mighty genius on the road to consummate excellence.' it was enough for the author of _zastrozzi_, in the first stage of his fanatical abhorrence of lawful wedlock, to make the virtuous verezzi speak slightingly of the nuptial rite as needless for the consecration of his spiritual union with the amiable matilda di laurentini. in _st. irvyne_ this repugnance to the fetters put upon passion, that should be left in absolute freedom, is declared more precisely and emphatically. whilst the exemplary fitzeustace declares his contempt for the ceremony, eloise makes it clear she would rather be his mistress than his wife. at the same time, the author in his own person declares that, when virtue shall have triumphed over prejudice, women, instead of being given and taken in marriage, will be given and taken in free love. in this matter the oxonian surpasses the etonian, and is seen to have advanced a long step towards the conclusions that qualified him to proclaim the sanctity of free love in _laon and cythna_,--the poem in which he 'startled' (his own word) the men and women of england by insisting that in a perfect state of society a brother and sister would be able, with perfect propriety, to live together in free love, and beget children of one another. in the article entitled 'a newspaper editor's reminiscences,' to be found in the june, , number of _fraser's magazine_, the curious may find some rather strong, but inconclusive, evidence that at some time between october[ ], , and march, , shelley tried to sell to three or four different london publishers, for a sum of _l._, certain tales in manuscript, out of which he composed _zastrozzi_ and _st. irvyne_. if shelley, after publishing the two 'failures' in prose fiction, tried to wheedle money out of booksellers for the materials out of which those failures were made, he did what he should not have done, and received less than his proper punishment in getting nothing by his pains. but the evidence is so unsatisfactory that the young man did thus endeavour to get money for stuff, whose worthlessness he had ascertained, i cannot hold him guilty of the curious piece of sharp practice. the same newspaper editor's evidence that one of these tales was either a translation from the german, or alleged by shelley to have been a translation from the german, being still more unsatisfactory, there is no need to trouble the reader of these volumes to consider the particulars of it. as he delights in the dreary labour of collating the texts of worthless books, it is strange that mr. buxton forman (who has wasted a great deal of time in collating the different editions of shelley's writings) should have failed to discover that _st. irvyne_ consists, in a considerable degree, of the characters, and positions, and incidents of _zastrozzi_, so changed by being turned inside out and differently coloured, as to be likely to be mistaken, by hasty and unsuspicious readers of both books, for new actors and positions and incidents. towards the close of his career, thackeray said to a friend, 'i am no prolific creator of characters. in that respect i have fairly worked myself out. it remains for me now to redress my old puppets with new bits of riband and tinsel.' the puppets of the etonian romance are thus redressed in the oxford story. by change of costume, the puppet, who figures as a man in _zastrozzi_, is qualified for a woman's part in _st. irvyne_. by being pulled inside out, the position that was meant to rouse admiration in the one story, becomes a position that (in the hands of an abler artist) would stir to pity in the other. to escape from an humiliating position, olympia poniards herself in _st. irvyne_; even as verezzi, to escape a melodramatic embarrassment, poniards himself in _zastrozzi_. the slumbering eloise in the later fiction declares her passion for fitzeustace to the listening irishman, even as the slumbering verezzi in the earlier romance declares his passion for julia to the listening matilda. the dagger scene in 'zastrozzi.' '_madness--fiercest madness--revelled through his brain._ he raised the poniard high, but julia rushed forwards, and in accents of desperation, in a voice of alarmed tenderness, besought him to spare himself--to spare her--for all might yet be well. '_"oh! never, never!" exclaimed verezzi, frantically, "no peace but in the grave for me. i am--i am--married to matilda."_ 'saying this, he fell backwards upon a sofa in strong convulsions, yet his hand still firmly grasped the fatal poniard. 'matilda, meanwhile, fixedly contemplated the scene. fiercest passions raged through her breast: vengeance, disappointed love--disappointed in the instant, too, when she had supposed happiness to be hers for ever, rendered her bosom the scene of wildest anarchy. 'yet she spoke not--she moved not--but collected in herself, stood waiting the issue of that event, which had so unexpectedly dissolved _her visions of air-built ecstasy_. 'serened to firmness from despair, julia administered everything which could restore verezzi with the most unremitting attention. at last he recovered. _he slowly raised himself, and starting from the sofa where he lay, his eyes rolling wildly_, and his whole frame convulsed by fiercest agitation, _he raised the dagger which he still retained, and, with a bitter smile of exultation, plunged it into his bosom!--his soul fled without a groan, and his body fell to the floor, bathed in purple blood._' the dagger scene in 'st. irvyne.' '_"wilt thou be mine?" exclaimed the enraptured olympia, as a ray of hope arose in her mind. "never! never can i," groaned the agitated wolfstein, "i am irrevocably, indissolutely another's."--maddened by this death-blow to all expectations of happiness_, which the deluded olympia had so fondly anticipated, she leaped wildly from the bed. a light and flowing night-dress alone veiled her form; her alabaster bosom was shaded by the light ringlets of her hair which rested unconfined upon it. she threw herself at the feet of wolfstein. on a sudden, as if struck by some thought, she started convulsively from the earth: for an instant she paused. 'the rays of a lamp, which stood in a recess of the apartment, fell full upon the dagger of wolfstein. _eagerly olympia sprung towards it; and ere wolfstein was aware of her dreadful intent, plunged it into her bosom. weltering in purple gore, she fell; no groan, no sigh escaped her lips. a smile, which the pangs of dissolution could not dispel, played on her convulsed countenance; it irradiated her features_ with celestially awful, although terrific, expression. "ineffectually have i endeavoured to conquer the ardent feelings of my soul; now i overcome them," were her last words. she uttered them in a tone of firmness, and, falling back, expired in torments, which her fine, her expressive features declared that she gloried in.' each of these passages is a fair example of the work from which it is taken. surely their resemblance in temper, moral fibre, style, verbiage, affords sufficient evidence that the two passages were put together by the same writer. what evidence do they afford that, whilst the passage, taken from _zastrozzi_ (the novel universally allowed to be a thing of shelley's own manufacture), was written as it is printed by the future poet, the passage from _st. irvyne_ (the novel generally assigned to a german source) is a mere translation from a german original? why (in the absence of evidence that shelley could translate a page of german, and in the absence of any german novel, out of which _st. irvyne_ could have been made) are we to regard the passage of the earlier book as the pure product of shelley's mind, and the passage of the later romance as so much of the translated product of a german writer's mind? the bedroom scene in 'zastrozzi.' 'the morning came--matilda arose from a sleepless couch, and with hopes yet unconfirmed sought verezzi's apartment. she stood near the door listening. her heart palpitated with tremulous violence, as she listened to verezzi's breathing--every sound from within alarmed her. at last she slowly opened the door, and though adhering to the physician's directions in not suffering verezzi to see her, she could not deny herself the pleasure of watching him, and busying herself in little offices about his apartment. 'she could hear verezzi question the attendant collectedly, yet as a person who was ignorant where he was, and knew not the events which had immediately preceded his present state. '_at last he sank into a deep sleep._--matilda now dared to gaze on him; the hectic colour which had flushed his cheek was fled, but the ashy hue of his lips had given place to a brilliant vermilion. _she gazed intently on his countenance._ '_a heavenly yet faint smile diffused itself over his countenance_--his hand slightly moved. 'matilda, fearing that he would awake, again concealed herself. she was mistaken: for, on looking again, he still slept. 'she still gazed upon his countenance. _the visions of his sleep were changed, for tears came fast from under his eyelids, and a deep sigh burst from his bosom._ 'thus passed several days: matilda still watched, with the most affectionate assiduity, by the bedside of the unconscious verezzi. 'the physician declared that his patient's mind was yet in too irritable a state to permit him to see matilda, but that he was convalescent. 'one evening she sate by his bedside, and gazing upon the features of the sleeping verezzi, felt unusual softness take possession of her soul--an indefinable tumultuous emotion shook her bosom--_her whole frame thrilled with rapturous ecstasy, and seizing the hand, which lay motionless, beside her, she imprinted on it a thousand burning kisses_. '"_ah, julia! julia! is it you?" exclaimed verezzi, as he raised his enfeebled frame; but perceiving his mistake, as he cast his eyes on matilda, sank back and fainted._ chapter ix. 'the soul of verezzi was filled with irresistible disgust, as, recovering, he found himself in matilda's arms. his whole frame trembled with chilly horror, and he could scarcely withhold himself from again fainting. he fixed his eyes upon her countenance--they met hers--an ardent fire, mingled with a touching softness, filled their orbits.' the pavilion scene in 'st. irvyne.' 'heedless yet of the beauties of nature, the loveliness of the scene, they entered the pavilion. 'eloise convulsively pressed her hand upon her forehead. '"what is the matter, my dearest eloise?" inquired fitzeustace, whom awakened tenderness had thrown off his guard. '"oh! nothing, nothing; but a momentary faintness. it will soon go off: let us sit down." 'they entered the pavilion. '"'tis nothing but drowsiness," said eloise, affecting gaiety; "'twill soon go off. i sate up late last night: that i believe was the occasion." '"recline on this sofa, then," said fitzeustace, reaching another pillow to make the couch easier, "and i will play some of those irish tunes which you admire so much." 'eloise reclined on the sofa, and fitzeustace, seated on the floor, began to play; the melancholy plaintiveness of his music touched eloise; she sighed, and concealed her tears in her handkerchief. _at length she sunk into a profound sleep_; still fitzeustace continued playing, noticing not that she slept. '_he approached. she lay wrapped in sleep: a sweet and celestial smile played on her countenance and irradiated her features with a tenfold expression of etheriality._ '_suddenly the visions of her slumber appeared to have changed; the smile yet remained, but the expression was melancholy; tears stole gently from her eyelids:--she sighed._ '_ah! with what eagerness of ecstasy did fitzeustace lean over her form._ 'he dared not speak, he dared not move; _but pressing a ringlet of hair, which had escaped its band, to his lips, waited silently_. '"yes, yes; i think--it may,--" at last she muttered; but so confusely, as scarcely to be distinguishable. 'fitzeustace remained rooted in rapturous attention, listening. '"_i thought, i thought he looked as if he could love me" articulated the sleeping eloise. "perhaps, though he cannot love me, he may allow me to love him.--fitzeustace!_" 'on a sudden again were changed the visions of her slumbers; terrified, she started from sleep and cried, "fitzeustace." chapter xii. 'needless were it to expatiate on their transports; they loved each other, and that is enough for those who have felt like eloise and fitzeustace.' after comparing these two scenes of two sleeping lovers, each, of whom reveals the heart's secret to an attentive watcher; after comparing the literary characteristics of the one scene with those of the other, the structure of the sentences, language, details, touches; after noticing the identity of the very words used in some parts of the parallel passages, can any reader think the two scenes were by two different writers? that, whilst the extract from _zastrozzi_ is a piece of original writing, the extract from _st. irvyne_ is a piece of a translation from the undiscovered work of an undiscovered german author? these passages are fair examples of the two books from which they are taken. can any reader hesitate in coming to the conclusion that shelley reproduced in the later the materials of the earlier romance? the writer may have been unaware he was reproducing scraps of his former work. the reproduction may have been the result of mental action, occasioned by the effort of producing the earlier tale, rather than the consequence of a deliberate design to use the old stuff for a second time. but the reproduction is obvious. _st. irvyne_ contains six sets of verses, that are interesting examples of the earliest fruits of the poetical disposition, which soon developed into shelley's poetical genius. resembling byron's _hours of idleness_, in affording only the faintest indications of the author's eventual faculty for the service of the muse, these sets of verses are chiefly noteworthy for their evidence that the _hours of idleness_ may be styled 'the horn-book,' from which shelley acquired the rudiments of the art of poesy. the resemblance of one of those pieces of versification to one of the stanzas of 'lachin-y-gair' in the _hours of idleness_ is so remarkable, that the oxonian's lines may fairly be styled a plagiarism on the lines that had come a few years earlier from the byron of cambridge. the stanza of 'lachin-y-gair.' '_shades of the dead! have i not heard your voices rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?_ surely the _soul of the hero rejoices_, _and rides on the wind_, o'er his own highland vale. round loch-na-garr, while the stormy mist gathers, winter presides in his cold icy car; _clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers_: they dwell in the tempests of dark loch-na-garr.' the verses of 'st. irvyne.' '_ghosts of the dead! have i not heard your yelling rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast_, when o'er the dark ether the tempest is swelling, and on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal past? 'for oft i have stood on the dark height of jura, which frowns on the valley which opens beneath: oft have i brav'd the chill night-tempest's fury, whilst around me, i thought, echo'd murmurs of death. 'and now, whilst the winds of the mountain are howling, _o father! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear_; in air whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling, it breaks on the pause of the elements' jar. 'on the wing of the whirlwind which roars in the mountain perhaps _rides the ghost of my sire who is dead_; on the mist of the tempest which hangs o'er the fountain, whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head.' in a note to _st. irvyne_ (in his edition of shelley's 'prose works'), mr. buxton forman calls attention to the obvious adoption of the two first lines of the quoted stanza of byron's poem, as though they were the whole of the youthful shelley's 'small debt' in this particular matter, to the youthful byron. it cannot have escaped the notice of shelley's careful editor that, whilst shelley speaks of his father's ghost as riding on the whirlwind and the mist of the tempest, byron sees 'the forms of his fathers' in the clouds over-hanging loch-na-garr, and sings how the soul of one of his ancestral heroes 'rides on the wind.' it can scarcely have escaped the careful editor that the whole thought of shelley's sixteen verses was 'lifted' out of byron's eight verses. chapter ix. mr. denis florence maccarthy _v._ thomas jefferson hogg. shelley's matriculation at oxford--hogg's matriculation at oxford--hogg's first arrival at oxford--lord grenville's election--mr. denis florence maccarthy's blunders--hogg's 'new monthly' papers on shelley at oxford--mrs. shelley's reason for not writing her husband's 'life'--peacock's reason for not writing it--leigh hunt's reason for not writing it--hogg undertakes the task--hogg's two volumes--their merits and faults--hogg dismissed by field place--his mistakes and misrepresentations--some of his misrepresentations adopted by field place. in a previous chapter it was stated that shelley matriculated at oxford, and entered university college on th april, ,--a date given for the first time to shelleyan students. hogg had then been a member of the university and the same college for more than two months, having matriculated on nd february, ,--another date never before given to shelleyan students. to those who, unaware how much readier the shelleyan enthusiasts are to abuse writers who differ from them than to gather facts needful for the perfect statement of the poet's story, it may well appear strange that, after the publication of so many books and articles about shelley, it should have been left for me to ascertain from the archives of university college, oxford, these two important dates, by whose light the greater part of mr. denis florence maccarthy's vehement manifesto against hogg's account of his academic career is seen to be one big tangle of blunderings. seeing the need for the discovery of these dates, i wrote a letter that within forty-eight hours received this answer: 'trinity college, oxford, '_ th february, _. 'dear mr. jeaffreson, 'the college register of university college, oxford, gives the date of the matriculation of 'percy bysshe shelley, th april, . 'thomas jefferson hogg, nd february, . 'i have this direct from the master. this testimony, i suppose, will be sufficient; so i return your stamps. i applied to the college first, and not to the registrar of the university. 'ever yours truly, 'h. b. dixon.' in assuming that, because they were both first-year's men on making one another's acquaintance in the dining-hall of their college, hogg and shelley matriculated and went into residence on or about the same day, and that, as they met one another for the first time in october, , at the same dinner-table, they both entered oxford in the michaelmas term of that year, mr. denis florence maccarthy followed half-a-score shelleyan specialists in assuming as matters of course, what no old oxford man would have thought of assuming, even as mere _primâ facie_ probabilities. shelley's academic senior by more than two months, hogg was his superior in respect to 'residence' by a much longer time. after matriculating on th april, , and passing a few days in the university, during which time he visited the bodleian library, shelley returned to field place, kept 'grace-terms' in the country, and went 'into residence' in the following october. hogg, on the contrary, went into residence on the day of his matriculation, and from that day till the next long vacation remained at oxford, with the exception of the brief break of the easter holidays, which he spent with friends who lived in counties more accessible to the undergraduate, than his own home in the northern shire. in shelley's time, no less than in the present writer's time at oxford, it was usual for freshmen, coming to the university from homes or schools at no great distance from alma mater, to 'go down' after matriculating, and keep 'grace-terms' in the country, before coming into residence. on the other hand, it was usual in pre-railway times for the academic freshman, who could not return to his people without a long and expensive journey, to matriculate and go 'into residence' at the same time. for the information of those, who have been induced to regard mr. maccarthy's book of blunders as an authoritative performance, it may be well to add that the duly matriculated undergraduate, keeping 'grace-terms' in the country, was just as much a member of the university, as the freshman staying at his college. both alike had entered the university, and become members of it. in respect to hogg's time at oxford, it is also well to remark that, though he did not matriculate till nd february, , he came to oxford from the north country in the previous autumn. everyone, who has read his delightful 'two volumes,' remembers hogg's account of his first arrival at oxford, one 'fine autumnal afternoon.' he may have come to oxford to read with a tutor before matriculation. or on taking his first view of the university, he may only have been passing through the seat of learning, on his way to friends in some not remote county. anyhow, it is certain that the youngster from the north country visited oxford, and took something more than a mere tourist's interest in the place, at a time when the university was already, or was soon to be, agitated by the fierce conflict of parties, that resulted-in the election of lord grenville to be chancellor, in the place of the late duke of portland,--a fact to be remembered in connection with certain of the charges made against the biographer by mr. denis florence maccarthy. the duke of portland died on th october, ; his successor in the chancellorship (lord grenville) was elected after an unusually vehement contest on th december, , by only thirteen votes over the number of votes given for lord eldon. if he was not at oxford during the election, or during the canvass, hogg was there shortly before the conflict of closely-matched parties, and was a member of the university when the new chancellor had been chosen only seven weeks and one day. let us now see the way in which mr. denis florence maccarthy presses charges of inaccuracy against hogg, in respect to what the latter says about this election. after accusing hogg of serious and suspicious misstatements on other matters, the author of _shelley's early life_ writes thus:-- 'but even on questions which apparently he could have no motive in misrepresenting, he is just as inexact as captain medwin. the following is an instance of this.... "during the whole period of our residence there,"--that is, at oxford, says mr. hogg, in one of those unguarded moments when he enables us to test his statements by reference to a fixed date,--"the university was cruelly disfigured by bitter feuds arising out of the _late_ election of its chancellor; in an especial manner was our most venerable college deformed by them, and by angry and senseless disappointment, lord grenville had just been chosen."... a few words will show how utterly irreconcilable these statements are with the date of shelley's entrance at university college.... the candidateship of lord grenville, therefore, extended from the th of october to th of december, . but in , as we have seen, shelley was at eton and field place, _and did not go to oxford until the end of october, _--that is, exactly a year after the candidateship of lord grenville commenced, and ten months after he had been elected. even the installation of lord grenville as chancellor preceded _the entrance of shelley into the university by four months_. that event took place on june , .... as shelley _did not enter the university of oxford until the end of october, _, ... that nobleman (_i.e._ lord grenville) had not "just been chosen" as mr. hogg writes; _he had been elected ten months before_.' surely as he was speaking of the whole period, covering his own residence as well as shelley's residence (_our_ residence is the biographer's expression), hogg was not without justification in speaking of an event, that had preceded his own entrance into residence by only seven weeks and one day, as a recent occurrence. whilst censuring hogg for errors of fact, mr. denis florence maccarthy persists in saying that shelley did not go to oxford, did not enter the university till the end of october, , though he might easily have ascertained that the young poet went to oxford, entered the university, put his name on the roll of university college, and as a member of the university visited the bodleian in the preceding april, six months earlier than the time at which _shelley's early life_ represents him to have joined the university. mr. maccarthy greatly overstates the case in declaring hogg as inaccurate as medwin. mr. maccarthy himself (though curiously inaccurate), is nothing like so inaccurate as medwin. and hogg (though he often trips and sometimes blunders seriously) is upon the whole nothing like so inaccurate as mr. maccarthy. there is no need to weary readers with a complete list of mr. maccarthy's exhibitions of inexactness. it is enough to have shown that if hogg is at times faulty, his censor is by no means faultless. it is not surprising that hogg's memoirs of his old college friend are wanting in accuracy. some nine years after the poet's death, some twenty years after his expulsion from university college, in consequence of the growing admiration of his writings, the increasing interest in his story, and the general disposition of the literary coteries to regard his failings charitably, pressure was put on hogg to recall remote circumstances, and tell the world what he could remember of his friend at oxford in the time of their closest intimacy. the result was that the busy lawyer in contributed the papers on _shelley at oxford_ to the _new monthly magazine_, at that time edited by mr. edward lytton bulwer, afterwards lord lytton. it was in the nature of things that the papers, written after so long an interval of time, not from notes made at the time of each recorded incident, but from recollection, assisted by a few letters, should be much less than precisely accurate in all their numerous details. to impart spirit to these reminiscences, to endow them with the charm of the poet's personality, the writer every now and then called imagination to the aid of his memory. for instance, to enable readers to realize the disorderly appearance of the poet's college-room, and the confusion of its multifarious contents, the author of the papers, without exceeding the license of a descriptive illustrator, threw into the schedule of effects certain articles of furniture, scientific apparatus, and personal apparel, which he would no doubt have declined to declare in an affidavit to have been items of the medley. it is obvious that such a picture was in some degree an imaginative sketch, in respect its details. yet hogg's detractor has dealt with it as though it were an auctioneer's catalogue of lots. in judging the picture, the question to be asked is, whether the piece of descriptive writing gives the general appearance of the room, as hogg remembered it more than twenty years afterwards. the very style of the writing is a frank announcement that the words must be trusted only for their general effect. in like manner the conversations, which mr. maccarthy derides as 'invented conversations,' were of course given as nothing more than exhibitions of certain matters, and the kind of matters on which he remembered himself to have talked with the poet, and of the way in which they talked together to the best of his recollection after a lapse of more than twenty years. to the lawyer, familiar with questions of evidence, it never occurred that 'the conversations' would be read in any other way. to the humourist (and that hogg was a racy humourist is admitted even by his enemies) the bare imagination that any supremely matter-of-fact mortal would read 'the conversations,' as one peruses a short-hand reporter's notes of a legal cross-examination, would have been provocative of vehement laughter. the questions for the critic to ask about these conversations are, do they faithfully exhibit the kind of subjects on which the two friends chatted?--the ways in which the talk flowed?--the sentiments and manner of the young poet? are they, in fact, faithful exhibitions of what hogg remembered, or believed himself to remember, after a lapse of more than twenty years, of the talk he and shelley had with one another when they were undergraduates? no impartial and fairly intelligent reader of the papers will hesitate to answer these questions in the affirmative. however defective, the papers on _shelley at oxford_ were greatly beneficial to the reputation of the poet, whose writings had found few readers outside the literary coteries during his life, whose name was still associated in the minds of the majority of educated englishmen with atheism, conjugal faithlessness, and dangerous politics, rather than with the highest poetry. written lightly and circulated widely, the sketches, dealing only with the oxonian shelley, created an impression that the undergraduate had been treated harshly by the authorities of his college, and left readers in a mood to discover that he had been too severely punished for the indiscretions of later stages of his career. henceforth, instead of being confined to the coteries, the desire for larger knowledge of the poet's personal story found a voice in general society. it was felt that the papers should be followed up and superseded by a complete biography. by turns, and repeatedly, several of the persons, who had known him most intimately, were urged to produce a worthy record of so remarkable a poet. mrs. shelley, peacock, leigh hunt, and hogg, were all entreated to write the sufficient memoir. william godwin's daughter would have written the poet's _life_ had not old sir timothy shelley informed her that, if she ventured to publish anything in the way of biography about his family, she must go her way without the income he provided for her own and her child's maintenance. peacock declined to write the _life_ because he had a strong opinion that it would be impossible to tell the story honestly, without setting forth matters that, for the poet's sake, had better be unrecorded. leigh hunt (eventually the author of a flimsy and unsatisfactory memoir of the poet whose pocket had yielded him so many guineas) was silent from the fear of provoking dangerous resentments. 'the book,' he remarked, in reference to middleton's _shelley and his writings_, in a letter dated to edmund ollier, nd february, , 'is a proof of what i have always said when applied to to write the _life_ myself, viz., that it would be impossible to give a complete account of shelley and his connexions till the latter were all dead and gone; even if it was possible then for any person to be so thoroughly well informed or impartial as to do it, because facts would have to be so coloured as to misrepresent both living and dead, some one way and some another; or the living would be forced either to enter into the most unseemly and worse than useless wars with one another, or to maintain silences the most difficult and distressing to keep out of delicacy, and the most self-condemning in appearance with some, and in reality with others.' whilst william godwin's daughter was silent from pecuniary prudence, leigh hunt silent from fear of the consequence, and peacock silent because he thought the book (which, if written, should be written honestly) had better not be written at all, hogg was reluctant to produce the memoir, which the success of the papers had caused most people to think should come from his pen. no one can charge him with intruding himself prematurely, or without invitation, into the chair, out of which he was thrust so discourteously by the very persons who had begged him to take it. the man of imperturbable temper and adamantine patience (as he is styled by peacock) was not pricked into unauthorized action by the amateur biographers, who, sometimes without acknowledgment, and always without permission, pillaged his papers. medwin's _life_ appeared in ; and smiling at the _littérateur's_ blunders, the man of imperturbable temper held his pen. he remained the man of adamantine patience, though rumours came to him that mr. middleton was at work on a _life_ of the poet, whom he had never known at all; that trelawny was threatening to produce a book of gossip about the poet, whom he had known for only six months; and that the works of these gentlemen would be followed at no great distance by a work from the pen of the 'metropolitan versifier' (leigh hunt), of whom his in due course remarked in the preface to his two volumes: 'if it were a question of assets, of faculties, of effects, the taking of an account of plunder,--an inventory of sums received, and of moneys to be received, refunded, and disgorged,--a mere calculation of the wind that had been raised, this indication of the person best qualified to be the biographer of a prince amongst poets would be judicious.' it was not till field place felt the necessity of correcting the numerous misstatements about the man of genius by a complete and authoritative biography, that the largely employed lawyer declared his willingness to execute the difficult task, which had been deferred too long. midway between sixty and seventy years of age, when he thus accepted the invitation of sir percy florence and lady shelley, the man of many affairs, and an exacting avocation, did not set to work on the _life_ till nearly a quarter of a century had passed since the publication of the _new monthly_ papers; till the poet had been dead nearly thirty-five years; till full forty-five years had passed since the poet, in the company of his future biographer, set their faces for london, on leaving university college, oxford. though it took the outer world by surprise, the immediate result of the publication of hogg's two volumes was less surprising to the literary coteries, and no matter of surprise whatever to the few members of those coteries, who, knowing that hogg was a robust enemy of shams, knew that no biographer would satisfy field place, which should fail to accord with the straight-nosed pictures, and with the notion that shelley was a being of stainless purity and angelic holiness. if, in writing the _life_, hogg's first duty was to be thoughtful for the sensibilities of field place, his book must indeed be declared a bad one. instead of giving readers the shelley indicated by the frontispiece of the first volume, or the shelley who, under auspicious circumstances might have been the saviour of the world, or a shelley who might have sobered down into a pheasant-shooting squire and chairman of quarter-sessions, the biographer makes us acquainted with the wayward, freakish, impulsive, scarcely sane, and ever restless shelley of the poet's early manhood,--the shelley, whose great wit was divided from madness by a strangely thin partition; the shelley, whose earnestness was too often associated with perversity, whose winning candour was curiously allied with secretiveness, whose impulsive benevolence was perplexingly linked with indifference to the feelings and rights of particular individuals; the shelley, whose several amiable and generous traits were attended by qualities that were neither beneficent nor agreeable. showing that this whimsical shelley was a frequent utterer of untruths that were altogether or partly referable to delusions, hogg also shows by evidence of the most conclusive kind that this perplexing shelley could also utter untruths, knowing them to be untruths--was capable of telling fibs to escape a trivial inconvenience,--was capable of writing false and wheedling letters to get money, and of admitting with a singular, if not absolutely unique, shamelessness, that he had told a lie, or meant to tell a lie for a very slight reason. no wonder that the biographer who dealt thus frankly with his friend's infirmities is distasteful to the enthusiasts of mr. buxton forman's school. no wonder that his book was perused for the first time by sir percy florence and lady shelley 'with the most painful feelings of dismay.' their dissatisfaction with the biographer would have been more painful had all four volumes of the _life_ been published on the day, that saw the publication of the earlier half of the book. fortunately for sir florence and lady shelley the biographer at the end of the second of the two published volumes was only coming to the part of the poet's story which they were especially desirous he should handle with extreme delicacy. there is much about william godwin in the two volumes, and a little about his daughter. but the second volume closes at the moment when shelley is only at the threshold of his passion for his familiar friend's sixteen-years-old child,--closes before he has told the 'marvellous tale' of his father's cruelty, and barbarous purpose of shutting him up in a madhouse, to the generous-hearted girl, in order to induce the naughty child to fly with him to the continent in the company of her sister-by-affinity. it was obvious to sir percy florence and lady shelley that they had chosen the wrong historian to write about mary godwin, the judicious treatment of whose scarcely edifying story was so needful for the honour of the castle goring shelleys. it had been hoped by field place that mr. hogg would varnish ugly facts with specious phrases. disappointed in this hope, it was obvious to field place that the indiscreet biographer must be sent about his business. hogg having failed to write the _life_ into harmony with the pretty picture facing the title-page, as arthur pendennis wrote the verses to suit the picture of the country church, it was manifest to the authorities of field place that they must discharge their man of letters, and hide their time till they should find a fitter instrument and happier season for their purpose. this was done. hogg was dismissed, and in these later years of grace field place has found in mr. anthony froude a man of letters, capable of writing about the poet's flight with his intimate friend's sixteen-years-old daughter, as nothing worse than 'the sin of acting on emotional theories of liberty;' capable of smiling at their concubinage as a pleasant passage of romance, because they were so young and enthusiastic. though a grievous injury was done to english literature when hogg was treated in this manner, it must not be imagined that his book is devoid of serious faults. containing numerous trivial inaccuracies, it contains also some grave blunders. the confusion of its materials may be compared to the state of disorder in which the author found his friend's room at the commencement of their acquaintance. the biographer was unwise to reproduce in the book his early papers on _shelley at oxford_ without first revising them carefully. though he would have done ill to keep himself as much as possible out of view, and was right in regarding passages of his own story as part of his friend's story,--a part of it, moreover, that could not be omitted without serious injury to the biographical narrative,--he says far too much of himself. in some places, the biographer's egotism is grotesquely garrulous. it is no sufficient excuse for such egregious self-consciousness and self-intrusiveness, that the egotist is a droll, piquant, racy, exquisitely humorous egotist. none the less true, however, is it that,--their eccentricities and extravagancies notwithstanding,--the two volumes give us a substantially truthful view of shelley in his youth and earlier manhood, and, in so doing, bring us face to face with the real shelley. no intelligent and impartial peruser of the two volumes ever closed them without feeling that hogg's portraiture of shelley is a performance, from whose lines no biographer of the poet can depart widely, without going widely astray. there is no need to say more of the confusion, in which hogg offered the excellent materials of his book to the world. but so much has been said about his dishonest treatment of letters, that some notice should be taken of his various ways of dealing with evidential documents. it must be admitted that his printed transcripts of epistles are often inaccurate; a considerable proportion of the inaccuracies being slips, for which the printer is not to be held accountable. the letters are, in some cases, mis-dated, through the biographer's carelessness in taking a postal-date, or the date of an addressee's endorsement, as the date of the letter itself. occasionally, also, he errs by giving, as an ascertained and exact date, what appears, on examination, to be nothing else than his own calculation of an approximate date. regardless of the paragraphical arrangement of a letter, when he is desirous of saving space, he does not hesitate to bring several written paragraphs into a single printed one,--an unobjectionable practice, when it does not affect the force of the written words, in the case of letters that are not exhibited in type as examples of epistolary style. it is his practice to condense a letter, by picking out its most important passages, and putting them together (without points indicative of omitted words), as though they followed one another on the written paper, precisely as they appear on the printed page:--a most objectionable practice. after condensing a letter in this manner, he sometimes exhibits the abridgment in a way to make readers think it an entire letter:--also a most objectionable practice. in the case of one most important and interesting letter (of whose contents more will be said in a subsequent chapter), he changes names for purposes of concealment and mystification; but a fair consideration of his reasons for thus tampering with an important evidential writing, acquits him of dishonourable conduct in the curious and suspicious business. attention must also be called to the grounds for the gravest charge, that has been preferred against hogg's editorial treatment of evidential writings. he has been declared guilty of altering such evidences by inserting in his printed transcripts entire sentences that do not appear in the manuscripts; and it cannot be denied that there are _primâ-facie_ grounds for the serious accusation. on careful examination, some of the printed transcripts of the _life_ are found to contain passages (some of them long passages of several sentences) that do not appear in the originals of the transcribed documents. as these passages appear without any typographical indication that they are no part of the original writings, and have every _primâ-facie_ show of being part of the transcripts in which they are inserted, they may be fairly described as 'interpolations.' it is not, therefore, surprising that hogg has been charged with one of the gravest forms of editorial dishonesty. the reader's attention has already been called to one of these editorial notes,--a note printed, indeed, within brackets, but followed by no indicatory initials. in subsequent chapters, examples will be given of similar notes, printed without either brackets or initials. for the present, it is enough to say they may be found in several of hogg's printed copies of documents. how can they be accounted for in a way, to clear the biographer of reasonable suspicion of misrepresenting the contents of evidential writings? instead of making his editorial comments on his transcribed documents in paginal foot-notes, it was hogg's most objectionable and dangerous practice to insert them in the body of the transcripts. of course, in doing so, it was his rule to put his initials after each editorial note, and to place each 'initialed' note between brackets. thus exhibited between brackets, with the biographer's initials put immediately before the second bracket, an editorial note is recognized at a glance by the most careless reader, as no part of the transcribed document, but a mere editorial elucidation of the preceding passage. printed as hogg intended them to be, no one of these editorial notes could have been mistaken, even momentarily, for a part and parcel of the writing, in whose body it was inserted. but, unfortunately, for the biographer's reputation, these notes were not always printed as he intended them to be printed. in some cases the first bracket, in some cases both brackets, are omitted, though the initials are inserted. there are also cases where a scrap of editorial explanation is found without either brackets or initials. as hogg was no regular author, but a slap-dash rough-and-ready legal draughtsman (plying his pen, in his proper vocation, with perfect confidence in the ability of solicitors and law-stationers to correct the literal slips of his compositions), he wrote copy for the press just as he slapt and dashed copy off for his ordinary clients. a careless writer, he was also a careless corrector of proofs. hence it came to pass that editorial notes, which he meant to bracket and initial (notes, which, of course, should have been made at the foot, instead of in the body of his pages), came under the public eye without the brackets and initials, that should, and would, have distinguished them at a glance from the printed matter they were intended to elucidate. that this is the explanation of the interpolations in hogg's transcripts, appears from--( ), the biographer's practice of peppering his transcripts with initialed and bracketed scraps of editorial comment; ( ), the grammatical construction that distinguishes the interpolations from the text in which they are set; ( ), the absolute inefficacy of the inserted passages for any end a dishonest interpolator could have in view; and ( ), the conclusive fact, that, whilst it is a mere perplexing disturbance to the narrative, so long as it is taken for part of the transcript, each of the interpolations becomes an intelligible and more or less serviceable comment on the context, as soon as the reader puts it into brackets, and deals with it as an editorial note. in respect to these interpolations, and also in respect to all the other errors which the biographer's enemies are pleased to regard as deliberate misstatements, hogg must be acquitted wholly of dishonest purpose. had he been duly mindful for brackets and initials, the interpolations, of which so much has been said to his discredit, would never have exposed him to a suspicion, much less to a direct imputation, of editorial knavery. it does not follow, however, that the _life_ is disfigured by no statements to be fairly rated as deliberate misrepresentations. resenting the calumnies, that have been poured on hogg since his death; resenting more especially the malice of those, who would fain extort evidence to the biographer's infamy from what is mere evidence of one of shelley's wildest and most unwholesome delusions; i wish i were in a position to declare the volumes altogether pure of falsehood. it would have been better for hogg's character in his life's closing years, and far better for his posthumous fame, had he in his mature age written with candour and justice of the incidents that resulted in his academic disgrace, and of the individuals who only did their clear duty in bidding him and shelley leave oxford. but whilst lacking the courage to be truthful about matters even more discreditable to himself than to his friend, he wanted the highmindedness that would have enabled him to speak fairly of the master and fellows, whom he remembered to his last hour with a rancorous animosity that was singular in the man of usually even and placable disposition. the story of his academic disgrace was one of the very few subjects, on which the man of imperturbable temper and adamantine patience could not keep his temper. whilst throwing off the papers for the _new monthly_, hogg surrendered himself the more completely to his animosity against the oxford dons, because he could persuade himself that, in giving vent to his personal resentment, he was only vindicating the honour of his friend. the consequence was an account of shelley's academic misadventure, so veined with misrepresentation and loaded with untruth, as to defeat the purpose for which it was written. it is needless to say that the shelleyan enthusiasts have never protested against the egregious perversity and falseness of this portion of the biography. attacking the book for its inaccuracy, in respect to those of its passages that are substantially honest, they have adopted as good history those of its pages that are distinctly untruthful. that field place saw nothing to censure in the faultiest part of the biographer's performance appears from the way, in which lady shelley reproduced some of its most glaring misrepresentations in her _shelley's memorials_. chapter x. at oxford: michaelmas term, . hogg's toryism--shelley's liberalism--in hogg's rooms--shelley's looks and voice--patron and idolater--the ways of passing time--hogg's reminiscences--nocturnal readings and conversations--country about oxford--pistol practice--playing with paper boats--windmill and plashy meadow--the horror of it--posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson--university tattle and laughter--eccentric inseparables--pond under shotover hill--pacing 'the high'--dons' civility to shelley--his incivility to dons--uninteresting stones and dull people--'partly true and partly false'--the fiery hun!--'my dear boy'--shelley offers his sister to hogg in marriage--hogg entertains the proposal--end of term. though i have spoken warmly of hogg's general honesty, and resent the calumnies that have been rained down upon him in the grave, i must admit that hogg's friendship was so injurious that it might almost be called disastrous to the oxonian shelley. though the youth who had distinguished himself by unruliness at eton, whose views of life had come to him chiefly from morbid romances, whose natural perversity disposed him to revolt against control of every kind, was far more likely to abuse the liberty and privileges of the academic course than to employ them to his advantage, the conditions are conceivable under which he would have passed through the university with honour--or at least without discredit. it depended chiefly on the friendships he should form immediately upon coming into residence at his college, whether, taking a new moral and intellectual 'departure' he would disappoint the evil promise of his eton days, or whether he would persist in the perversities in which he had been encouraged by dr. lind. for his welfare in the university, it was needful that the young man, so sympathetic and fervid, but absolutely wanting in common sense and mental sobriety, should have for his especial friend a man devoid of moral levity, and should live in a set of young men who, together with tastes congenial to his own, possessed the steadiness of intellect and temper, calculated to restrain and correct the erratic forces of his peculiar nature;--young men who, by their example, rather than by their words, would dispose him to regard his university with pride, his college with affection, his tutors with loyalty. it was a great misfortune for shelley that, on coming into residence, he found no such companions, and took for his chief associate,--indeed, his only familiar associate,--a young man, whose intellectual vigour and robustness were curiously allied with an intellectual levity and a cynical sprightliness, that rendered him a most baneful companion for a stripling of shelley's equally fervid and wayward disposition. a stronger contrast of character is seldom witnessed than the contrast to be noticed in the two undergraduates, who, through meeting casually, and talking together freely at the same dinner table 'in hall,' formed at once a close friendship, that (with the exception of the brief period of estrangement, which renders the story of their intercourse more singular and interesting), endured till death divided them for ever. whilst shelley was a liberal, whose liberalism even at the commencement of this friendship was revolutionary in its aims and enthusiasm, hogg was a caricature of eldonian toryism, who held dissenters in disdain, snapt his fingers at catholic emancipation, and smiled contemptuously at every reference to irish grievances. in political sentiment the hogg, who wrote the _new monthly_ papers on 'shelley at oxford' differed from the oxonian hogg, only as the toryism of a middle-aged man differs from the toryism of a boy. the election that 'had just taken place,' when he entered university college was a choice he disapproved; though animosity against the lord chancellor, who deprived shelley of his children, and animosity against those of the chancellor's supporters who expelled shelley and shelley's friend from oxford, caused him in later time to write of eldon, as though the chief of the law were greatly inferior in culture and mental dignity to his victor in the academic conflict. doubtless, on coming to oxford immediately after the election of lord grenville, the young gentleman declared his disapproval of the triumph of the blue-and-buff faction:--not passionately, for passion seldom stirred his breast; but with much droll ridicule of a business so eminently ridiculous, for even from his boyhood mr. hogg (a born humourist and cynic) turned everything, even his own religious convictions, to jest. whilst the oxonian shelley, already a half-fledged republican, talked tenderly of the poor and the populace, hogg ever a provincial aristocrat (and by no means devoid of provincial vulgarity), regarded the populace with disgust, and maintained that all the poor wanted was to be kept in their proper places and to their proper work. ever impatient, shelley was fervid as fire itself, whilst hogg, from youth to old age, was remarkable for imperturbable temper and adamantine patience, on every question that had no reference to his academic misadventure. coming from the north of england to oxford in the autumn of , some weeks before he donned cap and gown in february, , hogg entered the university with the purpose of taking honours, and had acquired the reputation of 'a reading man' before the long vacation of . coming to oxford for residence in the autumn of , when hogg had acquired status and character amongst the younger members of his academic house, the sensitive, simple, never worldly-wise shelley entered university college with a strong appetite for general knowledge, and an intention to peruse many books on many subjects for his own amusement, but with no ambition for academic honours, no intention of competing for them, no purpose of becoming, in the academic and limited sense of the term, 'a reading man.' hogg had not been three months in university college, before the tutors saw he meant to put his name in a 'first class.' shelley, on the other hand, had not been three weeks in college before the tutors saw he meant to go out with the 'pass men,' and were doubtful whether he would take a degree. as it must be held in some measure accountable for the influence he acquired over shelley, readers must assign considerable weight to the fact that hogg was qualified by several matters--his seniority on the college books, priority in residence, greater knowledge of the university, higher status in the lecture-rooms,--to play the part of academic superior to his new acquaintance. superlatively trivial to men of _the_ world, the matters that gave hogg this precedence and superiority over shelley in university college, are no light affairs in the small world of the university, the still smaller world of a single college. the sensitive shelley would not have presumed to invite hogg to his rooms after their first meeting 'in hall.' it was for hogg to pay the compliment to the freshman in his first term of residence; and no old university man will doubt that shelley felt he received a considerable attention, when so notable a personage amongst the first-year's men as mr. hogg said to him, 'come and have wine at my rooms.' as hogg and shelley sat over their wine in consequence of this invitation, the host took an opportunity to examine the aspect of his new acquaintance more minutely, and to observe that his girlish pink-and-white complexion was much freckled. 'his complexion,' says hogg, 'was delicate, and almost feminine, of the purest red and white; yet he was tanned and freckled by exposure to the sun, having passed the autumn, as he said, in shooting;' a piece of description that is referred to by 'the shelleyan enthusiasts' as an example of hogg's imaginativeness. no one (if we may credit shelleyan enthusiasts) but a suspiciously imaginative historian would have ventured to say he could remember, after twenty years, the sun-spots of an old college friend's complexion. i venture to say that the disfigurement is a good example of the kind of things, likely to live in the memory of certain observers. in respect to a part of what he says of the freckles in shelley's skin, hogg is corroborated in a remarkable manner by medwin, who (his inaccuracy notwithstanding) was generally right in the main facts, and not always wrong in the details of his statements. 'he,' medwin says of shelley's shooting in the winter of and the autumn of , 'had during september often carried a gun in his father's preserves; sir timothy being a keen sportsman, and shelley himself an excellent shot, for i well remember on one day in the winter of , when we were out together, his killing, at three successive shots, three snipes, to my great astonishment and envy, at the tail of the pond in front of field place.' the three successive and successful shots are good examples of the small incidents likely to live in a sportsman's memory. what old sportsman, with snow upon his head, cannot remember quite as vividly just as small matters, that occurred long since on the moors or during a run across country? another of the small matters of hogg's _life_, that unquestionably lived in his memory. he remembered how, in the early morning at the close of shelley's first visit to his rooms, after 'lighting' the poet downstairs with the stump of a candle, he 'soon heard him running through the quiet quadrangle in the still night,'--adding in the words of truth's own music, 'that sound became afterwards so familiar to my ear, that i still seem to hear shelley's hasty steps.' the evidence is clear that whilst shelley, the freshman (ever a feminine creature on one side of his nature), regarded hogg as an exemplary scholar, great thinker, and worthy leader,--the self-sufficient, hard-headed, cynical, humorous youngster from the north of england regarded shelley as a delightful plaything, a brilliant absurdity, a piquant joke. when the 'reading man,' who rose from his bed every morning as the clock struck seven, had spent the first six hours of the day in strenuous study and attendance at lectures, he went to his 'young friend' for diversion, never before one o'clock, oftener when the clock had struck two p.m. it amused the north-countryman, as he lay back in the easiest chair of his young friend's well-furnished and disorderly room, to watch his young friend work fiercely at the handle of his electrical machine, till the crackling and snapping sparks flew forth viciously; to see the youngster's long locks bristle and dishevel into wildness, surpassing their usual disorder; to observe the animation of his countenance, the singular brightness of his prominent blue eyes, and to hear him talk volubly for half-hours together, in the thin shrill voice that often screamed as harshly as the voice of a highly excited parrot, about the blessings that would flow from chemistry to the ill-fed, ill-clad, ill-treated toilers of the human race. the excruciating voice, that was so 'intolerably shrill, harsh, and discordant' to the north-countryman's sensitive ear at the opening of his acquaintance with this eccentric and delightfully unconventional undergraduate, became less disagreeable, even in its sharpest notes, to the critical auditor as it grew more familiar. moreover, the voice was not always at torture-pitch. it was only when he was under excitement that the youngster afflicted his hearers by 'speaking' (to use peacock's description of the poet's vocal peculiarity) 'in sharp fourths, the most unpleasing sequence of sound that can fall on the human ear.' when he spoke calmly, the voice was not otherwise than agreeable; when he read poetry that delighted him, the voice became musical, 'was good' (says peacock) 'both in tune and in tone; was low and soft, but clear, distinct, and expressive.' hogg had not known his young friend many days without discovering that the voice could be no less melodious and charming than harsh and screeching. in these vocal characteristics, as in so many other matters, shelley resembled byron, who used to shriek and scream in his frequent paroxysms of hysterical rage, and yet had a voice sweeter even than his verse, when he gossiped contentedly with women, and prattled lovingly with little children. it is not wonderful that the self-sufficient, critical, humorous hogg's interest in his young friend was composed equally of amusement and admiration, cynical curiosity and amiable contempt; a disposition to love him, and an even stronger disposition to laugh at him. there was so much to admire and love in the eccentric boy, who overflowed with pity for the miseries of mankind, and prattled with almost childish communicativeness about his cousin harriett's beauty and his sister elizabeth's perfections; so much that was inexpressibly ludicrous in the youthful chemist and scientific enthusiast who, believing in the 'elixir vitæ,' was at the same time an astronomer and astrologer--in the sceptical philosopher who, equally credulous and incredulous, spoke no less reverentially of dreams than irreverentially of the scriptural miracles, could embrace any fable provided it were not one of 'the delusions' of christianity, and had no doubt he ought to believe in ghosts, whilst deeming it questionable whether he ought to believe in god. under hogg's tuition this last question was erased from the list of shelley's moot points. having repudiated christ at eton, the freshman had not entered on his second term of residence at oxford without finding himself under 'the necessity' of repudiating god; and, though he would probably have come to this conclusion by himself somewhat later in his career, it is certain he came to it the sooner for hogg's assistance and encouragement. it is uncertain what hogg's real sentiments on matters pertaining to religion were at the close of and . in later time he was one of those tories who reflected with pride on the support their party had given bolingbroke, and on the protection it had afforded hume:--one of those tories, of gentle birth and culture, who deemed it their peculiar privilege to think and say amongst themselves whatever they pleased on ecclesiastical polemics, provided they did nothing to weaken the popular belief in the doctrines of the church of england, as by law established--doctrines that were so eminently conducive to social order, by disposing persons of the less fortunate classes to do their duty submissively in that state of life to which god had been pleased to call them. whilst commiserating shelley for being, by education and familiar conditions, one of those 'buff-and-blue folks' who naturally could not speak their own minds freely lest their words should be misconstrued into treason and infidelity, and could not, therefore, carry the poet safe through the difficulties arising out of his ill-advised publications, mr. hogg, the mature biographer, observed:-- 'as to my own family, and my immediate connexions, we were all persons whose first toast after dinner was invariably "church and state!" warm partisans of william pitt, of the highest church, and of the high tory party; consequently we were anything but intolerant, we were above suspicion and ordinances.... my relatives felt that they had margin enough, plenty of sea-room, that whatever might be said or done, their good principles could not be doubted, but would always carry them through.... if the _age of reason_ had been republished by myself or one of my earliest friends, the world would have supposed that it was put forth merely to show the utter futility and impotence and vanity of the author's arguments.' the self-sufficient young gentleman, who quickened shelley's steps to his final academic disaster, was the veritable father of the man who wrote thus lightly of what tories (provided they were highly-educated gentlemen) might do within the lines of free thought. from strong, but not conclusive evidence, i think that in his oxford days he might have summarized his creed by saying: 'there's nothing new, and there is nothing true; and it don't much sinnify, provided we don't let vulgar people find it out.' whatever his belief on sacred questions, he never allowed so immaterial a consideration to affect his course in discussion. speaking first on one side of a question, and then on the other side, and then for a third time just to show he had been equally and utterly wrong in his arguments on both sides, hogg always played the part shelley wished him to play. what shelley said, hogg contradicted--never angrily (for his temper was imperturbable), never impatiently (for his patience was adamantine), never discourteously (for he was courteous by nature, and on principle), often lightly and with fine raillery (for he was a born humourist), always considerately (for the reading man delighted in his play-fellow). it was thus the two young men wrangled together amiably, keeping the ball of doubt flying to and fro between them till the one or the other sent it flying out of bounds. a game often congenial to clever youngsters, it was a game especially congenial to these two undergraduates; all the more so, because shelley was altogether in earnest, hogg altogether at play. if the reading-man had reason to congratulate himself on finding so good a playmate for his hours of relaxation, the freshman may well have been flattered by the attention of a fellow-student, so considerably his senior in academic status and worldly wisdom. with all his imperfections, hogg had no vice or fault to repel his young friend. shelley, who would have held aloof from an undergraduate with a propensity to any kind of dissoluteness, found in hogg a man no less temperate in eating and drinking than himself, no less incapable of uttering or relishing an obscene jest, no less averse to gambling with dice and cards, no less disdainful of the ordinary dissipations of academic idlers. on the other hand, hogg's natural endowments and intellectual attainments were especially calculated to commend him to shelley's confidence, and render him the object of shelley's admiration. shelley had enough of classical taste and culture to respect the reading-man for being so greatly his superior in latin and greek, and to be delighted at the moderate praise accorded by so considerable a scholar to his performances in latin prose and latin verse. but classical studies were not the only studies to interest hogg. the reading-man delighted in english literature, amused himself occasionally by writing english verse, and had some thought of writing a book of poetry or romantic fiction, when he should have taken his 'first class.' instead of being indifferent to his young friend's literary ambition, hogg participated in it. the youngster who had already published a novel (what a novel it was!), and the young man who was thinking of writing a novel, were, in their simple, boyish way of regarding the matter, kindred spirits and men of letters. their association at college would prove the first stage of a life-long friendship! the relation in which steerforth and copperfield stand to one another in the earlier stages of their friendship is comparable with the relation in which hogg and shelley stood to one another at university college. hogg patronized shelley very much as steerforth patronizes copperfield; and just as copperfield idolizes steerforth, shelley idolized hogg. at the present time one may well smile at these relations between the humorous north-countryman, who never became anything more than a successful chamber-barrister, and the poet, whose name will never perish from the story of his race. but it is no unusual thing for time and the development of mental forces to reverse the relations of ancient comrades; placing the former idolater on the idol's pedestal, and converting the receiver of homage into the worshiper. whilst the hogg of university college gave promise of being a very remarkable personage, shelley had given no promise of becoming a supremely great poet--on the contrary, had raised expectations that he would be a very contemptible poetaster. in - shelley was the one of these two friends to render worship, hogg the one to receive it. in the earlier weeks of their friendship, hogg and shelley used to exchange visits; but soon shelley's room was the usual meeting-place of the two friends--the choice of the room being made partly (hogg says wholly) because shelley, still delighting in his scientific toys, liked 'to start from his seat at any moment' and play with his air-pump and electrical machine; and partly (we may surmise) because the hard reader wished to guard his severely studious hours from the intrusion of his choicest and most particular friend. but though they never met before luncheon, save when they passed one another at morning chapel, or on their ways to and from different lectures, shelley and hogg lived together as completely as they would have done, had they been 'chums' sharing a single set of rooms, like the 'chums' of older academic time. meeting at one or two p.m., they seldom separated before one or two a.m. in foul weather they read, talked, wrote letters in each other's company, without going out of college. they read together locke's _essay concerning human understanding_, hume's _essays_, several of plato's dialogues (by means of dacier's translations), several of the works of scotch metaphysicians, not worthy of being mentioned in the same sentence with hume, treatises of logic, and divers english poets and latin poets. but plato, locke, and hume were the authors who held their attention most often, stirred their minds most deeply, provoking them at every turn to pass from study to talk, and argue out the questions raised by printed text. of locke's and hume's writings they made careful notes, that in some cases were precise abstracts of the author's several arguments on a question of supreme importance. that hume whetted shelley's appetite for sceptical literature may be inferred from the note, in which (on november th, , _sunday_) he begged stockdale to look out for a translation into greek, latin, or any of the european languages, of a certain 'hebrew essay, demonstrating that the christian religion is false, that was mentioned in one of the numbers of the _christian observer_, last spring, by a clergyman, as an unanswerable, yet sophistical argument.' when the weather was fair, or not so foul as absolutely to prohibit exercise in the open air, the two friends went for walks in the country,--sometimes for very long walks, that kept them for four, or even six hours, in the open air. excellent pedestrians, they delighted in walking; and shelley was never happier than when he and his peculiar comrade started out for the country in the early afternoon for an unusally long walk, with the intention of 'cutting hall' (the hour for the college-dinner in those days was p.m.), and returning in the evening, for the equally welcome and needful supper, ordered to be ready for them on their return to the poet's first-floor rooms,[ ] in the principal quadrangle of their college. in these long walks it was that the two inseparable undergraduates walked repeatedly over and about shotover hill; threaded meandering ways through bagley wood; traversed the farmstead in which the furious dog seized with his teeth, and almost tore off, the tail of the poet's brand-new blue coat; and leaped through the gap of an aged fence into the trim garden,--leafless on that mid-winter day, had it not been for the evergreen shrubs; flowerless, had it not been for the brumal flowers here and there faintly visible; but still trim, daintily kept, and eloquent of peacefulness, seclusion, and human care,--the garden where the poet gathered the first of those seeds of pathos and delicate sentiment, that slowly germinating in his fancy, bore fruit long years afterwards in _the sensitive plant_. it was in hogg's memory, when he wrote the _new monthly_ sketches, how, after retreating from this tranquil spot as suddenly as he had entered it, shelley spoke of the sacredness of the spot, that of course owed its attractiveness to the ministrations of feminine goodness and beauty; and how, after making it the haunt of a single enchantress, he changed the picture so far as to give her a sister, fair and sensitive as herself, for the sharer of her gentle toil and pure enjoyment of the garden in brighter seasons. in another of these walks, the inseparable undergraduates came, in a desolate part of the country, on a little girl, so young and small that she might almost be called a nursling, who had been placed there in her weariness to await the return of her mother and some other women. having waited till she imagined herself deserted, the cold, hungry, miserable child was weeping and wailing piteously, when shelley accosted her (ugly little brat though she was), won something of her confidence, and induced her to accompany him to the nearest dwelling, where he restored her to comparative contentment with a bowl of warm bread and milk. 'it was,' says hogg, 'a strange spectacle to watch the young poet, whilst ... holding the wooden bowl in one hand, and the wooden spoon in the other, and kneeling on his left knee, that he might more certainly attain to her mouth, he urged and encouraged the torpid and timid child to eat. the hot milk was agreeable to the girl, and its effects were salutary; but she was obviously uneasy at the detention. her uneasiness increased, and ultimately prevailed; we returned with her to the place where we had found her, shelley bearing the bowl of milk in his hand, even to the spot where the child was already being sought for by her mother and friends.' to discredit this story, and press it into evidence that hogg was an egregious liar, your true shelleyan enthusiast does not hesitate in crying triumphantly, 'is it possible for any man, after a lapse of two-and-twenty years, to remember whether his friend on a particular occasion knelt on his right knee or his left knee?' yet i conceive no judicial reader will deny that the story bears the brand of substantial truthfulness; that the incident was just the incident to live in the spectator's memory; that the story accords with what has come to us from other sources of information respecting shelley's womanly concern for children,--the feminine tenderness with which he nursed little allegra in her infancy, and his own babes in their times of sickness. other pleasant examples are given by hogg of the fine human interest shelley took in the humble, and sometimes unlovely, children they encountered in their pedestrian excursions round about oxford,--such children as the gipsy girl whom he visited in her parental tent, and her brother, the little gipsy boy, into whose hands he rolled the big orange, which he had brought out with him from oxford, for his own refreshment during a long walk. it may serve the purpose of hogg's detractors to decry these stories as manifest fabrications; but to me they are evidential of hogg's substantial truthfulness, because whilst they commemorate just such characteristic trifles as are apt to survive far more important matters in our recollections of the dead who were dear to us long ago, they are the mere trifles which no fraudulent tale-wright would think of inventing. only to the narrator, who remembered them feelingly, would such trifles appear worthy of record. the walks in the country round about oxford took the longer time, because of two of shelley's favourite diversions--his delight in pistol-practice, and the pleasure he found in folding and twisting pieces of paper into little boats, and putting them afloat on the surface of pond or streamlet. his fondness for the former amusement affords another of his numerous resemblances to byron. like the byron of southwell and cambridge, the shelley of field place and oxford, seized every convenient occasion for blazing away with powder and ball, and perfecting himself in the use of 'the hair-trigger,'--a practice that would have been more remarkable in each of the poets, had it not been usual in the days of duelling for youngsters to regard pistol-practice as an important part of the education of every gentleman, who in his way through life might at any moment be invited to exchange shots at ten paces. to the biographer of the two poets, their fondness for this military pastime is the more interesting, because they lived to fire away at the same mark day after day during their residence at pisa. that the sport in which he delighted in the last year of his life was one of shelley's favourite amusements at oxford, we know from hogg, who tells how the youthful poet of 'mild aspect and pacific habits,' used to equip himself for a country walk, with a pair of duelling pistols and a good supply of powder and ball. on coming to a solitary spot during a rural ramble, it was his use to fix a card, or some other suitable object, upon a tree or embankment, and fire away at it till his ammunition was exhausted. on one occasion he induced hogg to have a shot at a slab of wood, about as big as a hearth-rug. taking the pistol, hogg discharged it at an unusally long range for pistol-practice, and sent his bullet into the very centre of the wooden target. shelley was amazed and delighted at the goodness of his friend's firing, and running to the board gazed intently at the place of the bullet's lodgment. after satisfying himself that the ball was in the very middle of the board, he more than once measured the distance from the target to the spot where the trigger was pulled by the man, who had never before fired a pistol loaded with ball. 'i never knew any one so prone to admire as he was, in whom the principle of veneration was so strong,' hogg remarks, in reference to the poet's expressions of surprise and delight at the excellence of his comrade's address with the weapon. one may well smile at this tribute to the reverential disposition of the oxonian, who despised the tutors of his college for their dullness, spoke contemptuously of his grandfather, held his father up to ridicule, wrote disdainfully of his mother's mental narrowness, and had fought the whole tribe of his eton masters, from dr. keate to mr. bethell. but the tribute was not altogether undeserved. all through life shelley valued men for their worth, and honoured superior men ungrudgingly for their superiority, provided they were not placed in authority over him, or had not provoked him to antagonism. had hogg been his tutor, shelley would soon have discovered flaws in his friend's character, and unsoundness in his attainments,--would have found him overbearing, presumptuous, hypocritical, tyrannical. finding the pistol-practice lessen his enjoyment of their country walks, hogg, with some difficulty, induced shelley to relinquish the diversion; but the north-countryman was unsuccessful in his attempts to wean the poet from the other pastime, in which he delighted so keenly. on coming to a large pond in their rambles, shelley, indifferent to the coldness of wind, even though it were a 'cutting north-easter,' drew up, took paper from his pocket, twisted it into a boat, and floated it out upon the glassy surface. if the frail bark succumbed quickly to the forces of wind and water, another bark of the same description was speedily fitted and launched for the perilous voyage. when the paper-boat was wafted safely to the opposite shore, no child could have been more delighted than the oxonian student at so trivial a cause of satisfaction. sometimes the player at this curious game floated several paper-boats out upon the water as nearly as possible at the same moment, and then watched the fortunes of his fleet with the liveliest interest. after leaving oxford, shelley often amused himself in the same manner, continuing to play thus childishly at the water's brink, till he had made away with all his provision of waste-paper to the last scrap. even then he could not desist from the fascinating pastime; but would prolong his enjoyment with the sacrifice of letters written by his dearest friends, and fly-leaves torn from volumes that he had in his pockets. it was told of him for the first time by an imaginative humorist, and has been often repeated for true history by dullards, incapable of recognizing and appreciating a humorous invention, that on one occasion after consuming in this way all his store of comparatively valueless pieces of paper, he manufactured a toy-ship out of a bank-post bill for fifty pounds, which he committed to the water of the round pond in kensington gardens, when the miniature lake was more than usually agitated by a breeze from the northeast. 'the story, of course,' says hogg, 'is mythic fable, but it aptly portrays the dominion of a singular and most unaccountable passion over the mind of an enthusiast.' the pond at the foot of shotover hill, lying on the left of the pedestrian about to make the ascent, was one of the waters near which hogg (of the adamantine patience) was often constrained to wait, whilst shelley folded and twisted scraps of paper into boats, with fingers empurpled by the cold. by that same water the poet used to linger till dusk, 'repeating verses aloud, or earnestly discussing themes that had no connexion with surrounding objects.' ever and again on these occasions the curious boy, who developed into so marvellous a man, would throw a stone as far away from himself as possible into the pond, and then exult in the splash and disturbance of the usually tranquil waters. hogg could also remember how his friend, with the blue eyes and disorderly hair, used to split the slaty stones into thin and flat pieces, with which he would gravely make ducks-and-drakes on the water's surface. that shelley delighted in the scenery of the neighbourhood of oxford we know from hogg's assurances. that the scenes, which delighted him in - , lived in his memory we know from the poem that was in the main an outgrowth of his recollections of the quiet garden, to which reference has just been made; and from the way in which he used in later years to dream of one particular bit of oxfordshire landscape. 'i have,' (shelley wrote in the _speculations on metaphysics_, just five years after this michaelmas term), 'beheld scenes, with the intimate and unaccountable connexion of which with the obscure parts of my own nature, i have been irresistibly impressed. i have beheld a scene which has produced no unusual effect on my thoughts. after the lapse of many years, i have dreamed of this scene. it has hung on my memory, it has haunted my thoughts, at intervals, with the pertinacity of an object connected with human affections. i have visited this scene again. neither the dream could be dissociated from the landscape, nor the landscape from the dream, nor feelings, such as neither singly could have awakened, from both. but the most remarkable event of this nature, which ever occurred to me, happened five years ago at oxford. i was walking with a friend, in the neighbourhood of that city, engaged in earnest and interesting conversation. we suddenly turned the corner of a lane, and the view, which its high banks and hedges had concealed, presented itself. the view consisted of a windmill, standing in one among many plashy meadows, inclosed with stone walls; the irregular and broken ground, between the wall and the road on which we stood; a long low hill behind the windmill, and a grey covering of uniform cloud spread over the evening sky. it was that season when the last leaf had just fallen from the scant and stunted ash. the scene surely was a common scene; the season and the hour little calculated to kindle lawless thought; it was a tame uninteresting assemblage of objects, such as would drive the imagination for refuge in serious and sober talk, to the evening fireside, and the dessert of winter fruits and wine. the effect which it produced in me was not such as could have been expected. i suddenly remembered to have seen that exact scene in some dream of long---- 'here i was obliged to leave off, overcome by thrilling horror.' to this extraordinary revelation of one of the innermost chambers of a human soul by the soul's own self, mrs. shelley long after her husband's death appended this note:-- 'i remember well his coming to me from writing it, pale and agitated, to seek refuge in conversation from the fearful emotions it excited. no man, as these fragments prove, had such keen sensations as shelley. his nervous temperament was wound up by the delicacy of his health to an intense degree of sensibility, and while his active mind pondered for ever upon, and drew conclusions from, his sensations, his reveries increased their vivacity, till they mingled with, and were one with thought, and both became absorbing and tumultuous, even to physical pain.' why this horror, that caused shelley to drop the pen, at this recollection of a common-place bit of landscape, justly styled 'a tame and uninteresting assemblage of objects,' beheld by him for the first time just five years ago;--no, not this horror _at_ the recollection of so tame a scene, but this horror _at_ recollecting how often the uninteresting scene had recurred to him in his dreams? those who would know the real shelley, whose long locks, peculiar dress, and eccentric aspect, were matters of tattle and laughter in the common-rooms of the colleges in - , should ponder this self-revelation of shelley's own soul, and should also take heed of his widow's note upon it. let readers recall what they have been told of the way in which byron's memory, sensibility, and imagination acted and inter-acted upon one another; the memory stirring the sensibility, the sensibility quickening the imagination, the imagination stimulating the memory again and again, till the recollections of old impressions far surpassed the original impressions in vividness and intensity; and let them then observe how shelley was similarly constituted, with a memory singularly retentive of particular impressions, a sensibility (apt to be roused to morbid activity by these recollected impressions), and an imagination no less quick at the instance of sensibility to intensify the pictures of memory. it was thus that the tame scene, so clearly and deeply printed in his mind as to be repeatedly offered by memory to his re-awakening consciousness, acquired a vividness that was in itself terrifying. but the terror begotten of this vividness was not the terror that made the poet drop his pen. whilst his sensibility was being stirred to morbid and distressing activity by recollection and fancy, he was suddenly surprised by remembering how repeatedly the same tame scene had come back to him in dreams,--_i.e._ at the moment of the re-awakening of consciousness,--and in his agitation, heightened by perplexity at so singular a fact, the surprise affected him with horror, even as any surprise (one that is the merest trifle to a cool and self-possessed mind)--a surprise arising from the rustling of a leaf, the echo of a footfall, the shadow of a spray by moonlight,--is apt to plunge the agitated and unbalanced mind into the horror of perplexity. happy in themselves, hogg and shelley did not care to be happy with other undergraduates, either of their own college or of the other colleges. a few old etonians, belonging to other colleges, occasionally visited university college, to see the whilom atheist of their former school; but though shelley was civil to them, and on the eve of his abrupt withdrawal from the university paid halliday a farewell call, he showed no disposition to be intimate with them. three or four other undergraduates, to whom the supremely self-sufficient mr. hogg refers loftily as harmless and inoffensive persons, also found themselves now and then in the young poet's rooms; but no cordial pressure was put upon them to come oftener. mr. hogg and the freshman were sufficient unto themselves. necessarily known, under these circumstances, within their own college as 'the inseparables,' the two close friends were also known throughout the university as 'the inseparables.' how could it be otherwise, when they were seen by walking men and riding men, day after day (weather permitting) walking along the roads and over the meadows round about oxford? whilst both were almost daily seen together, it was seldom that either of them was ever seen 'out of college' without the other. men who thus 'keep themselves to themselves' are never popular with the multitude from whom they hold aloof. there was much curiosity about the two singular young men, after the publication of the _posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson_ (published on, or just before, th november, ), of which they were generally understood to be joint-authors;--but the curiosity was not flattering nor even friendly. it was averred that they aimed at eccentricity in costume and deportment; that they thought too well of themselves, and said by their looks, 'we are superior to everybody;' that shelley's turn-down collars (worn, of course, so that he might be taken for another lord byron, and capable of writing a better satire than the _english bards_), and his blue coat with glittering (birmingham steel) buttons, were unutterably ludicrous; that his shock of wildly flowing hair was a disgrace to the university; that known as mad shelley, before he was sent away from eton in disgrace, he seemed bent on justifying the nickname. if the gossip about the young poetaster and novelist had the note of malice, it had, also, the ring of sincerity, and was not altogether wanting in justice. though the morning on which he awoke to find himself famous was still in the future, byron had made himself a celebrity before he started for the east; and had not the success of the _english bards and scotch reviewers_ (published in ) brought his peculiar collars into vogue with young gentlemen of poetical aspirations, shelley would never have thought of wearing them to everybody's amusement at the university. possibly, his blue coat with glittering buttons was not more defiant of the academic orders touching costume than other coats worn by modish oxonians of his period; but the freshman who donned it must have meant to be observed and talked about. even hogg admits that his young friend's appearance was peculiar even to eccentricity, and that his long and bushy hair was remarkable, when all other undergraduates wore their hair short, and that, in consequence of the conspicuous superfluity of his tresses, the 'little round hat upon his little round head' had a 'troubled and peculiar' air. eccentric in his costume, mr. bysshe shelley, of university college, was even more eccentric in his demeanour in the public ways. the poor scholar who fights his way to higher knowledge, whilst toiling for his daily bread as a clerk or craftsman, must needs read as he runs to and fro between his place of nightly rest and his place of daily labour, must con the printed page whilst eating his meals, and seize moments for study without care for his spectators. but though hogg commends the oxonian shelley for seldom appearing by himself in the high street without an open volume under his eyes, most people will attribute the needless show of studious zeal to a whimsical affectation rather than to sincere delight in learning, and an insatiable appetite for knowledge. why could not mr. shelley read his books in those pleasant rooms where he spent so much time daily in writing letters for mere amusement, in correcting the proof-sheets of a comically bad novel, in playing with his air-pump and solar microscope, and in holding desultory conversations with an agreeable companion? to appreciate this comical parade of scholarly enthusiasm, readers must remember how much time the undergraduate consumed in playing with paper boats and 'making ducks-and-drakes' at the pond under shotover hill. why did the freshman, so prodigal of precious hours, thus affect the part of a student set on turning every minute of his time to the best account? what was his motive in figuring under the public gaze in a character so widely different from his real character? in answering these questions, readers should forget, as far as possible, the freshman's subsequent greatness, and thinking of him as the eton scatter-brain, judge him precisely as they would judge any youngster, who should behave in the same absurd fashion in this present year of grace. the freshman, who read the latin and greek classics as he paced 'the high,' had other ways of calling attention to himself in the public places of oxford. on their return from a stroll, in cap and gown, shelley and hogg were holding high discourse on certain platonic questions, when they encountered on magdalen bridge, a woman with a child in her arms,--an infant that might have been taken clean out of her arms, had the eccentric freshman encountered no resistance from the lawful owner of the baby. 'will your baby tell us anything about pre-existence, madam?' the excited disputant asked in a piercing voice, as he suddenly caught hold of the long-robed infant. the woman was still in the act of recovering the self-possession, of which so singular an assault had deprived her for a few moments; when shelley repeated the question in the same penetrating tone and with unabated earnestness. 'he cannot speak, sir,' the woman replied with respectful seriousness. 'worse and worse!' cried the eccentric undergraduate, shaking his long locks in a manner that must have heightened the woman's perplexity and alarm. 'but surely, madam, the babe can speak if it will, for he is only a few weeks old. he may fancy, perhaps, that he cannot, but it is only a silly whim; he cannot have forgotten entirely the use of speech in so short a time; the thing is absolutely impossible.' 'it is not for me,' replied the woman, eyeing the two youthful gownsmen, with mingled deference and consternation, 'to dispute with you, gentlemen, but i can safely declare that i never heard him speak, nor any child, indeed, of his age.' having thus troubled and frightened the worthy woman, for no purpose, except that he might execute an awkward and feeble pleasantry, the gownsman, who liked to be talked about, pressed the baby's cheeks with his fingers, and turned away saying to his companion, 'how provokingly close are those new-born babes! but it is no less certain, notwithstanding their cunning attempts to conceal the truth, that all knowledge is reminiscence: the doctrine is far more ancient than the times of plato, and as old as the venerable allegory, that the muses are the daughters of memory; not one of the nine was ever said to be the child of invention.' whilst the freshman amused himself at oxford in ways glanced at in the foregoing pages, how did he get on with the tutors of his college, and the other academic authorities? that he had no cause to complain of their treatment of him during the earlier weeks of his brief time at oxford, he admitted in clear and noteworthy terms, to the etonian who inquired of him in hogg's hearing, 'do you mean to be an atheist here, too, shelley?' to this inquiry, whether he meant to worry, harass, and defy the tutors of his college as he had worried, harassed, and defied the persons put in authority over him at eton, the university college freshman answered decidedly, 'no! certainly not. there is no motive for it; there would be no use in it; they are very civil to us here; they never interfere with us; it is not like eton.' for the precise words of this reply, represented by hogg as having been made by shelley, the biographer was doubtless indebted in some degree to his imagination. but even the 'shelleyan enthusiasts' will admit that the tenor of the reply was something hogg might have remembered. bearing in mind also that hogg disliked the university college 'dons,' and held them in bitter remembrance as the authors of his own academic disgrace, the same enthusiasts will admit that he was not likely to have invented such a piece of testimony to the general inoffensiveness of 'the dons' he detested. even by them, therefore, it will be admitted that at this early point of his brief 'residence' in college, shelley admitted that the 'dons' of university college treated him, as gentlemen in their position should treat a gentleman in his position; that they did not 'interfere' with him, that he had no grievance against them, or any grounds for worrying them. they were not like the eton masters. they were gentlemen. this admission is the more noteworthy because hogg (wildly wrong-headed and considerably less than historically truthful in matters touching his own and the poet's expulsion from university college) in his bitterness against those same 'dons,' was at much pains to declare them no gentlemen. if the 'dons' were civil to shelley, it must be admitted that he was less than civil to them. one would like to be able to say otherwise; but the evidence is conclusive that the undergraduate was uncivil to the 'dons' of his college, and to 'dons' not of his college, both in his bearing towards them, and his speech of them. on the very first evening of their acquaintance, shelley withdrew from hogg's rooms at . p.m., immediately 'after wine,' in order to attend a lecture on mineralogy,--leaving his entertainer with a promise to return to tea. an hour later he reappeared, chilly and disappointed. the evening was raw and cold, and the lecture had 'bored' him. he would never listen to another lecture by the dull lecturer. coming close up to hogg, and speaking in a shrill whisper, the young gentleman said with an arch look,-- 'i went away, indeed, before the lecture was finished. i stole away for it was so stupid, and i was so cold, that my teeth chattered. the professor saw me, and appeared to be displeased. i thought i could have got out without being observed; but i struck my knee against a bench, and made a noise, and he looked at me. i am determined that he shall never see me again.' 'what did the man talk about?' hogg asked. 'about stones! about stones!' answered the freshman (just then affecting to be an enthusiastic student of natural science). 'about stones!--stones, stones, stones!--nothing but stones!--and so drily. it was wonderfully tiresome--and stones are not interesting in themselves!' discreditable to the youngster's intelligence and scientific knowledge, the story is highly discreditable to his breeding. instead of being 'uninteresting things in themselves,' stones are things of extreme interest. if the lecture was dull, he was bound by academic etiquette and common social courtesy, to remain to the end of it. as the lecture was poorly attended, he was especially bound by politeness to hear it out to the last word. leaving the lecture as he did, blundering out of the room with noise so as to attract the lecturer's attention, he was guilty of an extravagance of incivility and rudeness to one of the professors[ ] of his university. the freshman, who in the first week or ten days of his 'residence in college,' could behave in this way to the lecturer, who had bored him, was a freshman who on the slightest provocation would be 'an atheist' at oxford, in the same sense in which he had been an atheist at eton. a few days after this incident, the freshman (the _brilliant_ author of _zastrozzi_ and _st. irvyne_) discovered that the tutors of university college were '_very dull people_.' one of these very dull people, in the performance of his official duty, sent for the freshman to speak with him about the subjects of study to which he should give his mind, and the lectures he should attend. the interview between the dull person and the brilliant mr. bysshe shelley (author of _zastrozzi_ and certain _original poetry_ that was not original) left the younger gentleman with a mean opinion of his intellectual adviser, and probably left the elder gentleman with a no less unfavourable opinion of his pupil. what took place at this interview shall be told here in the words of the pupil, whose _ex parte_ account of the matter (given to his friend, mr. hogg) is by no means creditable to the narrator.-- 'they are very dull people here!' the freshman remarked one evening soon after he came 'into college.' 'a little man sent for me this morning, and told me, in an almost inaudible whisper, that i must read. "you must read," he said many times in his small voice. i answered that i had no objection. he persisted: so, to satisfy him, for he did not appear to believe me, i told him i had some books in my pocket, and i began to take them out. he stared at me, and said that was not exactly what he meant. "you must read _prometheus vinctus_, and _demosthenes de corona_, and _euclid_!" "must i read _euclid_?" i asked sorrowfully. "yes, certainly; and when you have read the greek works, i have mentioned, you must begin _aristotle's ethics_, and then you may go on to his other treatises. it is of the utmost importance to be well acquainted with aristotle." this he repeated so often that i was quite tired, and at last i said, "must i care about aristotle? what if i do not mind aristotle?" i then left him, for he seemed to be in great perplexity.' the reader may be left to fill in and expand this brief sketch of an interview between one of the tutors of university college and the freshman, who acknowledged that the same tutors were 'very civil' to the undergraduates of the college. however, filled in and expanded, it must remain the account of an interview, in which the tutor, behaving with proper considerateness, and in no degree going outside the lines of his official duty, was treated with freedom, bordering on gross impertinence, by the pupil. can anyone peruse the brief account without coming to the conclusion that shelley gave and meant to give hogg the impression, that he had treated the tutor saucily, _smoked_ him elegantly (if i may use a word of obsolete slang), or, as school-boys would say, 'cheeked him' to his face. of course shelley's words come to us through hogg, who is stigmatized as a treacherous and false friend by the 'shelleyan enthusiasts.' but even they will admit that hogg (with a personal interest in making the world imagine that the authorities of university college treated him and shelley with unprovoked harshness) was not likely to misrepresent shelley in this particular matter to his disadvantage. having discovered that the tutors of university college were 'dull people,'--a sentiment in which his familiar friend concurred,--mr. bysshe shelley reminded hogg on a subsequent occasion how very dull they were. hogg was looking over one of his friend's latin exercises, a translation into latin of a portion of a paper in the _spectator_, when he drew shelley's attention to 'many portions of heroic verses, and even several entire verses,' observing that they were 'defects in a prose composition.' smiling archly, the freshman replied in his peculiar piercing whisper, 'do you think they will observe them? i inserted them intentionally to try their ears! i once showed up a theme at eton to old keate, in which there were a great many verses; but he observed them, scanned them, and asked why i had introduced them? i answered, that i did not know they were there; this was partly true and partly false; but he believed me, and immediately applied to me the line, in which ovid says of himself: "et quod tentabam dicere, versus erat."' it was thus that the modest and loyal shelley (as he is styled by 'the enthusiasts') dealt with the tutors who were very civil to him,--putting blemishes into his latin exercises, in the hope that, by overlooking them, the dull people would afford him another occasion for ridiculing their dullness. surely the freshman, who dealt with and talked of his tutors in this style, was ripe and yearning to rebel against them, even as he had rebelled against his masters at eton. 'i answered,' he says of his reply to dr. keate, 'that i did not know they were there; _this was partly true and partly false_,'--words to remind the reader of the semi-delusions (as peacock called them) of the poet's later time. 'this was partly true and partly false!' what an admission respecting the etonian shelley, who (to use lady shelley's words), was 'more outspoken and truthful than other boys!' though they saw at once he had no intention of throwing himself heartily into the studies of the place, and had reason to smile at certain of his more grotesque eccentricities, the tutors of university college discovered no more serious cause for complaining of the freshman's behaviour during michaelmas term. on the contrary, as they of course were not ignorant of the character he had borne, and the trouble he had given at eton, and even of the circumstances that occasioned his premature withdrawal from the school, the tutors of the oxford college may well have congratulated themselves on the general orderliness of his behaviour, and have imagined if they left him to his own course, and interfered with him as little as possible, the perverse and contumacious atheist of eton would go through an ordinary academic career without discredit. it is not to their shame that they neither detected nor suspected his latent genius, which, besides being latent, was so absolutely dormant, that it may be said to have had no existence up to a time, considerably later than his expulsion from oxford. all they could say of him in the earlier of his two residence-terms was that he behaved fairly well. thus much they could say of him. living almost entirely with a single friend (even as byron in his earliest time at cambridge lived in shy seclusion almost entirely with a young chorister and a single friend of gentle degree), he kept morning chapels with fair regularity, attended a sufficient number of the college lectures, 'pricked _æger_' (when he was quite well) no oftener than usage permitted, gave no noisy wine-parties, had no noisy acquaintances, never 'knocked' into college after the appointed hours for 'knocking in,' showed no propensity to any kind of dissipation. it was true that he appeared 'in hall' less often than so quiet a young gentleman might be expected to appear at the freshmen's dinner-table; but attendance 'at hall' was not insisted on. true, also, that he was understood to have written an extremely silly novel and a very absurd book of poems; but it was well and needful young men should amuse themselves, and better that they should amuse themselves with pen and ink than with dice and cards. throughout the term, shelley was more occupied with his literary diversions than with the serious studies recommended by his tutor. whilst correcting the proofs of the _posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson_ (published _on_ or a little before th november, , by j. munday, of the firm of munday and slatter, printers and booksellers, _herald_ office, high street, oxford), he was in correspondence with mr. john joseph stockdale, of pall mall, about _the wandering jew_, and writing verses that were shown to hogg, and probably sent without delay to his sister elizabeth and miss harriett grove, to each of whom he wrote frequently. before there was laughter in the colleges over the _posthumous fragments_ (a performance that, doubtless, found more readers than admirers in the university), he had returned the amended manuscript of _st. irvyne_ to the pall mall publisher; and before he had done with the proofs of that singular tale, or, at the latest, before the story was offered to the circulating libraries, he was at work upon another novel (which never saw the light, and probably was never finished),--the work of which he wrote to mr. stockdale on th december, :-- 'i have in preparation a novel; it is principally constructed to convey metaphysical and political opinions by way of conversation, it shall be sent to you as soon as completed, but it shall receive more correction than i trouble myself to give to wild romance and poetry.' in the same term (probably during the second month of it) he found time to make, with hogg's assistance, 'the very careful analysis' (mentioned in hogg's _life_) of hume's _essays_, to which he was chiefly indebted for the theological views of _the necessity of atheism_, and for the other arguments, with which he troubled the minds of the several indiscreet persons, whom he lured with delusive letters into confidential controversy on matters pertaining to religion. from this survey of his literary diversions and other ways of spending his time during this academic term, it is obvious that the freshman had not many hours for strenuous study. few, indeed, were the minutes left to him out of the twenty-four hours for any purpose, when he had spent _five_ hours in bed, an hour in attending chapel and breakfasting, two or three hours in attending lectures, an hour in playing with his scientific toys, an hour or two in writing letters to some of his numerous correspondents, two hours in correcting proofs and producing fresh copy for the printers, four hours in walking (with 'breaks' for pistol practice, playing with paper boats, and 'making ducks-and-drakes' on the water), an hour at dinner and supper, from two to four hours in his usual evening-nap, and four hours in conversation with his peculiar friend. some reading, together with much talk, was doubtless done by the friends during these last-mentioned four hours; but though it may be refreshing and otherwise serviceable, the reading, which two sociable and naturally loquacious fellow-students get through in each other's company, is never strenuous and 'hard reading,'--must ever be more or less light and desultory. the best apology to be made for the freshman's practice of conning the printed page in the high street, is that his various diversions left him so little time for reading in his own rooms. whilst amusing himself with his young friend, whose eccentricities afforded him so much amusement, the lightly humorous and severely practical hogg (ever with an eye to the 'first-class' and the 'fellowship,' that should serve him as stepping-stones to higher social success, if not to social greatness) held to his hard-reading and was a prudent economist of the time, which the freshman spent in busy idleness. rising from his bed at seven, and passing the earlier hours of the day on the work for which he had come to oxford, the reading-man never entered shelley's rooms before one p.m., and sometimes kept away from them till a later hour of the afternoon. in the evening he resumed his studies, and pursued them without interruption, whilst shelley took his evening-slumber, lying sometimes on a sofa, but oftener on the hearth-rug before the large fire, that, ever bright and fierce, never burnt too fiercely for his comfort. suddenly overcome by drowsiness the slight and nervous stripling surrendered himself to torpor almost in an instant, and dropping on the sofa or rug, lay in deep lethargy for two or three (on some evenings for four) hours, stretched like a cat before the glowing fire. if he dropt off in this fashion at six o'clock, he slept for four hours; if he fell into slumber at eight o'clock he slept for only two hours. whatever the time when it began, the nap of profound slumber--never a short one--ended at ten o'clock, or within a few minutes. that the heat of the glowing stove affected the sleeper agreeably, was obvious from the way in which he rolled away from any object that screened him from the fire, and placed his little head so that it felt more sensibly the ardour of the burning coals. occasionally he talked in his sleep, more often his rest was not less silent than long. whilst the youngster slept, the reading-man worked steadily at his books and papers. recovering consciousness as suddenly as he lost it, shelley was no sooner awake than he was restored to perfect mental alertness. rising to his feet with startling alacrity, he was ready for talk as soon as he had rubbed his eyes and passed his long fingers through his long hair. at the same instant, the north-countryman looked up from his books and turned away from his papers. on different evenings, the talk ran on poetry and science, logic and history, morals and religion, man's relation to the universe, the soul's immortality, the errors of the creeds, and the reasons why a reasonable man should not believe in anything. sometimes the talk resulted in reference to books, and the reference to books for particular passages led sometimes to larger reading of them. if it was not begun and perfected, the 'very careful analysis' of hume's _essays_ was often referred to, reconsidered and amended at these nocturnal conferences. at other times, when the youthful philosophers were weary of high and exhausting themes, the talk turned on their domestic interests, their kindred and prospects, their respective homes and counties, the humours of durham and yorkshire, and the manners of sussex. when the gossip played about these homely topics, the freshman was even more entertaining to his delightful and incomparable friend, than when they discoursed on loftier matters. lying back in his chair, and laughing in his sleeve as he tried to discriminate between the fact and fiction of his companion's marvellous communications, mr. hogg, of university college, learnt many things that were not altogether true of field place, its inmates, and its traditions. from the commencement of their friendship, it was obvious to the young gentleman from the neighbourhood of stockton-on-tees, that his friend's statements were to be taken with allowance for the vigour of a fertile fancy, and the speaker's propensity for drawing the colloquial long-bow. when the scientific enthusiast described with needless emphasis and much extravagant gesticulation how nearly he had killed himself at eton, by inadvertently swallowing some mineral poison, the interested but scarcely sympathetic listener suspected that a lively imagination was in some degree accountable for the thrilling tale. the stories about the 'old snake' were received in the same sceptical spirit by the auditor, who regarded the staggering legends as signally wanting in 'the commonplace truth of ordinary matters of fact,' though doubtless rich in 'the far higher truth of poetical verity and mythological necessity.' the michaelmas term was still young, when the same sceptical auditor listened with more interest than credulity to shelley's account of the way in which he was saved from the madhouse, to which he would have been consigned by his inhuman father, had it not been for dr. lind's timely and intrepid action. before the term had grown old, mr. hogg had heard much, of which he believed little, to the discredit of the worthy, though curiously pompous gentleman, who retained the confidence of the new shoreham electors, without possessing his eldest son's good opinion. to say that shelley told his whole heart and mind to his fellow-collegian during this season of their closest and most cordial intimacy, would be saying too much of a young man, whose candour was less real than apparent:--of the rash and seemingly reckless speaker who, resembling byron in the freedom with which he talked of his private affairs to slight acquaintances and the whole world, resembled him also in having reserves from those to whom he was most communicative, even at the moments when he seemed most incapable of secresy or any other kind of self-restraint. hogg, however, may well have imagined that nothing was withheld from him by the freshman, who, talking to him copiously of half-a-hundred matters he had better have kept to himself, submitted his letters from field place to so recent an acquaintance, letters from his father, and letters (containing specimens of her poetry) from his sister. expressing great admiration of the young lady's verse and prose, mr. hogg was vastly tickled by the peculiarities of mr. timothy shelley's epistles, which he turned to ridicule with much piquant sprightliness, and to the lively gratification of their writer's son. because these epistles began in kindly fashion with 'my dear boy,' the writer was suspected of wishing to imitate the style of chesterfield's letters, and also of thinking he resembled the courtly earl in elegance, accomplishments, and worldly wisdom. it was easy, and no less pleasant than easy to the two undergraduates, to make fun of the epistles, so curiously deficient in coherence and perspicacity. always _franked_ by the member for new shoreham, the letters sometimes 'scolded the dear boy nobly, royally, gloriously.' one of these franked, furious and fiery missives having moved hogg to speak of it derisively, and with a sprightly reference to a familiar line of campbell's 'hohenlinden,' shelley henceforth took to speaking of his father as 'the fiery hun.' the son had other nicknames for the father, whom he so often offended,--sometimes unintentionally, and sometimes with deliberate and malicious purpose to rouse and exasperate the irritability, that afforded the two youthful oxonians so much diversion;--the irritability which the son (of whose poetical light and sweetness so much has been written by fantastic adulators) was bound by filial duty to consider tenderly and soothe to the utmost of his ability; was bound by honour and care for his own dignity to screen and palliate. writing and talking of him as 'the fiery hun,' shelley could also speak of his father contemptuously as 'killjoy' and 'the old boy,' in the letters that passed between him and hogg after their dismissal from university college. whilst hogg was exquisitely droll about the defects of mr. timothy shelley's letters, he of course heard all about his friend's passion for his cousin, harriett grove, which, though it never touched the boy's deepest and strongest affections, was still a sufficiently fervid sentiment to justify him in thinking it a grand and eternal devotion. it is not surprising that shelley opened his heart on this interesting topic to his constant companion. on the contrary, it would be strange had he done otherwise. it is rare for a boy to pass through his first love-fever without confiding to a sympathetic hearer of his own sex, how he fares under the violent delights and still more violent anxieties of his heart's unrest. in speaking to his dear and incomparable hogg of miss harriett grove's beauty and accomplishments, her irresistible voice and richly radiant tresses, her composure that too nearly resembled coldness, and the circumspection that might not be imputed to her for unkindness, young bysshe shelley only did as most youngsters would have done under similar circumstances,--as most youngsters under similar circumstances will do, to the end of time and love. but though he did nothing unusual or otherwise remarkable in talking of his love and his harriett's loveliness to his one familiar male friend, mr. percy bysshe shelley did what few young englishmen of gentle lineage and culture would have done,--what no young gentleman could do, without lacking in some degree the delicate fastidiousness and proud reserve befitting a youth of breeding and quality,--when, out of fraternal concern for the young lady's welfare, and in the fervour of his generous affection for so incomparable a friend, he invited mr. thomas jefferson hogg to visit field place on the first convenient opportunity, for the express purpose of seeing the eldest daughter of the house, falling in love with her, and marrying her. it is not often that a young lady (_ætat._ sixteen, living under the protection of her father and mother) is thus offered in marriage by her elder brother (_ætat._ eighteen) to a young gentleman whom she has never seen. it does not seem to have occurred to mr. bysshe shelley that his father and mother were entitled to a voice on the disposal of their daughter in marriage, that before entering on negotiations on so delicate a subject, with a gentleman of whose person and family they were alike ignorant, he should consult the fiery hun on the business, and learn from the fiery hun's wife, whether the arrangement would be agreeable to her feelings. from what is known of mr. thomas jefferson hogg's character and lively humour in his later time, one may imagine that in the lightness and levity of his earlier time he was vastly tickled by his young friend's flattering proposal for this alliance of their respective houses; that he saw the probable advantage of wedding the daughter of so wealthy a baronet, as mr. timothy shelley would become on the death of his aged father; and that he was strongly predisposed to admire his young friend's sister, who was said to resemble her brother in the colour of her eyes and hair, no less than in the pink-and-white freshness of her complexion, and to surpass him greatly in facial comeliness, by virtue of the delicate symmetry of a countenance, whose most prominent feature was faultless in size and shape. anyhow, the undergraduate from the northern county, who, on account of its remoteness, had no intention of returning to his father's roof at christmas or easter, consented readily to a project that, even if nothing more came of it, would enable him to pass the shorter vacations in congenial society at no inconvenient distance from the university. it was doubtless a matter for regret and apologetic explanation with mr. bysshe shelley, that, owing to the fiery hun's peculiarities, he could not safely carry his friend with him to sussex at the close of the michaelmas term, but was under the necessity of preceding him to field place and foregoing the delights of his society, until he should be authorized by the capricious, and too often austere killjoy, to invite him thither for the gaieties of christmas and the new-year. the evidences are not conclusive on the point; but they afford particulars from which it may be fairly assumed that, for several days after shelley's withdrawal from the university for the christmas holidays, hogg (whether lingering at oxford, or staying at the london hotel, where he received several letters from shelley in the closing days of december, , and the opening days of january, ) looked to each successive post for an invitation to field place, and to the presence of the young lady, with whom he was predisposed to fall in love, and had promised to fall in love, if he found it in his power to do so. chapter xi. the christmas vacation of - . presentation copies of _st. irvyne_--shelley resorts to deception--shelley in disgrace at field place--harriett grove's dismissal of her suitor--the squire's anger--mrs. shelley's alarm for her girls--shelley's troubles--his rage against intolerance--his wild letters to hogg--'married to a clod'--stockdale's design--his intercourse with shelley's father--more negotiations with the pall-mall publisher--shelley a deist--controversial correspondence--shelley's attempt to enlighten his father--his passage from deism to atheism--the squire relents to his son--hogg invited to field place--stockdale's disappointment--hogg invited to field place--stockdale's character--his scandalous _budget_. leaving oxford at the end of michaelmas term, , and journeying to sussex by way of london, mr. bysshe shelley was at field place on the th of december, on which day he wrote to mr. john joseph stockdale, of pall mall, expressing approval of the publisher's advertisement of _st. irvyne_, and begging him to send a copy of the absurd story to each of the three following persons:--miss marshall, of horsham, sussex; thomas medwin, esq., of the same place; and thomas jefferson hogg, esq., at the reverend mr. dayrell's, lynnington (a misspelling of lillingstone) dayrell, buckinghamshire. at the same time the author requested that six copies should be sent to himself, and observed, at the close of his brief note, 'i will enclose the printer's account for your inspection in another letter;' words of some moment to the reader who would get a view of the circumstances that soon resulted in the young author's rupture with his publisher. under ordinary circumstances, the printer's bill for printing a book published at the author's risk would be paid by the publisher, and would not come under the author's notice save as an item of his publisher's account. paying the printer with a bill, or with ready-money, on which discount would be allowed, the publisher would charge the author with the full sum of the printer's account, making on the transaction a considerable profit (to the amount of the discount), if he pays the printer in 'cash' and is promptly repaid by the author. mr. stockdale, of course, would not have been slow to arrange for getting this advantage, had he not by the middle of december discovered grounds for mistrusting the author's ability to pay the charges for which he was responsible; or had he not somehow come to the opinion that the author (a minor) should be pressed for immediate payment of the costs of producing a book, whose sale would necessarily be trifling. that mr. gosnell, of little queen street, london (the printer to whom mr. stockdale had himself sent 'the copy' of _st. irvyne_, after the ms. had been 'fitted for the press'), was thus asked to press the author for immediate payment for the printing, is alike significant of the publisher's distrust of the author's solvency, and of the publisher's unfavourable opinion of the book. if he was not in trouble and disgrace at field place from the first moment of his return to his boyhood's home, mr. percy bysshe shelley did not pass many days of the christmas vacation in sussex, before his father spoke to him sharply, and his mother regarded him with sorrowful disapproval. a letter he wrote to hogg on th december, --a letter to be found in hogg's _life_--shows that, at so early a time of the holidays, he found himself in a position of divers annoyances, several humiliations, and much embarrassment. acting in the name of their daughter, and also with the authority pertaining to them as her natural guardians, mr. and mrs. grove, of fern house, wiltshire, had written to field place, expressing reasonable surprise and displeasure at their nephew's conduct in abusing the privileges of familiar intercourse so far and so outrageously as to write his cousin harriett grove (_ætat._ to ) letters, whose main purpose was to draw her into religious controversy, and lure her from christianity,--the faith in which she had been educated; the faith of her parents and kindred. to mr. and mrs. grove, it necessarily seemed that in thus acting towards their daughter, bysshe had acted dishonourably, and shown himself unworthy of the love he required from her; unworthy even of the friendly intercourse with her, to which he had been entitled as her near kinsman. under these circumstances, shelley was informed that his correspondence with miss harriett grove must be stayed at least for the present, and that his hope of marrying her must be dismissed for ever. holding old and wholesome views on certain questions of honour, though he certainly was no person to be compared with the saviour of the world, mr. timothy shelley concurred in the sentiments of fern house on this affair, and told his son so in terms none too daintily worded. 'the fiery hun' blushed to think he had a son capable of sapping the faith and principles of a young lady, to whose familiar confidence he had been admitted under conditions of which no gentleman, old or young, was unmindful. to poor mrs. shelley, the case was even worse. regarding the point of honour with her husband's eyes, she thought also of the monstrous wickedness of her first-born child, who, throwing from him the truths of the christian religion, had covered them with ridicule. in alarm, she thought of her girls. if bysshe could act thus wickedly to his cousin harriett, what was there to withhold him from acting in like manner to his sister elizabeth? he and she were so closely attached to one another, that it was their practice to read and walk and write poetry together. during the whole of his single term of residence at oxford, there had been letters passing between them. had he already inspired the dear girl with sceptical sentiment? instead of submitting to her father and mother, as harriett grove had done, the evil counsel he was giving her, had elizabeth taken his impious words to heart? was she pondering them secretly, and brooding over them, in doubt whether she should reject them as false, or hold to them as true? or had she embraced them no less impetuously and strongly than furtively? was she already a disbeliever?--an infidel? then the terrified mother thought of her younger girls,--mary, and hellen, and margaret. if he could tamper with the religious tenets of so young a girl as elizabeth, still only sixteen years old, what was there in the tenderness of their infantile years to render bysshe more heedful for the spiritual health and tranquillity of elizabeth's younger sisters? it needs no lively imagination to conceive the terror that agitated this anxious mother, to realize the apprehensions that, fretting her spirits incessantly, gave her sleepless nights and sorrowful days. instead of being touched and subdued by the words and looks, that made him cognizant of her maternal solicitude, the young gentleman (who might have been the saviour of the world) wrote lightly to his fellow-collegian on january , , about his mother's alarm. she imagined him on the high road to perdition. she fancied him set on making infidels of his little sisters. could anything be more laughable? it was, however, no laughable matter to the poor lady; and it should not have been a matter for laughter with her son. why was his mother a simpleton for allowing such fears to trouble her, when the young gentleman was craftily and insidiously sapping his eldest sister's belief in christianity, apportioning the new doctrine of free thought with nice consideration for her girlish timidity, and for the weakness of her intellect,--giving it in doses large enough to awaken and stimulate curiosity, without stirring her to amazement and horror? as he was working in this condescending and considerate manner on elizabeth's darkness and weakness on the th of december, , why was his mother a mere goose for fearing he might be no less condescending, and considerate, and slily beneficent to elizabeth's younger sisters? moreover the time was near at hand when, in his fanatical intolerance of all opinion from which he differed, the youthful philosopher regarded elizabeth's younger sisters as quite old enough to digest the crumbs of truth, that fell from his lips. with all her disposition to minimize and palliate the feelings of her poet, lady shelley admits that such a youngster as the oxonian shelley would be a perplexing member of any household with a brood of children to be thought for. indeed, she even goes the length of saying that, before accusing mr. timothy shelley of treating his heir with inadequate tenderness, people should ask themselves how they would like to have in their houses a spinozist or a calvinist, so set on making converts, as to seek them in the butler's pantry or the children's schoolroom. lady shelley is even more particular, in moving every christian mother to think, how she would like to entertain for her guest a spinozist, desirous of making her 'youngest daughter' concur in his opinions. readers should bear in mind how clearly the author of _shelley memorials: from authentic sources_, intimates that, instead of being the absurd and laughable fancy her son declared it, poor mrs. timothy shelley's fear for the spiritual safety of her younger girls was nothing less than a reasonable anticipation of what actually took place in their schoolroom, in respect to the youngest of them, before the poet turned his back on field place for ever. just about the same time at which his attention was called to his son's sceptical opinions, and his zeal for making converts to them, by mr. and mrs. grove, of fern house, mr. timothy shelley received some information, touching the same matters of painful interest from mr. john joseph stockdale, of pall mall. as the man of business, who lived to be one of the blackest sheep of 'the trade,' was at no point of his career a person of extraordinary worth, the readers of the present chapter are not required to attribute the publisher's action in this particular business to any sincere concern for the younger gentleman's welfare, or for his father's happiness. before he became uneasy about the printer's bill, for whose payment he was of course responsible, should the undergraduate of university college fail to pay it, mr. stockdale had been warned by several circumstances to exercise greater caution in his dealings with the young gentleman, whose _original poetry_ had proved so inconveniently wanting in originality. _zastrozzi_, of which he doubtless took a view after learning the name of its publisher, can scarcely have raised the author of the victor-and-cazire book in mr. stockdale's estimation. the quality of _st. irvyne_, and the pains he had himself taken to fit it for the press, cannot have disposed the man of business to think highly of the author's ability. what he had heard about _the wandering jew_ cannot have disposed the publisher to think less contemptuously of the young gentleman's literary parts and ambition. the note touching the hebrew essay to the discredit of the christian religion, was only one of several matters, to indicate to the publisher that his youthful client's reading would possibly result in perilous writing. one can imagine how the publisher of novels and inferior poetry received the suggestion that he should publish the novel on _metaphysical and political opinions_. on the approach of the christmas holidays ( - ), it was clear to mr. stockdale he had better press for a pecuniary settlement with mr. percy bysshe shelley; and in case the young gentleman was not likely to pay his debt, to take measures for getting the money out of the young gentleman's father. hence, the publisher's earlier interviews with the member for new shoreham, who was instructed that his son had fallen into evil hands at oxford, and was a supporter of sceptical philosophy. how little the publisher got by his pains, and how he avenged himself on the member of parliament, whom he failed to bleed, are matters for subsequent pages. when he wrote to hogg on the th of december, , shelley had endured and was still enduring several sharp annoyances. angry words had escaped 'the fiery hun,' who scolded his son for writing ridiculous books when he should be reading learned ones at oxford; scolded him for running into debt with a publisher and printer, whom he had no means of paying; scolded him for adopting the damnable opinions of hume, paine, and the other infidels; scolded him royally for his most ungentlemanlike behaviour, in trying to lure his cousin harriett from the sound christian principles in which she had been educated by her most virtuous and exemplary parents. it was the way of fathers to scold their sons thus royally at the beginning of the present century; and it being part of the paternal style of george the third's time, no sound-hearted and loyal-hearted son ever resented so wholesome, though somewhat turbulent, an exercise of paternal authority. now-a-days, fathers bring, or try to bring, their disorderly sons to meet contrition, with less noise and more dignity, but with speech quite as galling at the time, and more likely to rankle in the memory. to argue that mr. timothy shelley was brutal and wanting in natural affection, because he scolded his naughty boy in this manner, is wild nonsense. however roundly he was spoken to, mr. bysshe shelley received nothing more than he deserved. for awhile the father threatened to take his son from oxford at once, but the threat was not carried out. it would have been better for shelley had his father held to the threat. mr. bysshe shelley's grand averment that the menace was withdrawn, because he 'would not consent to it,' is a delicious piece of puerile 'bounce.' shelley had reason for discontent. forbidden to write to his cousin harriett, he imagined, for a few days, he had loved her vehemently. dismissed by her on account of his opinions, he deemed himself the victim of religious intolerance. by turns he thought of committing suicide, and wreaking his vengeance on the religion, which he held accountable for his greatest trouble. swearing on what he was pleased to call the altar of perjured love, he vowed he would put an end to religious intolerance, by slaying secretly, stabbing secretly, the creed and the sentiment which generated religious intolerance. dismissing the thought of killing himself, he confirmed himself in his purpose to kill superstition; and whilst maturing his plans for the achievement of this resolve, he determined to pursue his literary enterprises. but as 'the fiery hun' disapproved of his dealings with publishers, he determined to conceal his literary designs from his parents. on this point he wrote with instructive frankness to hogg. 'there is now,' he wrote to his friend, 'need of all my art: i must resort to deception.' the deception he practised was to work on a new novel, with a view to early publication, whilst telling his father and mother he had no intention of publishing anything again. 'inconveniences would now result from my owning the novel,' he wrote to hogg, 'which i have in preparation for the press. i give out, therefore, that i will publish no more.' it pleased him to know that every one believed his false statement, with the exception of the few, who, being in his confidence, knew that it was a falsehood. one of the persons thus taken into his confidence was his sister elizabeth (_ætat._ ), whom he thus educated in deceit, by telling her how he was deceiving their parents. this was the course taken by the singularly outspoken and truth-loving shelley in his own home,--towards his father and mother on the one hand, and towards his sister on the other. at the same time, whilst deceiving his father and mother, he was debating how he could impose his new book on a publisher by misrepresenting the tendency and purpose of the work. he was afraid that, though a thick-skulled man, stockdale would detect the falsehood of the statement he was ready to make about the book. what further evidence can readers of ordinary intelligence and temper require that, instead of being more outspoken and truth-loving than other people, the poet suffered from a deficiency of that repugnance to untruth which is the prime characteristic of english gentlemen; that he was capable of telling untruths, and did tell them, for small ends that would not draw englishmen of average veracity a single hair's-breadth out of truth's clear and straight path? of course the facts, which cannot fail to bring impartial readers to this painful conclusion, are regarded in another way, by those 'shelleyan enthusiasts' who idolize the author of _laon and cythna_ as a being worthy of being likened to the saviour of the world. the facts that to impartial minds are evidential of the poet's untruthfulness, the most extravagant of the shelleyan zealots regard as so much evidence that their idol possessed an inordinately powerful imagination. what stronger evidence can there be of the overpowering vigour and sway of his fancy, than that so lofty and faultless a being could imagine himself capable of deceiving his publisher, of telling falsehoods to his father and mother, of educating his younger sister in untruth; and could, moreover, deliberately write himself down guilty of these flagrant offences, of which so faultless a being must have been innocent as the new-born babe? scarcely less noteworthy than his avowal of the deceit he is practising on his father and mother, are the terms in which shelley refers to the abrupt termination of his correspondence with miss harriett grove, and declares his purpose of avenging himself on intolerance for the annoyance that has come to him from the lady's disapproval of his religious scepticism. as miss harriett grove had never promised to be his wife, but had on the contrary persisted in assuring her cousin elizabeth that she might not anticipate a successful issue to her brother's suit, this talk about 'perjured love' was very much out of place. still it did no harm; and as the young gentleman felt it needful to swear on something, and was precluded by the exigencies of the case from swearing 'on the book,' he, perhaps, exercised a wise discretion when he elected to 'swear on the altar of perjured love.' to swear what? that, because he was very much annoyed at being sent about his business by miss harriett grove, and at being otherwise reprimanded for troubling her mind with sceptical sentiments, he would make war upon intolerance, would fight intolerance to the bitter end, would be the death of intolerance, would 'stab the wretch in secret.' this was the oath sworn on the altar of perjured love! having suffered, more in self-love than in any other of his affections, from a young lady's disapproval of his religious opinions, and from her parents' no less cordial repugnance to those opinions, mr. bysshe shelley regarded himself as a victim of religious intolerance. yet further,--seeing that christians, intolerant of opinions antagonistic to their religious tenets, would not be intolerant christians were it not for their christianity, he determined to render them tolerant by slaying the religion which he regarded as the source of their intolerance. 'indeed, i think it,' he wrote, 'to the benefit of society to destroy the opinions which annihilate the dearest of its ties,'--_i.e._ the ties uniting such lovers as mr. bysshe shelley and miss harriett grove were, before religion separated them. as the war against christianity had begun long before the poet's severance from his cousin, which was, indeed, one of the consequences of the war, it would, of course, be absurd to attribute the poet's hatred of the religion to the anger begotten of his dismissal by miss grove. but in accounting for the vehemence with which shelley pushed the war, and the spirit in which he extended the field of his operations, and from being the enemy of a single faith became the foe of all religions, readers must make allowance for the sense of personal injury which animated him to swear he would slay religious intolerance. in the letters which shelley poured upon hogg, from the th of december, till the end of the academic vacation, one comes upon much more about harriett grove, and his correspondence with her. to skim these flighty and rhapsodical letters is to miss the information that may be extracted from them. but to study them carefully is to take the present writer's view of shelley's regard for his cousin, from the summer of . it is clear the cousins never plighted troth to one another. on rd december, , shelley wishes to know, whether he did wrong in luring his cousin to correspond with him, in order that they 'might see if by coincidence of intellect,' it would be well for them 'to enter into a closer, an eternal union;' the desire for information being clothed in words, amounting to an admission there had been no regular engagement. in the same letter, speaking of miss grove's coldness, shelley speaks also of the failure of his sister's efforts to make the self-possessed beauty regard him with feelings warmer than those of cousinly kindness. that the young gentleman's strongest affections were not concerned in the affair appears from the fact that, within eight days of swearing on the altar of perjured love, he could write with comparative calmness of his inability to fall in love at present with any other young lady. in language that may be suspected of having contributed something to lord dundreary's colloquial style, he wrote to hogg, on th december, , 'at present a thousand barriers oppose any more intimate connexion, any union with another, which, although unnatural and fettering to a virtuous mind, are nevertheless unconquerable.' after writing thus calmly, however, he relapsed into moods, of alternate dejection and fury. he 'slept with a loaded pistol and some poison last night' (_i.e._ nd january, ), 'but did not die.' again he vowed vengeance on the religious intolerance that had robbed him of his harriett. on the th january, , he wrote fiercely to hogg, 'she is gone! she is lost to me for ever! she is married! married to a clod of earth; she will become as insensible as himself; all these fine capabilities will moulder!' it may not be inferred from the words 'she is married,' that the gentlewoman had already become a wife, or that shelley meant to do more than announce her engagement to mr. william helyar, of coker court, co. somerset, whose wife she became in november, , two months after the future poet's scotch marriage to harriett westbrook. bearing in mind the old distinction between marriage and its celebration, and remembering, at the same time, the ancient doctrine of the church, that a mere matrimonial contract was wedlock--though not yet celebrated and sanctified into _holy_ wedlock--readers must take the words as a mere declaration that miss grove had plighted her troth to her future husband. the old ecclesiastical law, which made matrimonial pre-contract a sufficient ground for nullification of marriage, was based on the doctrine that an interchange of nuptial promises was, in itself, marriage. in his 'anti-matrimonialism'--a sentiment growing more and more powerful in the author of _zastrozzi_ and _st. irvyne_--shelley, disdainful of the ecclesiastical celebration, looked upon the interchange of promises ('the engagement' of ordinary parlance) as the real marriage; and in doing so he was (strange to say) in accord with the canonists, and with the old matrimonial law that, surviving in north its extinction in south britain, was, even to yesterday, generally known as 'the scotch marriage-law.' the clod of earth had a good many acres of land in wiltshire, somerset, and devonshire, and instead of being the senseless and soulless wretch it pleased mr. bysshe shelley to imagine him, was a gentleman of good repute in the three shires, for each of which he was a magistrate. heir to an ample estate, he married miss harriett grove in november , and living with her till death divided them, was never moved to transfer his affections to another lady. would life have gone thus pleasantly with the gentlewoman, who became the mother of children fair and gracious as herself, had she yielded to the suit of her scatter-brain cousin? whilst he was fuming over his sentimental misadventure, and writing extravagant nonsense about the 'altar of perjured love,' not so much because he felt his cousin's unkindness acutely, as from a notion that the poetical proprieties required him to use the language of indignation and wretchedness, mr. bysshe shelley made frequent mention of his sister elizabeth in the letters he sent in steady stream to the young gentleman, who had been entreated to fall in love with her. it sadly disarranged the brother's plans for his sister's welfare, that he could not invite his peculiar friend forthwith to field place. the reason why he could not do so was that his father, already instructed by stockdale to attribute his son's scepticism to the influence of his oxford friend, had declared his opinion of mr. hogg in terms, which satisfied bysshe he had better not ask for permission to summon the incomparable hogg to sussex. but though he could not bring them together for the present, the match-making brother did his best to inspire his sister and his college-friend with a sentimental regard for one another, that could not fail to result in mutual love, so soon as they should come together. speaking to his sister of his friend in terms of vehement admiration, he read her the letters that came to him in steady stream from his idolized and incomparable hogg. that hogg (whose sense of humour was allied with a liberal measure of romantic sensibility) delighted in the notion of becoming his friend's brother-in-law, and during the holidays even went so far as to bind himself to fall in love with miss shelley, appears from the letter in which shelley overflowed with gratitude for so great a concession to his wishes. 'how,' wrote shelley to his friend, 'can i find words to express my thanks for such generous conduct with regard to my sister, with talents and attainments such as you possess, to promise what i ought not, perhaps, to have required, what nothing but a dear sister's intellectual improvement could have induced me to demand?' at oxford it had been enough for shelley to declare a hope that hogg would become his brother-in-law. from field place, during the christmas holidays, the enthusiastic stripling begged hogg to promise he would satisfy the hope. whilst he thus arranged a match between hogg and his sister, shelley knew that his friend was a freethinker on questions relating to religion. from what had recently taken place in respect to his sceptical correspondence with miss harriett grove, he knew that his father and mother concurred with his uncle and aunt grove in regarding religious scepticism with repugnance and horror; knew that his father and mother would regard their eldest daughter's marriage to a freethinker as a terrible and supreme calamity. yet he was coolly and secretly scheming for such a marriage of their sixteen-years-old daughter, and was cautiously 'illuminating' her out of the christian religion, and otherwise training her to become the fit wife of a man, whom he had good reason to know her parents would never consent to accept for their son-in-law. the young gentleman does all this in absolute indifference to the rights and feelings of his own father and mother--with absolute carelessness for the serious trouble he is preparing for his father, the agonizing sorrow he is preparing for his mother. am i wrong in saying that the young man (_ætat._ ), who acted in this manner to his father and mother and his younger sister, was guilty of domestic treason? what was the literary enterprise on which shelley was at work during the earlier weeks of this christmas recess ( - )?--the work that was offered to mr. stockdale during the recess?--the work about whose publication mr. hogg, whilst staying at a london hotel, had several interviews with the pall-mall publisher, who, sixteen years later, professed to have been most unfavourably impressed by the oxonian's appearance, speech, and manner, at those interviews? the general opinion of the 'shelleyan enthusiasts' is that the work thus submitted to the bookseller was _the necessity of atheism_, the pamphlet that resulted in shelley's expulsion from his college? mr. garnett has no doubt that the work was 'either the unlucky pamphlet which occasioned shelley's expulsion from oxford, or something of a very similar description.' mr. denis florence maccarthy goes a step further, and speaks of it roundly as the manuscript of _the necessity of atheism_. that the manuscript, which afforded stockdale another opportunity for warning mr. timothy shelley to remove his son from mr. hogg's pernicious influences, was a sceptical performance is unquestionable. but there are grounds for a strong opinion that it was neither _the necessity of atheism_, nor any tract written on the same lines as that notorious pamphlet. the evidence is conclusive that up to the time, and beyond the time, when stockdale was invited to publish the pamphlet, shelley believed in the existence of a supreme deity. he had for a considerable period ceased to be a christian. but he still believed in god. to hold, therefore, that the manuscript declined by stockdale was _the necessity of atheism_, or 'something of a _very similar description_,' is to hold that whilst believing in god shelley wrote a book to prove there was no god; that whilst believing in the existence of the deity he set himself deliberately to work, to force other people into pure atheism. i cannot believe with mr. garnett, and mr. denis florence maccarthy, that shelley was capable of such amazing impiety. nothing is stranger in shelley's story than that the hardest things said of him should, in so many cases, be uttered by his extravagant idolaters. my conception of the oxonian shelley is that he was an impetuous, unruly, combative young scatterbrain; disloyal and deceitful to his parents; certainly capable of falsehood in comparatively small matters to other people; but i cannot believe he could have been so false to his own soul, so prodigiously false to his own convictions on the most awful of all solemn subjects, as to write and seek a publisher for a serious argument against the belief in god, whilst he himself believed in the deity. let us see from evidences, known to mr. garnett, when he wrote his _shelley in pall mall_, what were some of shelley's views respecting god, in the christmas holidays of - . on th december, , he writes to hogg from field place:-- 'thanks, _truly_ thanks, for opening your heart to me, for telling me your feelings to me. dare i do the same to you? i dare not to myself, how can i to another, perfect as he may be. i dare not even to god, whose mercy is great.' on rd january, , the future poet writes to the same correspondent: 'the word "god," a vague word, has been, and will continue to be, the source of numberless errors, until it is erased from the nomenclature of philosophy. does it not imply "the soul of the universe, the intelligent and necessarily beneficent, actuating principle." this it is impossible not to believe in. i may not be able to adduce proofs; but, i think, that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are, in themselves, arguments more conclusive than [any] which can be advanced [....] that some vast intellect animates infinity. if we disbelieve this, the strongest argument in support of the existence of a future state instantly becomes annihilated.' nine days later ( th january, ), the future poet writes from field place:-- 'i here take god (_and a god exists_) to witness, that i wish torments, which beggar the futile description of a fancied hell, would fall upon me; provided i could attain thereby that happiness for what i love, which, i fear, can never be!... i wish, ardently wish, to be profoundly convinced of the existence of a deity, that so superior a spirit might derive some degree of happiness from my feeble exertions; for love is heaven, and heaven is love.... i think i can prove the existence of a deity--a first cause.' after declaring thus emphatically his belief in the existence of a deity, shelley goes on to argue in defence of his conviction. thus shelley is found declaring his belief in the existence of god so late as th january, , when the work declined by stockdale (the work said by mr. garnett to have been either _the necessity of atheism_, 'or something of a very similar description'), must have already been in the publisher's hands. the post did not travel seventy years since so quickly as it travels in these railway times; the work, whatever it was, could not have been written in a day; brief though it is, _the necessity of atheism_ could not have been designed and put on paper in a single morning; yet, on th january, , shelley could write indignantly to hogg:-- 's[tockdale] has behaved infamously to me; he has abused the confidence i reposed in him in sending him my work; and he has made very free with your character, of which he knows nothing, with my father.' moreover, on the th january, , hogg (who saw stockdale about the work during his stay in lincoln's inn fields) had left london some six or eight days. it is, therefore, certain that shelley was believing in the existence of god at a time when mr. garnett represents him as set on teaching men that atheism was a necessity. when did shelley discard the reasons which had hitherto constrained him to believe in the existence of god? clearly at some time subsequent to th january, . who caused him to discard them?--mr. thomas jefferson hogg. to readers of shelley's afore-mentioned letter of th january, , it is obvious, from the arguments with which he essays to demonstrate the reasonableness of his belief in a deity, that, though still clinging to his belief in god, he was already troubled by, and battling with, his doubts on the subject. his mind had been so troubled for several days. on th january, , he had written from field place to hogg, 'i will consider your argument against the non-existence of a deity.' in reply to hogg's arguments for _the necessity of atheism_, shelley does his feeble best (on th january, ) to demonstrate their unreasonableness. if shelley's arguments were sufficient for their purpose, hogg had argued with less than his usual ability. shelley's arguments are puerile, and he clearly felt their insufficiency, when he followed them up with these words: 'but i will write again; my head is dizzy to-day, on account of not taking rest, and a slight attack of typhus.' hence it appears that from th to th january, hogg was arguing against the existence of god, and shelley was more earnestly than strenuously arguing for the belief in deity. if he was dizzy on th january, after replying to hogg, he was yet more so on th january, , after striving to prove the existence of god. the poor lad's head was dizzy, but not from want of sleep, or from typhus fever: mr. thomas jefferson hogg had dizzied it with his ingenious arguments against the existence of deity. one can conceive how the clever, hard-headed, humorous young gentleman from the neighbourhood of stockton-upon-tees, smiled over his friend's letters, and exulted at the signs of his plaything's perplexity. it mattered not a rush to mr. hogg, of university college, oxford, on which side of a question he argued. having done his best to dizzy his young friend out of his belief in god, and convince him of the necessity of atheism, mr. hogg tacked about, and five or six days later amused himself by constructing some equally ingenious arguments to convince his young friend of the necessity of christianity. on the th of january, , after fighting desperately for the preservation of his belief in god, the poor boy with the dizzy brain writes to his tormentor: 'but now, to your argument of the necessity of christianity, i am not sure that your argument does not tend to prove its unreality,' all through this perilous game hogg was at play, whilst shelley was in earnest,--far too much in earnest to be capable of publishing a tract against god's existence, whilst he believed in it. what was sport to hogg was death to shelley,--at least, to his happiness in this world. towards the close of the christmas vacation, mr. timothy shelley seems to have worked off his anger with his son, and taken him into affectionate consideration--though, of course, neither into high favour nor perfect confidence. having thrown off his wrath in scolding with tongue and pen, the member of parliament for new shoreham relented to his scatterbrain boy, so far as to talk with him sympathetically on the very questions that had caused their disagreement. this change of feeling may have resulted in some degree from the advice of judicious counsellors. the duke of norfolk, whose opinion was weighty with mr. timothy shelley in his private concerns, no less than in his political affairs, may have been one of these judicious counsellors; for his grace had already displayed a kindly interest in the future poet, and in later time was at great pains to mediate between the father and son, and recover them from open war to an appearance of mutual friendliness. the horsham miser, whose word of definite command was law to the son he hated, may also have used his influence in favour of the grandson, for whom he cherished in his cold and selfish breast a secret and curiously malicious tenderness. an atheist himself, who, on the approach of death, spoke with equal confidence and contentment of his own utter annihilation, the aged baronet was in no degree shocked by the youngster's religious, opinions. on the contrary, he contemplated them with self-complacence as the fruits of his own teaching and example, and as indications that the lad would develop into a creditable chief of the castle goring shelleys. approving his grandson's heterodoxy, and liking him none the less for being a thorn in his father's side, sir bysshe may be assumed to have given the squire of field place a significant hint that the boy was not to be rated and denounced out of his grandsire's favour. in accounting, however, for the alteration of mr. timothy shelley's demeanour to his heir, it is only fair and reasonable to suppose that the change was in some degree due to the paternal affectionateness and good sense of this gentleman, who could not shut his eyes to the fact that he was his son's father. anyhow, it is inconsistent with much which has been written of the father's invariable harshness to the youthful poet, that towards the middle of january, , he could invite his son to a friendly conference on the evidences of christianity. ever in the humour for controversy, it is needless to say that mr. bysshe shelley (whose great grievance against the 'dons' of university college was that they expelled him _without_ arguing with him) accepted this invitation without requiring his father to repeat it. for a few minutes the youngster's brain and heart kindled with a desire to enlighten his father out of his christian darkness, and the hope that by winning so strange a convert he should make himself master of the religious position at field place. for a few minutes the discussion was more than satisfactory and encouraging to the beardless apostle of free thought. admitting it was absurd to believe in witches and ghosts, mr. timothy shelley allowed that the mediæval miracles were the mere offspring of vulgar fancy and vulgar credulity. but on being pressed to take the same view of the scriptural miracles, the worthy gentleman faced about, and held stoutly to his delusions, making it only too manifest that he could not be argued and illuminated out of them. by the considerations which determined him to ascertain his son's religious opinions, the squire of field place was also brought to see that, instead of denouncing his son's familiar friend without knowing him, even as he had denounced his religious views without apprehending precisely what they were, it would be better for him to look mr. hogg clearly in the face, make his acquaintance, talk to him in friendly wise, and judge for himself how far the young gentleman from the neighbourhood of stockton-upon-tees had been fairly described, and how far misrepresented, by the pall-mall bookseller. mr. timothy shelley was far too robust and intelligent a gentleman to put implicit reliance in mr. stockdale's judgment, and to have perfect confidence in the honesty of the publisher, who, after giving a 'minor' pecuniary credit for conveniences scarcely to be rated as 'necessaries' for an oxford undergraduate, was now looking to the minor's father for payment of 'the little account.' quite shrewd enough to see mr. stockdale's motive and game, mr. timothy shelley, whilst listening to him with abundant civility, and thanking him with all the customary courtesies for his valuable information, saw the necessity of checking the publisher's statements with intelligence, gained from other, and possibly less equivocal, sources. acting like a sensible man of affairs and the world, the member of parliament made inquiries about mr. stockdale, and also inquiries touching mr. thomas jefferson hogg, and mr. hogg's people in durham co. and yorkshire; the result of the inquiries being that he thought none too well of the bookseller, and a good deal better of mr. hogg. hence it was that, whilst adopting a conciliatory tone to his son on the religious questions, mr. timothy shelley ceased to speak harshly, and began to speak civilly to his son, of mr. thomas jefferson hogg, whom he now knew by good report, as well as by ill report, though only by report. at the same time, it became obvious to the squire of field place that he had better have the friendly regard of the young gentleman, who certainly had considerable influence over his son. hence it was that the squire, little imagining the conspiracy for marrying his eldest daughter to the young gentleman he had never seen, told shelley to invite his college-friend to field place for the next easter vacation:--a concession that, attended with other indications of the squire's change of feeling for hogg, caused shelley to think his father must have received a favourable account of the durham co. and yorkshire hoggs, from some of his friends in the house of commons. the visit was never paid by hogg; but to the date of the catastrophe, which, driving them from oxford, was quickly followed by incidents that rendered hogg no person to be welcome at field place, the friends looked forward to the easter recess as a time that would be fruitful of opportunities for the accomplishment of their designs on the eldest daughter of the house. the knavish publisher of pall mall, had small reason to congratulate himself on the success of his machinations for separating bysshe shelley from his friend; for rendering hogg the object of mr. timothy shelley's strongest aversion; and for inducing the squire of field place to pay the costs and charges of the publication of _st. irvyne_. instead of separating the two undergraduates, the schemer had the pleasure of knowing they were even closer friends at the beginning of february than they had been in the earlier weeks of december. instead of rendering hogg especially distasteful to mr. timothy shelley, the schemer had only stimulated the member for new shoreham to make inquiries, which disposed him to think favourably of his son's friend. instead of making mr. timothy shelley mistake him for a worthy man, who was entitled to handsome reward for important service, the schemer got never a shilling for his pains. for breach of confidence and slanderous tattle, hogg whipt the dirty fellow with a scorching letter. for the same offence the paltry creature was punished in the same manner by shelley. having heard the tale-bearer out to the end of his cunning talk, mr. timothy shelley saw no reason why he should pay a sixpence of the bill which he had declared no affair of his, on the first hint that he would act gracefully and generously by settling the claim. having exhausted his store of pleasant words for such a creature, mr. timothy shelley turned from the man with a sufficiently frank avowal of contempt. mr. john joseph stockdale was no person to smart acutely from disdainful words. he was, of course, uneasy to think he had provoked the enmity of the two young men, who a short while hence might be able to injure him in his business; but, had it not been for this consideration, he would read their angry letters with more amusement than annoyance. mr. timothy shelley's scorn would have passed over his thick skin without causing him aught more than transient uneasiness, had it been accompanied with a cheque for the required sum. but it galled mr. john joseph stockdale to miss the trick for which he had played so meanly,--galled him all the more because he was conscious of having played his poor cards badly. it must be confessed that the cards were no less weak than dirty. a cleverer rogue than mr. stockdale would have failed to win with them. had he, in , been the rich man he became in later times, mr. timothy shelley might well have declined to pay the publisher's demand, and thereby encourage other literary speculators to produce his son's works in the expectation of being paid by his father. but till sir bysshe passed from the world, the squire of field place, far from being wealthy for his station, was in no position to spend a hundred guineas lightly. under these circumstances, the gentleman with several children and a pecuniary prospect that might even yet be darkened by the caprice of his eccentric father, was more than barely justified in saying that his son's publisher must look to his client, not to his client's father, for remuneration. it was not in mr. stockdale to take this obvious and reasonable view of a simple question. the money mr. timothy shelley refused to give him was regarded by mr. stockdale as money basely and fraudulently withheld. to the publisher's imagination the sum he failed to extort became a sum of which he had been robbed; the injury done him being the more outrageous and exasperating because he had rendered the doer of the wrong an important service. in , when the poet had been dead between four and five years, the publisher took his revenge on the perpetrator of so monstrous an injustice. by that time the embittered knave had dropt from the ways of decent trade, and was falling to the deeper disrepute in which he soon passed from view. a fabricator of scandalous literature as well as a publisher of it, he had already produced the _memoirs of harriet wilson_, when he started the _budget_, that bears his name, as a vehicle for airing a vanity, which had in some degree deranged a mind long fretted by imaginary grievances, and as an instrument for venting his spite on those who had provoked his displeasure, no less than as means of drawing relief to his indigence from the lovers of personal gossip. in this sordid serial, the broken and utterly discredited libeller produced a mendacious narrative of his transactions with shelley and shelley's father. as he could get nothing in by abusing shelley, it is not surprising that he spoke well of him at the instigation of self-interest, vanity, and spite. the man knew enough of the literary coteries to know the tide of social feeling had so far turned in shelley's favour that, whilst disparagement of the poet would not fail to offend, praise of him would not fail to conciliate the readers, most capable of commending the _budget_ to public favour. for the same reason vanity prompted the fellow to represent himself as the original discoverer and earliest fosterer of the poet's genius. in praising the poet he was also actuated by spite against the poet's father, whose treatment of his son would appear harsh and hateful, in proportion to the strength of the reader's conviction that the poet deserved different usage. on the other hand, though chiefly actuated by malice, the libeller was also animated by vanity and self-interest in what he wrote to sir timothy shelley's discredit; for whilst it afforded him a pleasant sense of his own importance to speak authoritatively of a baronet's misdemeanour, the slanderer knew the growing appetite for words to the poet's credit was attended with an even keener appetite for evidence to his father's discredit. hence, whether he spoke of the poet or the poet's father, he spoke at the instance of self-interest, vanity, and malice. such was the man, such were the motives of the man, in whose malignant and nauseous gossip about the poet and his father, mr. garnett discovers 'traces of sincere affection' for the author of _laon and cythna_. not content with gushing over stockdale's 'sincere affection for the young author whose acquaintance was certainly anything but advantageous to him in a pecuniary point of view,' mr. garnett deals with the words of this professional slanderer as good evidence, that in their bitter differences the poet was guiltless of serious offence, and that the poet's father was greatly to blame. 'stockdale,' says mr. garnett, of this creditable witness to character and want of character, 'had frequent opportunities of observing the uneasy terms on which the two stood towards each other, and unhesitatingly throws the entire blame upon the father, whom he represents as narrow-minded and wrong-headed, behaving with extreme niggardliness in money matters, and at the same time continually fretting shelley by harsh and unnecessary interference with his most indifferent actions.' what a use to make of the words of a slanderer-by-trade, a libeller surcharged with rancorous enmity against the poet's father! to insult shelley by making his character depend in any degree on the words of such a rascal as stockdale, it is necessary that a man of letters should be a 'shelleyan enthusiast.' it is not a fact that 'stockdale had frequent opportunities of observing the uneasy terms on which the two stood to each other.' with the exception of the two or three occasions when the father and son came together to the pall-mall shop, stockdale never saw them together. doubtless there was uneasiness between them on those occasions, for they met on matters of disagreement, and in the presence of the man who, for his own advantage, was doing his best to render the father more than usually distrustful of, and anxious about, his son. the whole period of stockdale's acquaintance with mr. timothy shelley was covered by the few weeks, during which time they exchanged letters and had two or three conferences touching the poet's affairs,--the few weeks during which the unscrupulous tradesman was vainly endeavouring to wheedle the member of parliament into paying the minor's bill for the publication of _st. irvyne_. what opportunities can so brief and slight an intercourse have offered the publisher for using influence to dispose mr. shelley to be a better father? to believe the fellow's impudent statements, one must believe that during those few weeks he assumed an almost parental authority over the gentleman on whose pocket he had designs. in sixteen years had elapsed since this slight intercourse of less than two months. how strange that after so many years, stockdale should have had so clear a memory of the incidents of this slight intercourse,--so distinct a recollection of the peculiarities of the gentleman with whom he spoke on three or four occasions, and exchanged perhaps as many letters! how strange that 'the shelleyan enthusiasts'--so suspicious and distrustful of the accuracy of hogg's recollections of his most familiar friend whom he knew thoroughly--should accept so readily the publisher's recollections of the gentleman, of whom he knew scarcely anything! the same reflections are applicable to stockdale's vivid recollections of the oxonian shelley, and to mr. garnett's reliance on the accuracy of those recollections. though they exchanged letters in january, , and had some disagreeable correspondence in later months of the same year, it does not appear that shelley ever set eyes on the pall-mall publisher after december, . the whole period of their personal intercourse cannot have exceeded four months:--months spent chiefly by shelley at oxford or in sussex, whilst the publisher was attending to his affairs in london? to assume that during these four months they had a dozen meetings is to assume too much. it is more probable that they talked with one another on seven or eight several occasions. what opportunities could such an acquaintanceship afford the publisher for knowing his young client in such a way, that sixteen years later he could recall him clearly? is it reasonable to suppose that the publisher during these interviews (and from several letters in no degree calculated to fill their receiver's breast with tender emotion) conceived a strong affection--or any affection whatever--for the boy out of whom, or rather out of whose father, he meant to 'make a bill?' one might as reasonably imagine a money-lender overflowing with love for any young gentleman 'in his teens,' to whom he lends _l._ on the usual terms. are london publishers so very different from other men of business, that they do business with youthful poets and novelists from impulses of affection, altogether pure of self-interest? i know something of london publishers: few men have better reason to think and speak well of them; to my last hour of consciousness i shall never recall a particular london publisher, without remembering him as one of the trustiest and dearest of the many friends who have contributed to my happiness; but still my impression is, and my experience has been, that a publisher's regard for a young author has a tendency to rise and fall with the sale of the young author's works. _st. irvyne_ having fallen dead from the press, even as mr. stockdale expected it to do, i have no doubt that mr. stockdale merely regarded his young author as a simpleton, whom he would not trust on any future occasion (during his minority) to pay the printer's bill. to do stockdale justice (and even to such a worm i would not be less than just) it should be remarked that he is no such preposterous 'humbug' as mr. garnett's words imply. though he whines hypocritically about 'his too conscientious friendship' for mr. bysshe shelley, of university college, oxford, the professional libeller does not profess to have loved the youth, with whom he was doing 'risky business.' in , the disposition to think tenderly of shelley had not gone so far as to produce a crop of 'shelleyan enthusiasts' capable of believing that the publisher loved the author of _st. irvyne_. had stockdale claimed credit for loving the dear boy, who came to his shop about the _original poetry_ that was not original, the original readers of the _budget_ would have derided him, and denounced his _budget_. though he says civil things of shelley, to heighten the effect of the uncivil things said of shelley's father, stockdale forbears to descant on his affection for the future poet. it is enough for him to say, 'even from these boyish trifles' (_i.e._ _st. irvyne_, and the _victor-and-cazire book_), 'assisted by my personal intercourse with the author, i at once formed an opinion that he was not an everyday author.' in saying this (as he meant the ambiguous words to be construed in the way most complimentary to the poet) the budgeteer told a lie,--but a lie not too outrageous to be believed. further (to insult sir timothy shelley, who in the scribbler's opinion had refused to discharge 'every honest claim upon him'), the libeller spoke highly of the poet's 'honour and rectitude,' declaring him a man to 'vegetate, rather than live, to effect the discharge of every honest claim upon him.' but to speak of a man in this style is not to show signs of loving him. i know an author who certainly is no 'everyday author,' and would (i am sure) be at great pains to pay his creditors twenty shillings in the pound; but far from loving him, i would any day rather go without my dinner than eat it in his company. truth to tell, the 'traces of a sincere affection for the young author,' which mr. garnett has discovered in stockdale's words about shelley, are so far from being distinctly apparent, that i have vainly sought for them in the pages, where they are so manifest to the author of _shelley in pall mall_. i think mr. garnett goes a little too far in saying-- 'percy shelley captivated all hearts: the roughest were subdued by his sweetness, the most reserved won by his affectionate candour.... in spite of his disappointment, stockdale really appears to have been captivated by shelley, and to have been not more forcibly impressed by the energy of his intellect than by the loveliness of his character.' gentlemen given to gushing often say more than they mean. i cannot conceive mr. garnett means all he says in his perplexing article. i have vainly worked through stockdale's _budget_ in search for the proofs, that stockdale was forcibly impressed by the intellectual energy and moral loveliness of the author of _st. irvyne_. but the 'shelleyan enthusiasts' are so apt to weaken their case by exaggeration; they are so excessive in their statements. the notion that stockdale the libeller was a man to be captivated by moral beauty is comical. chapter xii. mr. maccarthy's discoveries touching the oxonian shelley. _a poetical essay on the existing state of things_--evidence that the poem was published--reasons for thinking it may never have been published--reasons for thinking that, if the poem was published, it was promptly suppressed--did shelley contribute prose and poetry to the _oxford herald_?--spurious letter to the editor of the _statesman_--shelley's first letter to leigh hunt--his way of introducing himself to strangers--did he at the same moment think well and ill of his father?--miss janetta phillips's poems--e. & w. phillips, the worthing printers. before returning from field place to oxford at the close of the christmas vacation ( - ), readers who, in addition to a perfect view of shelley's life at the university, wish to have a knowledge of all that has been written about that part of his career, will do well to consider certain matters with which mr. denis florence maccarthy may be said to have cumbered the highway of the poet's academic story. considerations of prudence for himself, and of care for the interests of his readers, forbid the present writer to pass over these matters in silence, as though he were not cognizant of their existence. at the same time, he is disinclined to notice them in a chapter, where they would interrupt the narrative of the undergraduate's second term of residence at university college. he therefore decides to deal with them in a separate chapter, that may be lightly 'skimmed' or altogether skipt by the busy peruser of these volumes, whose curiosity respecting the poet's life is unattended by a keen appetite for details of shelleyan controversy. * * * * * i. with magniloquence, that may seem comical to persons deficient in mr. forman's ability to venerate every scrap of paper blotted by the poet's pen, mr. maccarthy declares himself to 'have discovered the surrounding light that indicates the presence of a star,' without being so fortunate as to have 'detected its nucleus.' this is only mr. maccarthy's figurative and beautiful way of saying that, without coming upon a copy of the work, he has come upon evidence that shelley, towards the close of his second term of residence at oxford, published _a poetical essay on the existing state of things_, for the benefit of mr. peter finerty, then undergoing imprisonment in lincoln gaol for libel on lord castlereagh,--that this poem was a very beautiful poem,--and that it differed from all the poet's earlier and all his later writings, in having a quick and large sale. readers, who take mr. maccarthy's view and estimate of the evidence, have no doubt that the sale of this remarkable poem, after paying the costs of its production, yielded nearly one hundred pounds to the fund that was raised for mr. finerty's sustenance and comfort in captivity. to persons who remember the wretched quality of the oxonian shelley's prose and verse, it can scarcely be obvious why a lost poem by his still feeble pen should be likened to a star, and why the shadowy evidence that he wrote the poem should be comparable with the surrounding light of the heavenly body. let that pass, however; and let it be conceded that evidence of so successful a poem, by the youthful and hitherto unfortunate aspirant to literary fame, would be a matter of some interest, even to persons in no degree touched with shelleyan madness. what is the evidence that shelley produced this successful poem, no copy of which has ever come under the notice of living man? the evidence consists of,-- (_a_) this advertisement in the th march, , number of the _oxford herald_:-- 'literature. just published, price two shillings, _a poetical essay on the existing state of things_. "and famine at her bidding wasted wide the wretched land. till in the public way, promiscuous where the dead and dying lay, dogs fed on human bones in the open light of day." by a gentleman of the university of oxford. for assisting to maintain in prison mr. peter finerty, imprisoned for a libel. london: sold by b. crosby and co., and all other booksellers. .' (_b_) four advertisements of the same poem in london newspapers; two of them being in the _morning chronicle_ for th and st march, , whilst the other two may be found in the _times_ for th and th april, . (_c_) these words by an anonymous writer in the _dublin weekly messenger_ of th march, :-- 'we have but one more word to add. mr. shelley, commiserating the sufferings of our distinguished countryman, mr. finerty, whose exertions in the cause of political freedom he much admired, wrote a very beautiful poem, the profits of the sale of which, we understand, from undoubted authority, mr. shelley remitted to mr. finerty. we have heard they amounted to nearly an hundred pounds. this fact speaks a volume in favour of our new friend.' (_d_) the fact that shelley sent from dublin a copy of the paper containing these words, and particularly called godwin's attention to the article in which they appeared. (_e_) the fact that during his imprisonment mr. finerty had the sympathy of the _dublin weekly messenger_. these are all the facts mr. maccarthy produces in evidence that shelley wrote a poem no living man ever saw, no single person of any time is known to have seen. of course the gentleman, who is so severe on hogg's inaccuracies, blunders and contradicts himself in marshalling so slender an array of facts. for instance, after stating (p. ) precisely and correctly that the earliest of the five advertisements of the poem appeared in the _oxford herald_ of th march, , he avers a few pages later (p. ) that this same earliest advertisement appeared in the paper of nd march, . how does this curiously inaccurate gentleman reason from his facts? to mr. maccarthy it appears indisputable that the poem must have been written and published, as the five advertisements declare it 'just published.' but it is no uncommon thing now, it was no rare thing eighty years since, for publishers to announce books as 'just published,' before their actual day of publication. books have been printed and so announced, and yet at the last moment have been withheld from publication. moreover, it would be no new thing for a literary adventurer to advertise that a work by his pen would shortly appear, without having any intention or power to fulfil the promise of the announcement. the books of the british museum library would be more numerous by several thousands, had authors invariably acted up to their advertisements. underscoring the words 'undoubted authority,' mr. maccarthy intimates that shelley himself must have been the 'undoubted authority.' the assumption is reasonable, but it is only an assumption. could he be proved to have been the sure authority, it would still be noticeable that, though he declared the poem had been published for mr. finerty's benefit, some other person may have been the journalist's authority for saying the profits amounted to nearly _l._ for, whilst declaring 'from _undoubted authority_,' that shelley sent the profits to mr. finerty, the article-writer is curiously silent as to the quality of his authority for writing, '_we have heard_ they amounted to nearly an hundred pounds.' in fact, his language implies that, whilst having the best authority for the first, he had not the best authority for the second, statement. again, arguing from shelley's veracity, mr. maccarthy insists that by sending the article to godwin without disclaiming any of the grounds on which he is commended in it, shelley endorsed the whole statement, and pledged his honour to its truth. 'this statement, too, it should be remembered, is authenticated by shelley himself, for he sends the paper containing it to godwin, and pointedly refers to the article in which it is given.' was shelley so precisely accurate in all his statements, that we should be bound to believe the words, if he could be shown to have written them himself? to readers who have given due consideration to a certain letter referred to in the last chapter, it must be comical to hear the author of _shelley's early life_ arguing that the words of the _dublin weekly messenger_ must be true, because in sending the paper to godwin, the poet did not warn him of their inaccuracy. readers will have stronger reason for smiling at mr. maccarthy's simplicity, when they know more about the earlier of shelley's letters to godwin,--letters overflowing with the most staggering misrepresentations. yet further, it is argued by mr. maccarthy that, having the friendliest relations with the _dublin weekly messenger_, mr. finerty was doubtless a regular and attentive reader of the paper, must therefore have seen the words relating to the profits of the poem, and would of course have contradicted them had they been untrue. as mr. finerty did not contradict the words, his silence must be regarded as tantamount to direct testimony from his pen, that the poem was published for his benefit, and yielded a sum of nearly one hundred pounds to the fund raised for his benefit. 'nothing,' says mr. maccarthy, 'published in the _weekly messenger_ could possibly have escaped his notice. it is incredible that he would not have contradicted this statement of the presentation to him of the profits of a poem if it were not true.' against this series of assumptions and the argument founded upon them, several considerations may be urged. ( ) because the _dublin weekly messenger_ favoured his cause, it does not follow that a copy of the paper was sent to mr. finerty every week during his imprisonment in lincoln gaol. ( ) there is no evidence that the paper was usually sent to him every week (in times when the rates of postage were heavy), or even that it was sent on any single occasion to him during that term. ( ) as he was treated with extraordinary severity during his imprisonment, it is by no means so certain as the author of _shelley's early life_ imagines, that the prisoner was allowed to see newspapers containing expressions of sympathy with and admiration of him. ( ) on the contrary, though he may have seen the copies of the _dublin weekly messenger_ that contained no reference to his case, it is highly improbable that during his imprisonment he was allowed to see the copies of the journal which spoke of him eulogistically. ( ) it is conceivable that, if he saw the words of the dublin newspaper during his imprisonment, he knew them to be inaccurate, and yet refrained from contradicting them. he may have read the words in prison without knowing whether they were true or false, as the business of collecting the money for his benefit was in the hands of a committee. he may have known that shelley published a poem for his advantage, and known also that the publication yielded no profits: in which case he would not have been so ungracious as to contradict the statement of the amount of the profits, and thereby call attention to the literary miscarriage of a well-wisher who, besides subscribing a guinea to the finerty fund, had also recommended the fund to public favour in the unsuccessful work. if he saw the words of the dublin newspaper, and knew them to be untrue, the inaccuracy was no reason why he should call attention to a misstatement that could do him no harm, was on the contrary calculated to stimulate the feeling in his favour, and could not be corrected without risk of giving annoyance to the young gentleman who anyhow had subscribed a guinea to the finerty fund. whilst the evidence of the publication of a poem is far from conclusive, the evidence is very strong that, if a poem was published, its sale must have fallen far short of the number indicated by the _not_ authoritative words (the statement made on mere hearsay talk) of the anonymous writer of the _dublin weekly messenger_. _if_ the poem was published at all, it appears from the advertisements to have been offered for sale at the price of two shillings a copy. if a poem was published, it was probably not a poem of many thousands, or even many hundreds, of lines. let us suppose that a poem was published, and the costs of printing, producing, publishing, and advertising the work were _l._--a moderate sum at which to put the expenses, if the poem contained from five hundred to a thousand lines. allowances to the trade being taken into account, there must have been a sale of at least two thousand copies at the rate of two shillings a copy, for the sale to bring in _l._ for expenses of publication, and _l._ for the finerty fund. the sum accruing to that fund from the sale is put by the anonymous writer of the _dublin weekly messenger_ at something less than _l._ on the other hand, account must be taken of copies sent to reviewers and copies _given_ by the author to his friends;--copies that, without being paid for, passed into circulation. these copies may be computed as equal to the number by which the actual sale of the work fell short of copies,--_i.e._ the sale that would have yielded a clear _l._ (over the _l._ for costs) to the finerty fund. what is the evidence that so large a number of copies of the poem cannot have been put in circulation? '"it is," says mr. maccarthy, in the preface to _shelley's early life_, "needless to say that this interesting volume is not to be found in any of our public libraries. to the courteous librarians of the bodleian at oxford, and of university college" (_sic_) "at cambridge, i have specially to return my thanks for the search they had kindly made for it. a printed circular sent by myself to almost every second-hand bookseller in the three kingdoms was equally unsuccessful. to advertisements in the public journals, and special inquiries instituted by mr. quaritch, piccadilly; mr. stibbs, museum street; messrs. longmans, paternoster row, and others, no reply has been received."' mr. denis florence maccarthy seizes every occasion for inaccuracy, and now and then makes an occasion, in the absence of a decent opportunity, for blundering. what does mr. maccarthy mean 'by university college at cambridge?' oxford has a college styled university college; there is a college so called in london; but cambridge has no university college. by the charitable writer of the present page, it is assumed that by 'university college _at_ cambridge,' mr. maccarthy (who is so merciless and malignant to hogg for his occasional inaccuracies) means the cambridge university library. let it be so assumed by the reader. it follows, that some years since mr. denis florence maccarthy sought by printed circular for a copy of this shelleyan poem (which possibly was never published) in the shop of nearly every second-hand bookseller in great britain and ireland; that he caused the librarians of the bodleian library, and the cambridge university library, to search for a copy of the poem in their libraries; that he induced mr. quaritch of piccadilly, mr. stibbs of museum street, and the messrs. longmans of paternoster row, 'and others,' to make search by advertisements and special inquiries, for a copy of the poem,--without coming upon a copy after all the trouble. yet more:--hogg never heard of this poem; peacock never heard of it, so far as the evidences go; no one of the poet's friends or relations appears ever to have heard of it; no review of the poem has come to light; and (more remarkable yet!) no one of the many published lists of subscriptions to the finerty fund, to be found in the _morning chronicle_, and other papers of the period (examined by mr. maccarthy), makes mention of any single contribution amounting to _l._,--of _any_ contributions whatever as the result of the sale of the poem. what a labour of searching for a copy of the poem, and for evidence about the poem, that may never have been written! surely the searching would have resulted in the discovery of a copy, had copies passed into circulation, or in the discovery of some stronger evidence of the poem's publication, had the sale of the work yielded any considerable sum of money to the fund, which amounted in the course of twelve months to something more than _l._ the evidence is not even conclusive that shelley had a serious intention to produce a poem for mr. finerty's advantage. he may have put forth the advertisements to whip up the public interest in the movement for the unfortunate journalist's benefit. evidence so weak can only be used conjecturally. i am disposed to regard the advertisements as _bonâ-fide_ advertisements, and to think they referred to some poem published by shelley for the alleged object. the author may also have published the poem with an eye to his own advantage; may have hoped to use the excitement of a political stir as a means of floating into circulation a poem, which, in case it succeeded, the 'gentleman of the university of oxford' could claim in his own name. he had been for some time thinking of publishing a satirical poem. 'i am,' he wrote to hogg from field place, on th december, , 'composing a _satirical_ poem. i shall print it at oxford, unless i find, on visiting him, that r. is ripe for printing whatever will sell. in case of that, he is my man.' there is evidence (though of a doubtful quality) that he wrote the first sketches for a poem, which eventually took shape in _queen mab_, in the summer of . much of that poem would answer to the title of _a poetical essay on the existing state of things_. shelley put so many fictions into his earlier letters to godwin, that the reader, who is not a 'shelleyan enthusiast,' hesitates to trust any statement of those highly imaginative epistles, that is not supported by another witness. but he may have been writing truth at keswick on th january, , when he wrote of himself as the author of the _essay on love_, a little poem. this 'little poem,' if it was ever written, may have been the same poem as the _political essay on the existing state of things_, if the latter was ever written. were it announced to-morrow on good authority that a copy had been recovered of the poem by shelley, for a copy of which mr. maccarthy made so vain a search, i should expect to learn that the poem, published for mr. finerty's benefit, proved to be poetry that was subsequently worked into _queen mab_. if the _poetical essay_ (of march and april, ) contained some of the more violent and outrageous passages of _queen mab_, the same considerations that caused the poet's oxford bookseller to destroy all the copies of _the necessity of atheism_, that were in his hands, would determine him to destroy at the same time all the copies of the _poetical essay_ lying in his premises. ii. what evidence does maccarthy produce that shelley was a contributor of poetry and of prose articles of literary subjects to the _oxford herald_, whilst he was an oxford undergraduate? ( ) mr. maccarthy's sole reason for attributing the _ode to the death of summer_ to shelley's pen, is that it possesses the 'peculiar shelleyan flavour by which we can so easily recognise his later poems,' the qualities of feeling and expression, which justify the author of _shelley's early life_ for saying,-- 'as pope said of chapman's translation of the _iliad_, that it was "something like what one would imagine homer himself would have writ before he arrived at years of discretion;" so this little poem may be offered as something like what shelley would have sung before he attained the full faculty of lyrical expression.' but whilst there is no positive testimony that the oxonian shelley could give his verses the peculiar flavour for which mr. maccarthy commends the 'ode,' which appears in the _oxford herald_ of nd september, , the poems of _st. irvyne_, published three months later, may well dispose critical readers to question, whether the author of the novel was capable of producing verses, having any resemblance to the poetry of his later time. it may, of course, be urged that the verses, put into the ridiculous romance, were the nerveless efforts of a considerably earlier period; but it is difficult to believe that, could he have produced the _ode to the death of summer_ in september, , the oxonian shelley could a few weeks later have offered the public such feeble effusions as the _st. irvyne_ verses. ( ) whilst shelley's title to be regarded as the author of _the ode_ rests on the 'shelleyan flavour' of the poem, which in that respect differs from all the poetry known to have proceeded from his pen before the end of , his claim to be regarded as one of the producers of the 'prose essays on some of the older english poets' (which appeared in the _oxford herald_ during his residence at the university) rests on the fact that one of these essays is signed, 'p. s.' 'one of the papers, signed "p. s."' says mr. maccarthy, 'appeared during the period of shelley's residence, and may possibly have been written by him.' it is quite as probable that some peter smith, or other person with p. s. for his initials, wrote the verses. ( ) consisting altogether of the two initial letters, the evidence which disposes mr. maccarthy to rate the poet with the literary essayists of the oxford newspaper, cannot be declared convincingly cogent and conclusive. it is, however, far less weak and shadowy than the evidence that the undergraduate of university college, oxford, produced the english translations from the greek _anthologia_, which appeared in the _oxford herald_ of th january, and th january, , with the signature 's' attached to each set of verses. after identifying shelley with the translator by this solitary letter, mr. maccarthy next argues that, having been thus detected in translating verses of the greek _anthologia_, shelley may be fairly suspected of being, and indeed assumed to be, the translator of the epigram by vincent bourne, that appeared in english dress in the _oxford herald_ of rd february, (signed 'versificator'); and also the translator (signing himself 'versificator') who produced the english versions of two epigrams from the greek _anthologia_, that appeared in the _oxford herald_ of th march, . to those, who hesitate in declaring shelley the producer of the two january translations, because his surname began with the letter 's,' it may well appear considerably less than manifest that shelley should be regarded as the producer of versificator's translations, because he had a taste for making verses. after arguing that 's' was shelley, because the shelleys resembled the smiths in one interesting particular, and that 'versificator' must have been shelley, because shelley had as good a right as any one else to style himself so, this perplexing mr. maccarthy (who is of so much account with the shelleyan experts) tells us in a note, that some one, during shelley's time at oxford, sent a translation from vincent bourne to the _oxford herald_, signed 's. s.--edmonton.' on such trifles and trifling, weeks and months were wasted by the shelleyan expert, who, with all his boastful show of laborious research, never troubled himself to find out, when shelley and hogg became members of their university. iii. for reasons, with which there is no need to trouble the reader of the present chapter, mr. denis florence maccarthy holds a strong opinion that the spurious letter, alleged to have been written by shelley from university college on nd february, , to 'the editor of the _statesman_,' may have been a genuine performance, although it appeared for the first time to the public in the notorious _letters of percy bysshe shelley_ ( ), that passed through mr. robert browning's editorial hands only to provoke the scrutiny, that was followed quickly by their suppression. maintaining that the letter may have been genuine, mr. maccarthy is only a few degrees less confident that the epistle was the genuine performance of the undergraduate who, ten days later, wrote leigh hunt the epistle that seems to have been studied by the manufacturer of the forgery. opening with a long paragraph, whose style affords conclusive evidence that it was not composed by the oxonian shelley, the epistle of the earlier date closes with the following sentences taken verbatim from the letter of later date:-- 'the ultimate intention of my aim is to induce a meeting of such enlightened, unprejudiced members of the community, whose independent principles expose them to evils which might thus become alleviated; and to form a methodical society, which should be organized so as to resist the coalition of the enemies of liberty, which at present renders any expression of opinion on matters of policy dangerous to individuals.... although perfectly unacquainted with you privately, i address you as a common friend to liberty, thinking that, in cases of this urgency and importance, etiquette ought not to stand in the way of usefulness.' whilst these two sentences accord in style with the rest of the letter to which they properly belong (the genuine letter addressed to leigh hunt on nd march, ), they are preceded in the spurious epistle of later manufacture and earlier date ( nd february, ) with writing of this incongruent style:-- 'sir,--the present age has been distinguished from every former period of english history by the number of those writers who have suffered the penalties of the law for the freedom and spirit with which they descanted on the morals of the age, and chastised the vices or ridiculed the follies of individuals of every rank of life, and among every description of society. in former periods of british civilization, as during the flourishing ages of greece and rome, the oratorical censor, and the satirical poet, were regarded as exercising only that just pre-eminence to which superior genius and an intimate knowledge of life and human nature were conceived to entitle them. the _macflecknoe_ of dryden, the _dunciad_ and the satirical imitations of pope, remained secure from molestation by the attorney-general; the literary castigators of a bolingbroke and a wharton enjoyed the triumph of truth and justice unawed by _ex-officios_; and addison could describe a coward and a liar without being called to account for his inuendos by the interference of the judicial servants of the king. but times are altered, and a man may now be sent to prison for a couple of years, and ruined perhaps for life, because he calls a spade a spade, and tells a public individual the very truths that are obvious to the most partial of his friends.' so fine a judge of 'shelleyan flavour' as mr. denis florence maccarthy ought surely to have observed how greatly this piece of writing differs in style and quality from the prose of shelley's novels, his oxonian letters to stockdale and hogg, his irish addresses, and all his prose writings of the same period. instead of discovering the difference, however, our nice _connoisseur_ of 'shelleyan flavour,' and the historic probabilities, exclaims in a rapturous note to the last sentence of the quotation:-- 'this passage proves almost conclusively that the person addressed as "editor of the _statesman_" must have been mr. finnerty. the public individual of whom he published those obvious truths that were pronounced a libel by lord ellenborough was lord castlereagh. the former editor of the _statesman_, mr. lovell, was suffering imprisonment for a different offence.' there is no evidence that mr. finerty was, or ever had been, the editor of the _statesman_. there are no grounds for thinking he ever had been the editor of that paper. mr. denis florence maccarthy admits he has no reason to think mr. finerty ever was editor of the _statesman_. yet he insists that this spurious letter (genuine epistle as he thinks), dated nd february, , to the editor of the _statesman_, must have been addressed to a man (who was _not_ that paper's editor), _because_ it contains a reference to the imprisonment of some person in terms quite as applicable to an imprisoned journalist who _had never been_, as to an imprisoned journalist _who had been or was_ editor of that paper. nothing in the letter to the editor of the _statesman_ implies that the imprisoned journalist had been in any way connected with the paper, or that the writer of the letter believed the imprisoned journalist to have been connected with the paper. yet mr. maccarthy is at great pains to show how the oxonian shelley may have come to imagine that the cruelly entreated mr. finerty was editor of the paper, with which he in fact is not known to have had any professional connexion. the libel on lord castlereagh, for which mr. finerty was sent to prison, having been published in the _statesman_ as well as the _morning chronicle_, it was natural for shelley (argues mr. maccarthy) to assume that mr. finerty was editor of the _statesman_. shelley was by no means such a fool as the 'shelleyan enthusiasts' would have us think him. the youngster reasoned wildly sometimes, but he was not likely to think a journalist must be the editor of one paper because he had been sent to prison for libelling a minister in another paper. knowing well enough that mr. finerty (in whose concerns he took a lively interest) had been committed for eighteen months to lincoln gaol on th february, , shelley was not likely to imagine a fortnight later he was the acting editor of the london _statesman_. knowing right well mr. finerty had been sentenced to _eighteen months_, shelley was not likely so soon after the sentence to imagine the journalist had been sent to prison for _two years_. to read mr. maccarthy's perplexing pages is to see that the gentleman was not more successful in confounding his readers than in confounding himself. yet because he threw a new kind of mud on shelley's earliest biographer, this superlatively inaccurate and stupefying writer has been cried up as a great shelleyan authority. after setting forth the words of the spurious epistle, mr. maccarthy remarks in his usual style of laborious inaccuracy:-- 'this letter, whatever its claim to authenticity may be, is dated february nd, . six days later--_that is_, on the nd of march in the same year--shelley addressed, for the first time, another newspaper editor then personally unknown to him, but who became a few years later one of his most valued and intimate friends--leigh hunt.' february nd, . six days later--that is, on the nd of march in the same year!--what particularity and what curious persistence in blundering! the gentleman, who is so severe on hogg for an occasional slip, is more than usually fortunate when he is only twenty-five per cent wrong in a calculation of days. mr. maccarthy, however, is right in holding there is no reason to doubt the genuineness of the youthful shelley's first letter to the editor of the _examiner_. written in the oxonian shelley's best, but far from strenuous, style, the epistle (of nd march, ) to leigh hunt--the epistle leigh hunt never answered--could not have proceeded from any hand but shelley's hand. strangely ingenious things have been done in the way of shelleyan forgeries, but no fabricator of spurious letters and other materials for fictitious biography would have thought of manufacturing the delicious bit of puerile bounce that makes the letter end in this droll fashion:-- 'my father is in parliament, and on attaining twenty-one i shall, in all probability, fill his vacant seat. on account of the responsibility to which my residence in this university subjects me, i, of course, dare not publicly avow all i think; but the time will come when i hope that my every endeavour, insufficient as they may be, will be directed to the advancement of liberty. 'your most obedient servant, 'p. b. shelley.' from his eton days to a time considerably subsequent to his expulsion from oxford, it was shelley's practice to open correspondence with strangers by telling them how greatly he differed in his worldly circumstances and prospects from ordinary young men. in this strain of boyish boastfulness, he is known to have approached so many people, that it is reasonable to suppose it to have been his usual device for putting himself in the favourable regard of persons, whose acquaintance he sought. to the messrs. longman, of paternoster row, he wrote from eton: 'my object in writing it was not pecuniary, as i am independent, being the heir of a gentleman of large fortune in the county of sussex.' to stockdale he introduced himself by word of mouth in much the same fashion. in the earliest days of their acquaintance, hogg heard not a little from sir bysshe shelley's grandson, of matters redounding to the dignity of the castle goring shelleys; the romantic traditions of his house; the arguments with which the duke of norfolk urged him to look to politics as his proper field of action. 'my father is in parliament,' he writes on nd march, , to the editor of the _examiner_, whom he has never seen, 'and on attaining twenty-one i shall, in all probability, fill his vacant seat.' ten months later ( th january, ), he is writing to william godwin, whilst seeking the philosopher's friendship by letter before seeing him, 'i am the son of a man of fortune in sussex.... it will be necessary, in order to elucidate this part of my history, to inform you, that i am heir by entail to an estate of _l._ per annum. my principles have induced me to regard the law of primogeniture as an evil of primary magnitude.' in the musical egotisms of his poetry, the ear catches the same note of boastful arrogance and self-complacence. whilst preaching the gospel of love, and proclaiming his determination to sacrifice himself for the good of others on the first convenient opportunity, shelley knew how to remind his hearers that he would sacrifice a great deal more than the common sort of philanthropists; and there were moments when, not content with virtue's peculiar and sweetest reward,--an approving conscience, he was more eager to provoke, than avoid, the plaudits of the multitude. the reader of the epistle to leigh hunt may well smile at the youngster's announcement that, in the course of two years, he would probably occupy a seat in the house of commons, through his father's timely retirement from political life. it is not the wont of even the most affectionate father to be so considerate for his heir-apparent; and though he was a much kindlier and more generous parent than the 'shelleyan enthusiasts' like to admit, mr. timothy shelley, of field place, was by no means a likely man to retreat into private life, in order that his eldest son might become member of parliament for new shoreham in his twenty-second year. delighting in the status of a member of elective assembly, the self-complacent and rather pompous gentleman plumed himself on standing well with his 'party' and 'mr. speaker,' and being so highly respected by 'the house' and 'the country' that he gave peculiar weight and moral influence to the committees to which he was appointed. by no means so destitute of imagination as numerous detractors have declared him, mr. timothy shelley resembled his son in an aptitude for conceiving whatever tended for the moment to put him on good terms with himself. to hear mr. timothy shelley repeat over his second bottle the compliments whispered into his ear by mr. speaker, was to infer that, if his words were reported accurately, mr. speaker was an habitual and extravagant flatterer, or had some unaccountable partiality for the member for new shoreham. to believe all the member for new shoreham said of himself, was to believe, that no committee was appointed in the lower house until he and ministers had spoken together respecting its constitution, that few nice questions of foreign policy were decided until ministers had asked him what might, and what might not, be done. the kindly gentleman, who declared he had furnished archdeacon paley (or 'palley,' as the member for new shoreham pronounced the name) with all the main arguments for the 'evidences,' could persuade himself that his smile or frown determined the course of ministers and administrations. whilst the oxonian shelley liked to imagine himself in parliament, his father delighted in imagining himself the very soul of parliament. so imaginative a father was not likely to vacate his seat for the advantage of so imaginative a son. the mere absence of reasonable grounds for the statement would not, however, justify a confident opinion that shelley was guilty of deliberate untruth when he wrote on nd march, , that, on coming of age, he would probably succeed to his father's vacant place in the house of commons. enough has been said in previous pages of this work to show that, together with a capacity for saying what he knew to be untrue, the oxonian shelley, no less than the shelley of later time, possessed a fancy so curiously vigorous and fertile of inventions, that it may be held in some degree accountable for some of his numerous misstatements. in their desire to shield him from the obloquy of wilful and habitual untruthfulness, some of the poet's friends have, no doubt, exaggerated this consequence of his imaginative energy. in maintaining that his friend cordially detested falsehood, and in respect of his frequent inaccuracies of statement, was the mere 'creature, the unsuspecting and unresisting victim, of his irresistible imagination,' hogg not only went beyond his evidences, but traversed and contradicted them in a manner to provoke suspicion of his own honesty. even where he admits that the inaccuracies were referable, in a large measure, to untruthfulness, peacock betrays a similar disposition to make the utmost of the singular imaginativeness, which he held no less accountable for the poet's frequent deviations from veracity. by those who would rate none too highly the testimony of these two notable witnesses to the poet's character, allowance must of course be made for the partiality of friendship. on the other hand, it must be remembered that, whilst affording them opportunities for studying his character closely, their intimacy with so singular and interesting a companion, offered them the strongest inducements to judge him fairly and know him thoroughly. if it must be conceded that hogg and peacock would never have thought of referring their friend's imperfect veracity to his excessive imaginativeness, had he been nothing more to them than a slight acquaintance, it must also be conceded that the circumstances of their close and affectionate intercourse with the poet, qualified them to give the true explanation of his most perplexing utterances and most pitiable infirmity. having regard to the general trustworthiness of the witnesses, and also to the several obvious considerations which may well dispose the reader to receive their evidence with suspicion and incredulity, i cannot question that, however much they overstated their respective opinions out of tenderness for the poet's fame, both hogg and peacock had reasonable grounds for believing that a quick and undisciplined fancy was far more, or scarcely less, accountable than moral obliquity for their friend's untruthful assertions. for the moment, therefore (_but only for the moment_), let it be assumed that, whilst penning the lines to leigh hunt, the undergraduate of university college really believed he was likely to take his father's seat in parliament in the course of the next two or three years. the assumption puts the reader face to face with another difficulty. the oxonian shelley, who made this remarkable announcement to leigh hunt, was the same oxonian shelley, who used to declare himself indebted to dr. lind's timely intervention for preservation from the madhouse, to which his father meant to consign him. whilst there is evidence of some sort that one of shelley's hallucinations haunted him from boyhood to the last month of his existence, there is no evidence of any kind that his most transitory hallucinations perished within a few days of the hour, when he first came under their power. it took him more than a year to get the better of his morbid fancy that hogg was set on seducing his first wife. it took him several weeks to survive his equally ludicrous and distressing fancy, that he was stricken with leprosy. there is no ground for suspecting he was visited by hallucinations so fleeting that they might be styled 'illusions of the hour.' if, at the time of writing to leigh hunt, he really believed he would enter parliament in his twenty-second year, the hallucination must be regarded as holding his mind for a considerable period, concurrently with the hallucination touching his father's determination to confine him for life as a lunatic. if there are grounds for thinking he really hoped to enter parliament so soon through his father's affectionate consideration, the grounds are still stronger for thinking he really apprehended incarceration in a madhouse, through his father's cruelty. to believe his father capable of retiring from parliament for the advantage of a son who had occasioned much trouble and reasonable displeasure, it was necessary for shelley to think his father a rare example of parental devotion and beneficence. to believe his father capable of locking him up in a madhouse, at the instigation of resentment and notions of domestic policy, it was necessary for shelley to think his father a monstrous example of parental malice and cruelty. if he thought his father capable of such self-sacrifice for his boy's happiness, shelley must have thought his father an admirably good parent. if he thought his father capable of such barbarity to his own offspring, shelley must have deemed his father a superlatively cruel and wicked parent. to have believed his father capable of the parental self-sacrifice and the parental cruelty, shelley must in the same moment of time have regarded his father as one of the very best and one of the very worst parents. it is not in the power of human sanity or human madness to think thus differently of the same person at the same moment. if shelley really believed his father was watching for an opportunity to shut him up in a madhouse, he was fibbing when he wrote to leigh hunt, that his father would probably soon retire from parliament in his favour. if shelley believed what he wrote to leigh hunt, he was fibbing when he talked to hogg and others of his cruel father's malignant purpose to shut him up in a lunatic asylum. strange creature though he was, it is difficult to believe even of shelley that, whilst seeing his father's goodness, he could be so malignantly wicked to do his utmost to persuade his friends of his father's inordinate badness. perhaps it is even more difficult to imagine, strange being though he was, that whilst thinking his father an execrably bad parent, shelley would be so perverse as to invent the story, which went to prove his father an extraordinarily good one. to escape from this tangle of difficulties, from this dilemma of _four_ horns, readers are at liberty to assume that the oxonian shelley believed no tittle of either of the marvellous stories. dismissing the assumption that the youngster wrote to leigh hunt in good faith and simple honesty, they may take it as proved that, in bragging about the seat he would have in parliament as soon as he should have taken his degree, the undergraduate was fibbing, in order that the newspaper editor should form something more than an adequate notion of his correspondent's importance. they may also take it as proved, that the undergraduate was no more sincere in talking about his wicked father's design to lock him up in a madhouse, than in writing that his father would probably retire from parliament in his favour. the time, doubtless, came when shelley believed his worst fictions to his father's discredit, even as tellers of untruths usually come in course of time to believe the fabrications which they persist in repeating steadily and earnestly:--even as 'the nobleman, who recently languished in captivity at portland,' has doubtless succeeded in persuading himself that he is the veritable sir roger tichborne. but before fancies, born of fierce and violent resentments, acquired the complexion and force of hideous truths to his disordered judgment, it is conceivable--ay, it cannot be doubted--that shelley passed through states of mental and moral disturbance, which were fruitful of impressions and misconceptions, so curiously composed of fact and fancy, of truth and chimera, that he might be well described as a victim of semi-delusions. between the period when he was altogether sane and the period when he suffered from steady hallucination, at least on one subject, and transient hallucinations on other subjects, there was a period during which he was neither absolutely free from delusions nor wholly possessed by any delusion respecting his father's character and conduct. iv. yet another 'discovery' respecting the oxonian shelley, for which the 'shelleyan enthusiasts' overflowed with gratitude to mr. denis florence maccarthy. to believe all that is told to his honour in _shelley's early life_ is to believe that shelley made himself responsible for the costs and charges of publishing the little volume of verse, which gave miss janetta phillips her modest place in literary annals. that miss janetta was writing poetry whilst shelley kept terms at oxford, that she rose to a high place in his poetical regard in the spring of , and that whilst waging war with bigotry and superstition in academic circles, he was at much pains to get subscribers for her book of poems, are matters of historic certainty. in the april of that year, when miss elizabeth shelley was fast falling from her brother's favour, he wrote to hogg, 'elizabeth is, indeed, an unworthy companion of the muses. i do not rest much on her poetry now. miss phillips betrayed twice the genius; greater amiability, if to affect the feelings is a proof of the excess of the latter.' the long list of subscribers to _poems by janetta phillips_. oxford: printed by collingwood and co., , affords conclusive evidence that, whilst regarding her poetical ability with approval, shelley bestirred himself in oxford, london, and sussex, to further miss janetta's literary venture. subscribing himself for six copies of the work, he induced his sister elizabeth to put her name down for a copy of the metrical effusions, which 'betrayed twice the genius' of her compositions. miss hellen shelley at the clapham boarding school, and her friend miss harriett westbrook, also produced half-crowns from their little purses for the benefit of miss janetta phillips. other members of shelley's circle ordered the book at his instance. mr. medwin, of horsham, ordered a copy; mr. charles grove took a copy; mrs. grove, of lincoln's inn fields, put her name down for three copies. it was, doubtless, at shelley's solicitation that his oxford bookseller consented to subscribe for miss janetta's little volume. it is probable that the young lady had other friends besides shelley in the university, where she found no less than eighty subscribers for her _poems_. still, it may be safely assumed, she was considerably indebted to shelley's influence in the colleges for the sympathy and money of so many gownsmen. that shelley admired miss janetta's poetry, and pushed the fortunes of her book to the utmost of his ability, is certain. but what proof is there that he generously took upon himself the charges of publication, and thereby incurred a debt that drained his pocket a few months later? what are the facts that to this extent 'exhibit shelley in the amiable light of being an active encourager of a youthful muse?' here is mr. denis florence maccarthy's evidence to the fact. in one of the undated letters, which he wrote in the summer (say july) of , from radnorshire to hogg at york, shelley says--'i have at this moment no money, as philipps' and the other debt have drained me.' what evidence to the point! in the spring of the year miss janetta phillips published a little book, which was so largely subscribed for that, besides paying the charges of production, it must have put a good many guineas into the author's pocket. three or four months later shelley writes from wales that 'philipps' and the other debt have drained' him so completely that he is without money. it follows, according to mr. maccarthy, that at the time of writing the letter shelley was suffering from his generosity to miss janetta phillips. the 'shelleyan enthusiasts,' who mistook mr. maccarthy for a prophet because he wrote abusively of hogg, may be assured that neither of the debts referred to in the epistle had anything to do with miss janetta phillips's book. printed whilst the young lady's poetry was passing through the press at oxford, shelley's tract on _the necessity of atheism_--the publication that resulted in his expulsion from university college, oxford--was printed by e. and w. _phillips_, of worthing. i have not thought it worth my while to inquire about miss janetta's parentage and history; but i should not be surprised to learn she was the daughter of one of these worthing printers, and that shelley's efforts for the success of her book proceeded in some degree from friendliness for the printers, who were just then rendering him secret and confidential service. one thing is certain about miss janetta. though it occasioned him considerable trouble at the moment, the publication of her poems caused him no subsequent discomfort. the debts, referred to in the letter, were the debt to stockdale for the production of _st. irvyne_, and the debt to the messrs. e. and w. phillips, of worthing, for printing _the necessity of atheism_. mr. maccarthy's precious discovery is 'a mare's-nest' for the cynical reader to chuckle over. chapter xiii. shelley's second residence-term at oxford. harriett westbrook--her character and beauty--how shelley came to care for her--her subscription for janetta phillips's poems--shelley's first visit to harriett's home--his intention to compete for 'the newdigate'--thornton hunt's scandalous suggestion--obligations of the oxford undergraduate--mary wollstonecraft on the guinea forfeit--shelley's false declaration--his numerous untruths--_the necessity of atheism_--was it a squib?--lady shelley's inaccuracies--mr. garnett's misdescription of the tract--his misrepresentation of hogg--the _little syllabus_ printed at worthing--more untruths by shelley--the tract offered for sale in oxford--shelley called before 'the dons'--his expulsion from university college--hogg's impudence and craft--his misrepresentations--shelley and hogg leave oxford. though he had not yet seen the child who, in the following september, became his first wife, shelley was enough interested in her on th january, , to write to his publisher, stockdale:--'i would thank you to send a copy of _st. irvyne_ to miss harriet westbrook, , chapel street, grosvenor square;' an order he would scarcely have given, had not circumstances already caused him to think of her with peculiar friendliness. at their boarding-school on the north side of clapham common, near the 'old town,' miss mary shelley (_ætat._ ) and miss hellen shelley (_ætat._ ) had several schoolmates, of whose looks and doings they would naturally prattle to their elder brother during the christmas holidays, as they sat about the christmas fire. how was it that, of all the girls about whom his sisters may be assumed to have spoken in his hearing, harriett westbrook was the one he selected for a compliment that must have greatly pleased her? mary and hellen were the only persons (with the exception of their elder sister--possibly one of harriett's school friends in earlier time) who can be conceived to have gossiped with him about the loveliest of mrs. fenning's pupils, in a way to inspire him with interest in her. the fair inference from the reasonable assumptions is that of all the school-girls, of whom his sisters spoke, harriett westbrook seemed the fairest and most fascinating to him and them. let it be assumed that, of all their friends at the clapham boarding-school, harriett was the only girl of whom the sisters spoke to their brother. in that case, the question arises, why the sisters, so uncommunicative about the others, were eloquent about the girl who soon became their brother's wife?--eloquent about her in a way to make him desirous of knowing her? the question must be answered in a way more or less favourable to the notion that harriett stood well in the opinion of the sisters. there is another reason for thinking harriett westbrook was at this point of her career peculiarly acceptable to the young ladies of field place. older than miss mary shelley by two years at least, more than three years older than miss hellen shelley, harriett westbrook, besides being one of the older girls of mrs. fenning's seminary, was the acknowledged 'beauty' of the school; and beauty in a senior school-girl always disposes the juniors of the school to regard her favourably, when it is not associated with any irritating moral defect. harriett's temper was by no means faultless, but as she was the only serious sufferer from her propensity to imagine herself an ill-used damsel, it did not lessen the natural influence of her personal attractiveness. fretful towards herself, she was never peevish or wilfully unkind to others. her prevailing mood was tranquil melancholy; and there were times when she played the rebel with a serene sullenness that made worthy mrs. fenning wonder what would be the end of so perplexing a young lady. when she was more than usually miserable about nothing at clapham, this young lady (who eventually committed suicide) used to think she might as well destroy herself, would even tell the governesses she rather thought she should destroy herself. but the announcements of suicidal purpose were made in so placid and passionless a manner, that they caused little or no alarm. even in her naughtiest humours she was gentle in speech and bearing to her classmates, and not devoid of frigid decorum to those who were in authority over her. in her brighter seasons she was childishly charming,--so winning and cooingly docile, that mrs. fenning and the subordinate teachers quickly relented to her smiles, and forgiving her in five minutes for all the trouble she had given throughout twice as many weeks, fell to kissing and petting her, as though she were the veriest darling. how could this darling, so irresistible to the governesses she harassed, be otherwise than popular with the girls whose tempers she never tried? one of those beauties, who are seen oftener on the walls than the floors of drawing-rooms, less a thing of real life than a picture, this girl of curious and memorable loveliness lived in the recollections of her clapham schoolmates, when forty years and more had passed over her grave. rather below the average stature of womankind, shapely as a sculptured venus, graceful in her movements, she would have possessed all the finer elements of womanly loveliness, had she not lacked the air and style of mental force and moral dignity. in miss hellen shelley recalled harriett[ ] westbrook, whom she saw for the last time in , as 'a very handsome girl, with a complexion quite unknown in these days--brilliant pink and white,--with hair quite like a poet's dream, and bysshe's peculiar admiration.' it lived also in miss hellen's recollection that mrs. fenning, and her assistant-governesses, used to talk about harriett's beauty, and even spoke of her as qualified to 'enact venus' at a _fête champêtre_. in colour her eyes resembled shelley's prominent blue eyes, and the profusion of hair, that was his 'peculiar admiration,' was light brown. when she committed to paper (in her fifty-seventh year, or thereabouts) whatever she could remember of the beautiful girl, whom she never beheld after they became sisters-in-law, it lived in miss hellen shelley's recollection that her brother was said to have married her because her name was harriett. it is in the way of lovers to delight in the names of those they idolize, even when their devotion is rewarded with coldness. to the last, byron's ear discovered music in 'mary,' the name of the wee scotch lassie whom he loved in his tenth year. one can readily imagine that the charm of her name was the first influence to make shelley an attentive listener to his sisters' gossip about 'the beauty' of their college friend. it is conceivable that their talk about this lovely harriett of the clapham boarding-school was accountable for the frame of mind in which miss harriett grove's discarded suitor wrote from field place to hogg on th december, : '_at present_, a thousand barriers oppose any more intimate connexion, any union with another;' words that would scarcely have fallen from his pen within a fortnight of his final rejection by the wiltshire 'belle,' had he not already recovered from the first and keenest misery of the misadventure, so far as to be capable of looking forward to a future time when his 'union with another' harriett would be possible. is it not conceivable, also, that in their sympathy with his distress for the loss of harriett grove, and in their affectionate desire to restore him to his usual cheerfulness, the sisters at field place conspired to remind him that their cousin harriett was not the only beautiful harriett in the universe, and to lure him into consoling himself for harriett grove's disdain with harriett westbrook's devotion? no doubt miss hellen shelley and miss mary shelley were full young for match-makers. but girls sometimes take to match-making, no less than to flirtation, before their teens. little hellen (_ætat._ ) may not have been taken fully, or even at all, into the confidence of her elder sisters on the romantic project. they may have encouraged her to prattle about harriett westbrook without letting her suspect their purpose. the evidence of this conspiracy on the part of three, or two, of shelley's sisters for marrying him to miss harriett westbrook, is fragmentary and flimsy; but few readers will question that divers facts point to the existence of an influence at field place that not only disposed, but determined, the poet to seek the young lady's acquaintance. but for his sisters he would, probably, have never heard of harriett westbrook. their speech about her must be held accountable for his desire to know her. on th january, , he requested stockdale to send her a copy of _st. irvyne_. what but his sisters' talk about her can have disposed shelley to pay so considerable a compliment to the young lady, of whom he would probably never have heard, had it not been for them? just about the time when he paid her this remarkable attention, miss harriett westbrook subscribed for a copy of the poems, on the point of being published, by miss janetta phillips, a young lady in whom he was warmly interested; a young lady of whom she doubtless heard through him or his sisters, and whose name would probably have never come to her ear had it not been for him or them. it is suggested by mr. denis florence maccarthy that harriett westbrook gave her name to the roll of miss janetta phillips's subscribers at the instance of miss hellen shelley, and that the copy of _st. irvyne_ sent to miss harriett westbrook was shelley's acknowledgment of her expression of concern in the enterprise of his literary _protégée_. probably the affair should be taken the other way about. it is more likely that miss harriett's subscription to miss janetta's poems was consequent on shelley's gift of the copy of the novel. there is no evidence that subscribers for miss janetta's poems were being sought so early as the christmas holidays ( - ), and there is good evidence that the list of those subscribers was not completed and made out for publication till after lady-day, . i am, therefore, more disposed to think miss harriett westbrook subscribed for the poems at shelley's instance, and in acknowledgment of his civility in sending her the copy of _st. irvyne_, than to regard the gift of the novel as the author's acknowledgment of her complaisance in subscribing for the poems. but if mr. denis florence maccarthy is right on this point, miss harriett westbrook's act in subscribing for the poems _may be_ regarded as an act, done less for the gratification of one of shelley's sisters than for the gratification of shelley himself, and _must be_ regarded as an act done, more or less, for the gratification of the young man of whom she can have heard only through his sisters. hence the young lady's subscription for the poems becomes another indication of the existence of an influence at field place, disposing the poet to entertain feelings of friendliness for 'the beauty' of the clapham boarding-school. why, it has already been asked, was miss harriett westbrook the only one of his sisters' school-fellows to whom he sent a copy of his novel? why, it must be also asked, was she the only one of their school-fellows to subscribe for the poems, for whose success he was so desirous? the questions can only be answered in a way, pointing to the existence at field place of an influence, to which the act of subscription was directly, or indirectly, referable. whilst readily admitting that the facts of the case sustain and justify a strong opinion that miss hellen shelley (_ætat._ ), and miss mary shelley (_ætat._ ), talked about their school-fellow harriett, so as to make their brother curious about and interested in her, readers may fairly object (in respect to miss elizabeth shelley) that it is unusual for a young gentlewoman of the mature age of sixteen years to use her influence, or be in a position to exercise any influence, over her brother (_ætat._ ) to make him fall in love with a young lady he has not seen. it may also be further objected that, as she is not known to have been personally acquainted with miss harriett westbrook, it is especially difficult to imagine that miss elizabeth shelley made any efforts to compass her brother's marriage with her younger sisters' school-fellow. there is force in both of these objections. it must, however, be remembered that, as she had been a pupil at the clapham common school, miss elizabeth shelley (now in her seventeenth year) may have been at school with miss harriett westbrook, still only in her sixteenth year. she may (in the absence of evidence to the contrary) be fairly assumed to have known miss harriett westbrook by personal observation as well as by report--to have remembered, as a delightful little girl, the same harriett who was an unutterably beautiful 'great girl' in the eyes of mary and hellen. it is of more importance for readers to remember how unusual were the relations in which elizabeth stood to her elder brother. it is on the record (so as to put the facts beyond dispute) that, throughout his suit to and correspondence with his cousin harriett, shelley made a confidante of his sister respecting his passion for that lovely girl; that he especially commissioned his eldest sister to plead for him to the object of his passion; and that in his disappointment at the failure of his suit to his cousin, he threw himself on his sister for sympathy, consolation, and counsel. it is no less clear on the record that, during those christmas holidays of - , miss elizabeth shelley, whilst sympathizing with his sorrow, was for some days in fear that in the agitations of his grief he would destroy himself. it matters not that shelley never seriously thought of committing suicide; it is enough that his sister believed him to be meditating and capable of self-destruction. 'my eldest sister,' miss hellen shelley wrote in , or thereabouts, 'has frequently told me how narrowly she used to watch him, and accompany him in his walks with his dog and gun.' moreover, whilst shelley was in his trouble seeking consolation and counsel from his eldest sister, he was influencing her to fall in love with a young man she had never seen, and to that end was speaking to her of his friend hogg in terms which made her fully aware of his purpose. under these circumstances it would not be surprising, could it be shown that sister (whom for _her_ happiness he was training and luring to love a man she had never seen) conceived a purpose of turning the tables upon him, and making him (for _his_ happiness) fall in love with a girl on whom he had not set eyes. under these circumstances, what more natural than for her to do him a service corresponding to the service he was set openly on doing her? anyhow, it is certain, that having conceived an interest in miss harriett westbrook, when he can have known nothing of her except from his sisters, shelley did not return to oxford at the close of the christmas vacation, without having seen the young lady, and made arrangements for corresponding with her. in his article on _shelley in pall mall_, mr. garnett is good enough to promise that, when it shall suit his convenience to do so, he will lay before the world 'an interesting but unpublished document,' in evidence that the poet first saw harriett westbrook in january . it is very kind of mr. garnett to make this promise; but as it has been known for more than a quarter of a century to all the world (with the exception of shelleyan specialists) that shelley made miss harriett westbrook's acquaintance in that month, mr. garnett may as well keep his 'interesting but unpublished document' to himself, if it cannot afford any further information about the poet. in an extremely entertaining letter, to which reference has been made in a previous chapter of this work (a letter to be found in hogg's much-abused _life of percy bysshe shelley_), mr. charles henry grove, the poet's cousin, says:-- 'during the christmas vacation of that year, and in january , i spent part of it at field place, and when we returned to london, his sister mary sent a letter of introduction with a present to her schoolfellow, miss westbrook, which bysshe and i were to take to her. i recollect we did so, calling at mr. westbrook's house.' it has been often represented that shelley was indebted to 'little hellen' for his first introduction to the girl who became, a few months later, his first wife. it has been no less often represented that shelley made his first wife's acquaintance only a few weeks before their marriage; that he made her acquaintance _at_ mrs. fenning's house; and that he was inveigled into the marriage without being allowed the usual opportunities for studying the girl's character. readers, therefore, will do well to observe that he saw her for the first time under her father's roof; that he made her acquaintance there because he went there for the purpose of making it; that, on the occasion of this first visit to mr. westbrook's house, he went there with a letter of introduction to the young lady from his sister mary; that he, on the same occasion, brought the young lady a present from his sister mary; that he made this call upon the young lady in the company of one of the gentlemen of his family; that this visit must be assumed to have been paid with the cognizance of miss elizabeth shelley (his eldest sister); that, from the date of this visit, he and the young lady were in the habit of exchanging letters; that he did not marry her till he had corresponded with and otherwise known her intimately for eight full months; that he did not marry her till he had lured her from christianity into atheism; that, instead of marrying her (a sixteen-years-old child) with her father's consent, he stole her from her father's keeping, even as (less than three years later) he lured another sixteen-years-old girl from the roof of her father, who was his intimate friend. all these statements are matters of fact, and yet mr. garnett says the time will come, when 'it will for the first time be clearly understood how slight was the acquaintance of shelley and harriet, previous to their marriage; what advantage was taken of his _chivalry of sentiment_, and her compliant disposition, and the inexperience of both.' returning to oxford for the lent term, after making miss harriett westbrook's acquaintance, shelley returned to the same kind of life, in which he found various excitements and congenial diversions in the eight weeks preceding the christmas holidays. there was no diminution in his familiarity with and affection for hogg. again, the young men took long walks in the neighbourhood of oxford, and committed boyish extravagances of costume and demeanour that made the gownsmen titter over their wine in the common rooms. they still hoped to be brothers-in-law, and looked forward to the easter vacation as a time for winning miss elizabeth shelley's acquiescence in their project for the union of their respective families. they wrote letters, and got through a good deal of desultory reading, in company with one another. they resumed their old practice of talking with much volubility and vehemence on subjects of which they knew little, from ten p.m. till two hours past midnight. whilst hogg persisted in reading for honours, shelley turned over a good many books for amusement. instead of writing to miss harriett grove, he wrote letters to miss harriett westbrook. at the same time he was making efforts to lengthen the list of subscribers for miss janetta phillips's poems. having in the christmas holidays scolded off his reasonable displeasure with his heir, and taken him once again into his favour, mr. timothy shelley wrote the youngster letters of good advice, begging him to read hard and distinguish himself at the university; letters which the son and his friend turned to excellent fun. whilst the squire of field place thus evinced a disposition to live on better terms with his boy, there were signs of a corresponding disposition on shelley's part, to live on better terms with his father. anyhow, it was partly to please the member of parliament for new shoreham, that the undergraduate promised to compete for the next prize poem,--a promise that vastly delighted the elder mr. shelley, who honoured letters without being qualified to excel in them, and desired very much to speak of his son as an oxford prizeman. the subject for 'the newdigate,' was _parthenon_, and as soon as shelley had consented to his father's desire, so far as to say he would go in for the prize (eventually awarded to mr. r. burdon, of oriel college), the jubilant squire of field place went off to his particular friend, the reverend edward dallaway, vicar of leatherhead, and historian of sussex, and begged the sound scholar and famous antiquary, to put his erudition at the service of the poetical undergraduate. the result of this kindly busy-bodyism on the part of an honest gentleman, who certainly sometimes did his best to be a good father to a worse than indifferent son, was that mr. percy bysshe shelley, of university college, received a long letter from mr. dallaway, together with charts, sketches, and documents, which might have been useful to the young poet, had he remained long enough at the university to complete the poem (which he began), and send it in to the judges. in one respect, the present writer may have described shelley's academic life too favourably. too much may have been said of the purity of the poet's personal tastes, and of his aversion to pleasures that are fascinating only to the sensual. if he has erred in this particular, the writer has not failed through ignorance of matters, making for another and less agreeable view of the undergraduate's ways of amusing himself at oxford, but through a determination to say nothing on insufficient evidence to the discredit of a remarkable man, whose life affords too many occasions for necessary censure. when anything is needlessly blurted to shelley's shame, the injurious statement is usually made by one of his idolaters, acting the proverbial part of a 'candid friend.' it is so in the case of what has been urged against the prevailing testimony to the purity and refinement of the oxonian shelley's personal habits and tastes. 'accident,' says mr. thornton hunt--one of hogg's vituperators, and one of shelley's idolaters--'has made me aware of facts which give me to understand that in passing through the usual curriculum of a college life in all its paths, shelley did not go scatheless; but that, in tampering with venal pleasures, his health was seriously and not transiently injured. the effect was far greater on his mind than on his body.' it is needless to specify the pleasures to which mr. thornton hunt points. the pleasures which may be bought, and often attract young men in their hours of idleness, and sometimes result in consequences permanently injurious to their health, are not so numerous as to make the reader doubtful as to the nature of the pleasures thus boldly indicated. but mr. thornton hunt's statement has features which will dispose readers to question the sufficiency of his information. as shelley never passed 'through the usual curriculum of a college life,' he can scarcely have passed through it 'in all its paths' (whatever that may mean):--but let that pass. it is enough that mr. thornton hunt is unambiguous as to the class of the pleasures. it is not, however, so clear how those pleasures, which can only injure the mind through the body, should in shelley's case have been so much less baneful to the body than the mind. as mr. thornton hunt seems to have gained his facts from a loose talker or writer, it is only fair and charitable to the poet to suppose that his 'frank friend' got his facts from an altogether unreliable reporter. it may, of course, be that in a transient fit of rakishness shelley was so unfortunate as to encounter mischance, which habitual rakes may be so lucky as to escape. but the abundant evidences to the point satisfy me that 'rakishness' was foreign to shelley's general way of living at the university,--that, in respect to common kinds of dissipation, his habits accorded with the manners of victorian much more closely than with the manners of georgian oxford. to pass from a matter about which mr. thornton hunt might as well have been silent, to an affair of several incidents, which, though notorious, must be recorded precisely and fully, because they have never been narrated correctly;--the incidents that closed with shelley's expulsion from university college, oxford. whilst rejecting, with his usual good sense, hogg's apologetic and untruthful account of shelley's motives and purpose in writing and publishing (for he did both) _the necessity of atheism_, mr. william rossetti remarks:-- 'in this case, as in others, the honestest and boldest course is also the safest: and we shall do well to understand once for all that percy shelley had as good a right to form and expound his opinions on theology as the archbishop of canterbury had to his. certainly shelley differed from the archbishop, and from several other students of, and speculators on the subject, past and present; but, as there was no obligation on him to agree with all, or any of them, so there is nothing to be explained away or toned down when we find that in fact he dissented.' had mr. rossetti been educated at oxford or cambridge in his boyhood, he would not have put these words in print. like the archbishop of canterbury, or any other man, shelley had, of course, a natural right to hold and declare what he believed to be the truth on questions of religion. in civilized communities, however, natural rights are in some cases necessarily put under limitations, or altogether taken from individuals,--are partially or wholly relinquished by individuals,--for the welfare and good order of the societies of which they are members. archbishop manners sutton had, no doubt, like every other man, a natural right to his own opinions on matters pertaining to religion, and to proclaim those opinions. but this right was limited in his case not only by obligations put upon him as a citizen, but also by official obligations put upon him as primate of the anglican church. so long as he remained in his sacerdotal office he was bound in conscience to hold no opinions at variance with the doctrines of the church of england, and bound even more stringently in conscience, and by social law, to refrain from publishing opinions calculated to discredit those doctrines. had he relinquished his sacred office and orders, he would have recovered that much of his natural right to think and say anything he believed to be true, which was not denied to him by mere obligations of citizenship. on returning as far as possible to the position and quality of a layman, he would have recovered the right of a layman to limited freedom of speech on matters of religion,--_i.e._ so much of the natural right to free thought and utterance as in his time was allowed by the law of the land to every person of his nation. but, so long as he remained archbishop, his natural right to be heterodox, and to teach heterodoxy, was wholly dormant. in like manner, as a member of the university of oxford (a society he had joined of his own free will; a society from which he did not wish to be withdrawn when, in december, , his father threatened to withdraw him from it), mr. percy bysshe shelley was bound to act as though he were a sincere son of the national church, and to do nothing that was likely to put his orthodoxy in suspicion. far from being under 'no obligation to agree with all or any' of the doctrines of the church of england (as mr. rossetti avers), he was under clear, strong, and stringent obligations to agree with every one of those doctrines. it may have always been, and recent legislation has declared that it _was_ (if not in shelley's time, at least in later time) unjust and impolitic in the law of the land to confine the universities within limits, and hold them under restrictions, that rendered them at most nothing more than superb seminaries for the larger part of the nation, instead of seats of learning for the whole nation. in the present work, however, there is no need to ask whether those limits and restrictions were ever needful, or whether they were salutary after ceasing to be needful, or whether they should have been removed sooner than the recent year ( ) that saw the abolition of the university religious tests. it is enough for shelley's biographers to know that, when the poet matriculated at oxford, no one was allowed to enter the university without solemnly declaring himself a member of the national church, and subscribing the thirty-nine articles in demonstration of the truth of his declaration. conformity to the doctrines and uses, of the church was the condition of admittance to the university. it was also the condition under which every matriculated student continued to enjoy the privileges and partake of the benefits of the university. every member of the university, besides being a member of the church, was required to be a communicant of the church,--taking the sacrament at appointed times in the chapel of his college. in respect to this last particular, it was usual for the academic 'dons' to have regard for the religious scruples of undergraduates, whose consciousness of evil living made them feel they would be guilty of presumption in coming to the lord's table. on going to the dean of his college, or his tutor, and making confession of his unfitness to communicate, the undergraduate of light manners and tender conscience received permission to be absent from the approaching celebration, on the understanding that he made a suitable contribution to the alms, gathered on the occasion for charitable uses. in most colleges it was understood that the undergraduate who thus avoided the communion should give a guinea to the offertory; a requirement to which the applicant for the dispensation could not object on conscientious grounds. hence the usage which in course of time gave occasion for the statement that the dispensation was _bought_ for a guinea, and the still more perverse statement that undergraduates took the sacrament at the universities _in order_ to escape the exaction of twenty-one shillings. in her remarks on the defective discipline and morality of our national seminaries, in the _vindication of the rights of woman_, mary wollstonecraft says, 'what good can be expected from the youth who receives the sacrament of the lord's supper to avoid forfeiting a guinea, which he probably afterwards spends in some sensual manner?' the offering, which mary wollstonecraft regarded as a guinea forfeit, was in its origin nothing else than the voluntary donation of the conscientious student who said to his tutor, 'though i am not worthy to be a partaker of the holy communion, i may be permitted to give to the poor.' of shelley, indeed, it is not unfair to say that he was quite capable of taking the sacrament in order to have a guinea the more for his pleasure. it is certain that, whilst openly deriding christianity, and denying the existence of god, he could take the sacrament, from a lighter motive than a desire to husband his pocket-money. the levity with which he could take the sacrament, and afterwards allude to the act as a pretty piece of drollery, is (to use no stronger language) startlingly offensive. whilst lodging in poland street, oxford street, immediately after his expulsion from university college, oxford, he wrote to hogg ( th april, ) of harriett westbrook and her elder sister:-- 'my little friend, harriet w., is gone to her prison-house. she is quite well in health; at least, so she says, though she looks very much otherwise. i saw her yesterday. i went with her sister to miss h.'s [? f.'s] and walked about clapham common with them for two hours. the youngest is a most amiable girl; the eldest is really conceited, but very condescending. _i took the sacrament with her on sunday!!!_' with the same levity, he took the sacrament, seven or eight weeks later, in sussex, after returning to field place. writing to hogg from horsham on th june, , he says, 'i am going to take the sacrament. in spite of my melancholy reflections, the idea rather amuses and soothes me!!!' this from the youthful zealot and martyr for free thought, who, according to some of his idolaters, was driven from oxford because his singular earnestness and sincerity would not permit him to acquiesce hypocritically in a faith he disbelieved, or in usages he deemed superstitious! whilst the university was held within these religious limits, it was one of the prime duties of the academic authorities to take due care for the maintenance of the religious uniformity required by the law of the land. for the wisdom or impolicy of the law they were no more accountable than any judge is accountable for the justice or impolicy of the law he is appointed to administer. it was not for them to make reply or reason why, but to see that the law for uniformity of religious sentiment was duly respected by the gownsmen of every academic grade. had the master and fellows of any college winked at any irregularities tending to defeat the law within their house, they would have been guilty of a heinous breach of trust. it is needful to insist on this obvious fact, because, through the influence of books and articles, written for the most part by gentlemen who were not educated at either oxford or cambridge, the notion has arisen that the master and fellows of shelley's college might with propriety have forborne to call him to account for publishing a work at oxford to demonstrate the necessity of atheism; that they are chargeable with mischievous indiscretion, and a flagrant excess of duty, in taking notice of the tract he wrote and offered for sale at oxford. mr. garnett is of opinion that by merely leaving shelley alone 'the oxford authorities ... might have preserved an illustrious modern ornament of their university.' to think with mr. garnett on this point is to forget that to preserve to the university a young gentleman who might one day write excellent poetry was not the first duty of those authorities. it is to forget that they were bound to have due care for the religious order and discipline demanded by the law of the land. it is easier to discover laxity and indifference than the vexatious indiscretions of an excessive zeal in the measures employed by those authorities for the maintenance and preservation of religious uniformity. acting too much rather than too little like men of the world, too little rather than too much like cloistered enthusiasts, they allowed their undergraduates as far as possible to go their own way, reading whatever they pleased, saying whatever they liked amongst themselves. when he remarked approvingly of the authorities of his college, 'they are very civil to us here: they never interfere with us,' shelley described precisely the method of academic government, that, according to mr. garnett, would have preserved shelley to the university. in respect to affairs of religion no less than other matters, the undergraduates were treated civilly; put as gentlemen upon their honour, taken as gentlemen at their word, allowed the largest possible liberty, interfered with as little as possible. at matriculation the undergraduate was subjected to no searching examination, for the discovery of the weak points of his orthodoxy. it was enough that he made the usual declaration and subscription with the simple honesty and good faith to be looked for in young englishmen. after matriculation he was allowed an almost perilous freedom. he did not live, like the students of some religious seminaries, under constant surveillance and espionage. he had no fear that, during his absence from his rooms, strange eyes would inspect his private books and search his private papers. he was not harassed with divinity lectures, attended with questions nicely devised for entrapping him into revelations of theological unsoundness. heterodoxy was not sniffed, scented, hunted down and punished in him and his companions, as heresy was detected and denounced in the colleges of the sixteenth century by spies and eavesdroppers. it was enough for the 'dons' of his particular college and the other authorities of the university, that he attended chapel with sufficient frequency, and took the sacrament in accordance with the rules of 'the house.' just as he was credited with sincerity at matriculation, when he subscribed the articles, it was assumed that he attended chapel as a sincere member of the church of england. if he asked for exemption from attendance at the next celebration of the lord's supper, the request was not regarded as an indication of heterodoxy. throughout his terms, in the absence of clear and unlooked-for evidence to the contrary, it was inferred from his fair observance of religious forms, that he was an honest churchman. to what further point could _laisser-faire_ indulgence be carried with safety? in this manner shelley was treated in respect to matters of religion by the rulers of his college, who are said to have worried him with vexatious interference and insulting requirements. the boy of eighteen years was dealt with in this fashion. yet we are told that all would have gone well with him at oxford, had the master and fellows of the university only left him alone. because religious uniformity was maintained with the least possible interference with the liberty of individuals, it would be a mistake to imagine it was not maintained effectually. of late the fashion has arisen to speak of the religious forms, that were used for the preservation of this uniformity, as vain and idle forms. a moment's consideration will satisfy the fair and judicial reader that this fashion is an unjust one. surely the forms were not vain and idle, that excluded from the universities the young men of our non-conforming families; that yearly drove to other and inferior seminaries some three or four hundred young men of our fairly prosperous families, who, but for those forms, would have sought their higher education at oxford and cambridge. to assume that those forms were less influential within the universities than in families having no connection with the established church, is to assume that english dissenters surpassed english churchmen greatly in truthfulness. doubtless the oxonians of georgian england comprised a small percentage of undergraduates who were extreme free-thinkers, and a more considerable percentage of young men, who, after subscribing the articles in levity, and with an imperfect knowledge of their contents, passed their academic terms in frivolity and dissoluteness. but it cannot be doubted that the religious requirements and observances of the university operated as an efficacious discipline on the majority of the students. the same requirements and observances were also influential on every undergraduate, whatever his secret sentiments and his manner of living, in reminding him that the university was a school for members of the church of england and for no other persons, that as a member of the university he was bound to live in apparent conformity to the national church, and that he would forfeit his right to remain in the university by repudiating the doctrines of the church. in shelley's academic time, every undergraduate knew that by publishing a work to discredit the fundamental doctrines of christianity he would render himself liable to banishment from the university, and that the authorities of his college would be constrained by their official obligations to take prompt action for his punishment, and in case he persisted in his flagrant heterodoxy to expel him. it is certain that shelley's view of his academic obligations and responsibilities differed widely from mr. rossetti's erroneous view of them. that he published _the necessity of atheism_ anonymously, that he made a secret of his authorship of the work, that he declined to answer 'yea' or 'nay' to the inquiry whether he wrote the tract, are sufficient testimony that he was alive to the nature and consequences of the offence of which he had been guilty. evidence under shelley's own hand has already been produced that, instead of imagining himself at liberty to hold and expound any opinions he pleased, he was well aware that, as a member of the university, he was precluded from publishing certain opinions. on nd march, , at the very moment of publishing _the necessity of atheism_, he wrote from university college, to leigh hunt: '_on account of the responsibility to which my residence in this university subjects me, i, of course, dare not publicly avow all that i think_.' the writer of these words was better informed than most of his biographers respecting the obligations of an oxford undergraduate. had he been so remarkably out-spoken and truth-loving, as lady shelley declares him to have been, shelley would not have entered oxford with a falsehood on his lips, by a solemn declaration that he believed what he disbelieved. though he believed in the existence of god till the later part of the christmas vacation ( - ), he had ceased to believe in the divinity of christ before he went to oxford. at the time of his matriculation he was not a christian; yet he went before the authorities of university college and of the university, and declared himself a believer in christianity, and an honest member of the church of england. how are we to account for the conduct of this singularly out-spoken and truth-loving shelley in stating thus deliberately and solemnly what he knew was untrue? it may be said that other young men in told the same untruths for their convenience and advantage. doubtless, a few other young men were guilty of the same untruths. but no one has ventured to extol them for singular candour, veracity, and moral courage. how came the singularly out-spoken and truth-loving shelley to utter the solemn falsehoods? had he been so out-spoken and truth-loving, surely he would have said, 'i will not go to oxford, because i can only enter the university by means of enormous untruths.' in the year of his matriculation every english county had young men, every considerable english town had young men, who would gladly have gone to oxford and cambridge for the advantages of university education, could they have done so without falsehood;--young men who entered on the battle of life with inferior culture and at serious disadvantages, because to get admittance to the universities it would be necessary for them to be untruthful. no one has ever thought of commending these young men for any peculiar elevation of character, because they refrained from telling a lie and entering on a course of hypocrisy, that would in some considerable respects have been beneficial to them. they deserved no such commendation; for their conduct merely proved they were not wanting in the ordinary truthfulness and honesty, which parliament assumed ordinary englishmen to possess, as a matter of course, when it was determined to exclude non-conformists from the universities. how came the singularly out-spoken and truth-loving shelley to be so much less than ordinarily truthful in this business? it cannot be pleaded in his excuse, as it can be pleaded in behalf of the many youngsters who subscribed the articles with commonplace carelessness, that he had not given much consideration to the articles and christian evidences; that he took it for granted they were all right; that, though he may have been wrong to trust in so serious a business to vague and general impressions, he did not know the articles comprised tenets from which he differed. it cannot be urged in palliation of his falseness that by declining to go to one of the universities he would have thrown away his only or his best chance of rising to a position of dignity and comfort. nor can it be suggested that, knowing his father wished him to go to the university, and to distinguish himself there, so dutiful and loving a son did not like to disappoint his sire's paternal ambition. shelley went to oxford merely to please himself; and, in order to have the pleasure of living at oxford with congenial companions, he entered the university under cover of falsehood, declaring he was a christian when he knew he was not a christian. he entered oxford under cover of this falsehood, well knowing that to a man of his opinions the usual residence at oxford would be a course of hypocrisy. other young men (though, unless i err, _not many_ young men) have done likewise. but it would be absurd to commend them for being especially out-spoken and truth-loving. during the michaelmas term of , shelley amused himself by luring persons, whom he knew only by name and reputation, into corresponding with him on religious questions, just as in former time he had drawn strangers into controversy on questions of natural science. addressing these people under a false name and address, he caused them to imagine they were replying to the letters of a person, troubled with doubts and honestly desirous of information and guidance for the solution of the difficulties. to account for the secresy and misrepresentations, with which shelley approached the individuals he thus lured into religious controversy, it is recorded in hogg's _life_ that, whilst at eton, the youthful disputant about gases was threatened by an angry chemist with exposure to dr. keate, who would not fail to whip him into a healthier state of mind. on being thus reminded how unfavourable the discipline of his school was to equally frank and free inquiry, the schoolboy adopted a course that, without affecting the freedom of his inquiries, would guard him from some of the consequences of perilous frankness. an anonymous letter-writer at eton to save his skin, shelley was an anonymous letter-writer at oxford to save his credit for religious conformity with the 'dons.' instead of using only one _nom-de-plume_ in these affairs of deceitful correspondence, shelley employed several _aliases_ for his more effectual concealment; and whilst using different names he misdescribed himself in various ways to the persons with whom he held intercourse through the post. whilst some of his correspondents were given to understand that he was a sceptical layman, others were led to imagine him a sceptic in holy orders. the prelates and other learned divines who answered his letters answered them under misconceptions, arising chiefly or altogether from his misstatements. at least on one occasion he signed with a woman's name, that of course accorded with the tenor, tone, and handwriting of the epistle to which it was appended. the bishop, whom the poet thus lured in controversy (_vide_ medwin's _life_, i. p. ), was under the impression that his correspondent was a gentlewoman. referring to the day he passed with his cousin at oxford in lent term, , medwin remarks:-- 'he showed and read to me many letters he had received in controversies he had originated with learned divines; among the rest with a bishop, under the assumed name of a woman.... it is to be lamented,' medwin adds, 'that all his letters written at this time should have perished, as they would throw light on the speculations of his active and inquiring mind.' whether they would materially enlarge our knowledge of the poet's intellectual and moral constitution is questionable; but it cannot be doubted the recovery of the vanished epistles would afford some curious examples of the untruthfulness of which the singularly outspoken and truth-loving shelley was capable. instead of expressing, or hinting disapproval of his cousin's duplicity, mr. medwin only regrets so few illustrations of so droll a practice should have been preserved. to mr. medwin the whole business of these shelleyan fabrications appears equally innocent and diverting; and in this respect he resembles the shelleyan enthusiasts of later time, who regard the same evidence of the truth-loving shelley's staggering untruthfulness, merely as so much testimony that he was an exceedingly clever and amusing young gentleman, and that the learned divines whom he tricked with untruths must have been stupid fellows and sad simpletons. to persons of sufficient culture and sensibility, as well as of sufficient sobriety, to delight in shelley's poetry, without at the same time thinking he might have been the saviour of the world, it is not obvious why shelley should be held guiltless of untruth when he wrote to a bishop of the church of england that he was a lady, and as a lady threw himself upon the same bishop's charitable consideration. of course shelley had a powerful imagination. that is a fact which the shelleyan enthusiasts take care we should not forget. but it is inconceivable (_surely_ it is inconceivable even to the shelleyan enthusiasts) that, whilst writing to the right reverend father in god, the undergraduate of university college, oxford, believed that he really was a young lady, and that as a young lady he might claim a large measure of the bishop's charitable aid and sympathy. to sober and fairly intelligent persons it appears, that, whether it is composed to win confidence which shall be fruitful of a few half-crowns, or to win such confidence as shall dispose its receiver to expend time and labour for the sender's advantage, a letter of false pretences is an act of imposture, of which rogues are likely, and no quite honest gentleman is at all likely, to be guilty. for myself,--in the course of every year i receive several letters from strangers asking me to give them money; and as many letters from strangers of education and apparent honesty asking me to give them time and labour and judgment, for their assistance in their literary enterprises. i answer some of the former letters after inquiry, and i answer all the latter letters without suspicious inquiry, from a mere wholesome habit of believing what people say. but should it come to my knowledge that a writer of any of those latter letters had lured me by false representations into troubling myself about his affairs, i should naturally think the letter-writer an impostor, and think myself the victim of imposture. the letters that passed between hogg and shelley during the christmas vacation ( - ) afford evidence that throughout the holidays the future poet found diversion in incidents arising out of his deceitful and delusive correspondence with persons, to whom he was not known personally. respecting one of his correspondents--the 'w.' whom mr. maccarthy mistook for william godwin--shelley wrote on th december, :--'i wrote to him when in london, by way of a gentle alterative. he promised to write to me when he had time, seemed surprised at what i said, yet directed to me as the reverend: his amazement must be extreme.' no one knew better than this interesting young gentleman, what good cause w. had for amazement with his reverend correspondent. after the christmas vacation, shelley returned to university college with a strong disposition to enlarge his correspondence with strangers, and to extend the field of his operations for disturbing people in their religious opinions. having left oxford in december, believing in the existence of god, he returned to oxford in january with the conviction that there was no god. in michaelmas term ( ) he had regarded christianity as a rather narrowing and otherwise baneful delusion, from which people should be weaned. in lent term ( ) he regarded all religions as unutterably hateful, as alike injurious to human nature and destructive to human happiness. anger at the religious steadfastness and intolerance, which determined miss harriett grove to dismiss him from her acquaintance, had determined him to kill every religion, so that no religion should be left for people to be intolerant about. having left oxford, in december, with an opinion that all religions were equally ridiculous, he returned to oxford, in january, with the opinion that all religions were equally detestable,--with the resolve to _slay_ religious intolerance, to _stab her secretly_, by secretly stabbing and slaying the religious faith that, besides being the generator, was the vital force, of religious intolerance. to slay intolerance, the arch-enemy and arch-destroyer of the sweetest human affections and the most sacred social ties, he would slay creed,--stabbing her secretly, whilst wearing the disguise of a christian. in december ( ) it satisfied him to deride christianity; at the end of january ( ) he was determined to kill the belief in god. any reader who thinks i have overstated the purpose of this undergraduate (whose feeble pen had produced nothing stronger than _st. irvyne_), will cease to think so, after perusing attentively and judicially the letters which he wrote to hogg, during the christmas holidays. in the execution of this determination to slay the belief in god (by stabbing it secretly), this singularly outspoken and truthful shelley, whilst still pretending to be a christian by remaining at oxford and attending the religious services of his college chapel, wrote (with hogg's help) _anonymously_, and circulated _secretly_ with anonymous or false letters, the following tract (which readers of this work should peruse deliberately) on the necessity of atheism. 'a close examination of the validity of the proofs adduced to support any proposition, has ever been allowed to be the only sure way of attaining truth, upon the advantages of which it is unnecessary to descant; our knowledge of the existence of a deity is a subject of such importance, that it cannot be too minutely investigated; in consequence of this conviction, we proceed briefly and impartially to examine the proofs which have been adduced. it is necessary first to consider the nature of belief. 'when a proposition is offered to the mind, it perceives the agreement or disagreement of the ideas of which it is composed. a perception of their agreement is termed belief, many obstacles frequently prevent this perception from being immediate, these the mind attempts to remove in order that the perception may be distinct. the mind is active in the investigation, in order to perfect the state of perception which is passive; the investigation being confused with the perception has induced many falsely to imagine that the mind is active in belief, that belief is an act of volition, in consequence of which it may be regulated by the mind; pursuing, continuing this mistake they have attached a degree of criminality to disbelief of which in its nature it is incapable; it is equally so of merit. 'the strength of belief like that of every other passion is in proportion to the degrees of excitement. 'the degrees of excitement are three. 'the senses are the sources of all knowledge to the mind, consequently their evidence claims the strongest assent. 'the decision of the mind founded upon our own experience derived from these sources, claims the next degree. 'the experience of others, which addresses itself to the former one, occupies the lowest degree.-- 'consequently no testimony can be admitted which is contrary to reason, reason is founded on the evidence of our senses. 'every proof may be referred to one of these three divisions; we are naturally led to consider what arguments we receive from each of them to convince us of the existence of a deity. ' st. the evidence of the senses.--if the deity should appear to us, if he should convince our senses of his existence, this revelation would necessarily command belief:--those to whom the deity has thus appeared, have the strongest possible conviction of his existence. 'reason claims the nd place, it is urged that man knows that whatever is, must either have had a beginning or existed from all eternity, he also knows that whatever is not eternal must have had a cause.--where this is applied to the existence of the universe, it is necessary to prove that it was created; until that is clearly demonstrated, we may reasonably suppose that it has endured from all eternity.--in a case where two propositions are diametrically opposite, the mind believes that which is less incomprehensible, it is easier to suppose that the universe has existed from all eternity, than to conceive a being capable of creating it; if the mind sinks beneath the weight of the one, is it an alleviation to increase the intolerability of the burden?--the other argument which is founded upon a man's knowledge of his own existence stands thus:--a man knows not only he now is, but that there was a time when he did not exist, consequently there must have been a cause.--but what does this prove? we can only infer from effects causes exactly adequate to those effects:--but there certainly is a generative power which is effected by particular instruments; we cannot prove that it is inherent in these instruments, nor is the contrary hypothesis capable of demonstration; we admit that the generative power is incomprehensible, but to suppose that the same effect is produced by an eternal, omniscient, almighty being, leaves the cause in the same obscurity, but renders it more incomprehensible. 'the rd and last degree of assent is claimed by testimony--it is required that it should not be contrary to reason.--the testimony that the deity convinces the senses of men of his existence can only be admitted by us, if our mind considers it less probable that these men should have been deceived, than that the deity should have appeared to them--our reason can never admit the testimony of men, who not only declare that they were eye-witnesses of miracles but that the deity was irrational, for he commanded that he should be believed, he proposed the highest rewards for faith, eternal punishments for disbelief--we can only command voluntary actions, belief is not an act of volition, the mind is even passive, from this it is evident that we have not sufficient testimony, or rather that testimony is insufficient to prove the being of a god, we have before shewn that it cannot be deduced from reason,--they who have been convinced by the evidence of the senses, they only can believe it. 'from this it is evident that having no proofs from any of the three sources of conviction: the mind _cannot_ believe the existence of a god, it is also evident that as belief is a passion of the mind, no degree of criminality can be attached to disbelief, they only are reprehensible who willingly neglect to remove the false medium thro' which their mind views the subject. 'it is almost unnecessary to observe, that the general knowledge of the deficiency of such proof, cannot be prejudicial to society: truth has always been found to promote the best interests of mankind.--every reflecting mind must allow that there is no proof of the existence of a deity. q.e.d.' on a separate leaf between the title-page and the first page of the text of the tract the author put this 'advertisement:--as a love of truth is the only motive which actuates the author of this little tract, he earnestly entreats that those of his readers who may discover any deficiency in his reasoning, or may be in possession of proofs which his mind could never obtain, would offer them, together with their objections, to the public, as briefly as methodically, as plainly as he has taken the liberty of doing. thro' deficiency of proof,--an atheist.' in the middle of the title-page appears this title, 'quod clarâ et perspicuâ demonstratione careat pro vero habere mens omnino nequit humana.'--_bacon de augment. scient._; whilst at the foot of the same page appears this announcement:--'worthing.--printed by e. & w. phillips. sold in london and oxford.' it having been so often asserted that this tract was neither published nor printed with a view to ordinary publication, readers should take note of the words, 'sold in london and oxford.' the promise of these words was fulfilled, at least so far as oxford was concerned. duly advertised in the _oxford herald_ of th february, , on the eve of its publication, the tract was offered for sale at oxford in the usual way. even by mr. buxton forman it is admitted that the tract 'was "on sale" in oxford for twenty minutes.' mr. forman does not say who counted the minutes. possibly the expression was merely meant by mr. forman to signify that the work was on sale for part only of a single day. that it was no longer on sale within their jurisdiction was, of course, due to the authorities of the university, whose prompt action for the suppression of the work may be presumed to have been the direct or indirect cause of the destruction of the copies of the pamphlet, lying in the hands of the author's oxford bookseller. however they may differ about the literary style and logical force of this tract, all fair readers must allow that it exhibits no signs of levity, no indication of having been thrown off in jest as a satire on the class of performances to which it really belongs. from the first line to the last, it accords with the atheist's declaration (in the advertisement) that he is actuated by a love of truth, and is earnestly desirous that its arguments may receive serious consideration. yet it has been described as a mere harmless piece of fun. the shelleyan apologists call attention to the brevity of the monograph, as though it were a fact in shelley's favour. it is suggested that serious books are long books of many pages with many words on a page; and that so short an essay (even if it was wrong of shelley to produce it) should be regarded as a trivial performance, and its publication as nothing worse than a trivial indiscretion; the implication being that the master and fellows of university college were guilty of monstrous injustice and cruelty in expelling the author of so small a work. in thus prating about the insignificant size of the work, these apologists resemble the peccant maid-servant, who pleaded that, if she had given birth to an infant without having gone through any form of lawful marriage, it should be remembered, in palliation of the misdemeanour, that her baby was an unusually little one. writing from those 'authentic sources,' which have afforded her much strange misinformation, lady shelley assures us that the little pamphlet was a 'publication consisting of only two pages;' whereas if she will only return to her original sources and count the duly numbered pages, the author of _shelley memorials_ will discover that the text of the small treatise occupies _seven pages_, besides the title-page and the page exhibiting the 'advertisement,' which is no immaterial part of the composition. how came lady shelley to count the pages so carelessly? lady shelley is curiously wrong on other points about this little pamphlet. 'in point of fact,' we are told by the lady who suffered so acutely from hogg's inaccuracies, 'the pamphlet did not contain any positive assertion.' why, the tract is made of positive assertions; it would not be easy for lady shelley to find another tract of the same length, containing a greater number of positive assertions. the tract concludes with a sentence of these words:--'every reflecting mind must allow that there is no proof of the existence of a deity;' words followed by what the lady calls 'a q. e. d.' what more does this assertion require to render it 'positive?' speaking from her original sources, lady shelley tells us that shelley wrote the little pamphlet 'hastily,' and 'with his habitual disregard of consequences.' how a pamphlet, made up out of the 'very careful analysis' of hume's _essays_, which shelley and his friend had prepared in the previous term, can be said to have been written hastily, is not apparent. hogg's narrative, and the extant letter that passed between him and shelley in the christmas holidays, abound with evidence that the latter came gradually to his opinions touching the non-existence of deity, and that the pamphlet was the result of much deliberation. it is no less certain that instead of publishing the tract with 'habitual disregard of consequences,' shelley gave much thought to the consequences of a discovery that he wrote it. publishing it anonymously, he was at much pains to keep the authorship a secret. yet further we are assured by lady shelley:-- 'the publication ... seemed rather to imply, on the part of the writer, a desire to obtain better reasoning on the side of commonly received opinion, than any wish to overthrow with sudden violence the grounds of men's belief.' the reader who knows the circumstances under, and the end for, which the pamphlet was produced, and has perused the _ipsissima verba_ of the tract, may be left to form his own opinion of this example of the way in which the authorities of field place would write the poet's history. i would not be wanting in courtesy to mr. garnett of the british museum, of whom i would say nothing worse than that he is wildly and inexplicably inaccurate in what he has written about _the necessity of atheism_. there is a curious discrepancy between lady shelley's account and mr. garnett's description of the famous tract. whilst lady shelley regards the pamphlet as a serious attempt to strengthen the evidences of the existence of the deity, by eliciting 'better reasoning on the side of the commonly received' view, mr. garnett declares that the essay was a mere piece of caustic playfulness. 'after hogg's account of it,' says mr. garnett, in his article on _shelley in pall mall_, 'it is sufficiently clear that this alarming performance was nothing else than a squib, prompted by the decided success of the burlesque verses the friends had published in the name of "my aunt margaret nicholson."' a squib, in the sense suggested by mr. garnett, is a flash of humour, a lampoon, a slight satire, a little censorious writing. a learned gentleman, mr. garnett knows well enough what 'squib' means, when it is applied to a little book. yet he tells the readers of _macmillan's magazine_ that shelley's serious argument against the belief in god was a mere product of caustic fun and humorous sprightliness. what a charge to make against shelley! mr. garnett is one of shelley's friends, admirers, idolaters; and he declares that shelley made a jest of the most solemn and awful of all momentous questions; was so droll a fellow that he styled himself an atheist, and argued against the existence of the deity in pure sportiveness. this is how shelley is dealt with by one of his peculiar friends! what does mr. garnett mean by giving hogg as his authority for saying that _the necessity of atheism_ was a squib, when hogg is at pains to say the tract was no such thing? hogg writes lightly and seriously by turns of the tract, as he does of other matters of the poet's story. he speaks of the pamphlet as 'a small pill that worked powerfully.' to minimize the importance of the work, for which he was even more accountable than shelley; to make the least of the serious offence, touching his own character no less hurtfully than shelley's reputation, hogg calls it a 'little pamphlet,' 'a general issue,' 'a compendious allegation in order to put the whole case in proof,' 'a formal mode of saying, you affirm so-and-so, then prove it,' 'a little syllabus,' 'an innocent and insignificant thesis propounded for the delectation of lovers of logomachy,' a tract that 'was never offered for sale.' in this style hogg speaks lightly of the work, that was the central incident of the painful business, about which he felt too acutely and personally to his last hour, to be able to speak of it truthfully. the whole affair was one of the few subjects on which the otherwise substantially honest biographer was untruthful. consequently, had he called the tract a squib, in some sentence at discord with his other statements about the pamphlet, mr. garnett would not have been justified in fathering his own discovery on an authority, so unworthy of perfect credit on this particular subject. but hogg nowhere calls the tract a squib. on the contrary, he guards against any such misconstruction and misinterpretation of his lighter remarks, and is at pains to say that, so far as shelley was concerned, the pamphlet was an altogether serious performance. 'in describing briefly the nature of shelley's epistolary contentions,' hogg says, 'the recollection of his youth, his zeal, his activity, and particularly of many individual peculiarities, may have tempted me to speak sometimes with a certain levity, notwithstanding the solemn importance of the topics respecting which they were frequently maintained. the impression that they were conducted on his part, or considered by him, with frivolity, or any unseemly lightness, would, however, be most erroneous; his whole frame of mind was grave, earnest, and anxious, and his deportment was reverential, with an edification reaching beyond the age--an age wanting in reverence.' be it remembered that, in the later weeks of shelley's second term of residence, the printed tract was a main feature and chief instrument of the 'epistolary contentions' to which the biographer refers? how then came mr. garnett to give hogg as his authority for saying this 'grave, earnest, and anxious shelley' diverted himself at oxford with writing a squib on the most awful of all sacred subjects? how are we to account for so staggering a misrepresentation of the evidence of hogg's book? in his article on _shelley in pall mall_, mr. garnett speaks no less strongly than precisely of the evidential force of certain shelleyan documents, not under the view of the public. what value should we assign to evidence, respecting documents we cannot examine, from a gentleman who can misrepresent in so extraordinary a manner the evidence of a printed book open to the whole world's scrutiny? when _the necessity of atheism_ had been printed by messrs. e. and w. phillips, of worthing, it was shelley's practice to send a copy of the performance to any notable divine or other personage whom he wished to draw into a controversial correspondence, together with a brief note (under a false signature and address), saying-- 'that he had met with that little tract, which appeared, unhappily, to be quite unanswerable. unless,' hogg continues, 'the fish was too sluggish to take the bait, an answer of refutation was forwarded to an appointed address in london, and then in a vigorous reply he would fall upon the unwary disputant, and break his bones. the strenuous attack sometimes provoked a rejoinder more carefully prepared, and an animated and protracted debate ensued: the party cited, having put in his answer, was fairly in court, and he might get out of it as he could.' it was thus that 'the innocent and insignificant thesis propounded for the delectation of lovers of logomachy' (hogg's description of the tract) was floated into circulation, by force of lie upon lie. instead of being 'propounded for the delectation of lovers of logomachy,' it is stated by hogg himself that the tract was composed and put in type because shelley, finding strangers slow to notice a written challenge to argument, conceived they would be attracted by a printed syllabus. true, so far as it goes, this statement gives only part of the truth. seeing that a printed scheme for disputation would be more attractive, shelley saw also that he could not spare the time to produce a manuscript syllabus (written by his own hand) for each of the many persons whose bones he was set on breaking. the day on which the undergraduate of university college received his first lot of printed copies from the worthing printers is unknown; but it cannot have preceded by many days the appearance in the _oxford herald_ ( th february, ,) of this advertisement:--'speedily will be published, to be had of the booksellers of london and oxford, _the necessity of atheism_. "quod clarâ et perspicuâ demonstratione careat pro vero habere, mens omnino nequit humana."--_bacon de augment. scient._' probably the appearance of this advertisement in the oxford newspaper followed closely upon the arrival at shelley's rooms in university college of the first lot of printed copies from worthing. anyhow, the authorities of the university were advertised, so early as the th of february, that a work, to demonstrate the necessity of atheism, would be speedily offered for sale within their jurisdiction. inserted in a newspaper, read by many members of the university, this advertisement came quickly under the eyes of the vice-chancellor and proctors of the university, the heads of houses, and all other persons especially concerned in the maintenance of academic discipline at the seat of learning. there was gossip in the common-rooms. sitting over their port, doctors of divinity and masters of arts exchanged sentiments respecting the audacious announcement. the proctors took counsel with their pro-proctors, and the acutest and most discreet of 'the bull-dogs' was ordered to keep a sharp look-out for the first copy of the atrocious publication that should be offered for sale in any bookseller's window. of course it was the opinion of the authorities that mr. munday, the proprietor of the _oxford herald_, knew the atheist's real name; at least could say what induced him to put such a staggering advertisement in his paper. it cannot be questioned that mr. munday's shop, the office of the _oxford herald_, was watched day and night by persons who were instructed to take note of all individuals visiting the printer's premises. doubtless, also, the people at the post office were affected by the measures, taken by the academic authorities for the discovery of the person or persons, who should venture to sell atheistical literature in the city of the church. the vice-chancellor and proctors have good and sufficient means of observing what is done at oxford in this present year of grace, and had even better means of observation seventy years since. whilst the academic authorities were taking measures for the discovery of any persons who should trouble the university with an atheistical publication, shelley was sending out copies of the tract, and replying to the letters of his numerous correspondents. each of the copies so sent forth by the author was commended to the careful consideration of its recipient by several falsehoods,--the untruths of the printed advertisement, and the untruths of the letter accompanying the work. it was untrue that the author's 'only motive' in putting the tract in circulation was 'a love of truth;' he was actuated by resentment against the religious earnestness which had caused miss harriett grove to dismiss him from her acquaintance, and by a desire to slay what he called bigotry and intolerance. it was untrue that he hoped earnestly the recipient of the pamphlet would show him defects in his arguments; all he desired being a reply that would afford him an opportunity for breaking the replicant's bones! it was untrue that he had come accidentally on the little tract, which he had written himself. it was not true that the apparent conclusiveness of the arguments caused him unhappiness. the name appended to his letter was a false name; the address from which he pretended to write was a falsehood. when he pretended to be a woman he was guilty of another falsehood. the most offensive of all the falsehoods was the profession that he was suffering from his religious doubts, and sincere in asking the stranger to aid him in dispersing them. it has been repeatedly urged, in palliation of the falsehoods shelley employed in provoking and prosecuting 'his epistolary contentions,' that the scholars of former time, who brought about the revival of letters or were the offspring of the revival, contended with one another by epistles as well as by word of mouth, and that their letters, instead of being signed with their rightful christian names and surnames, were usually signed with fanciful names of their own manufacture. the apology, were it true to the facts of the ancient fashion, would not justify shelley's deceits; but it is a misrepresentation of the innocent usage of the old disputants. the mediæval scholar, who wrangled and wrote under an assumed name, held steadily to his adopted name, so that he was known by it and by no other name in the universities and scholarly guilds. when gerard's illegitimate son had once styled himself desiderius erasmus, in accordance with the innocent though fantastic and pedantic fashion of his contemporaries, he was styled so to his dying hour. the man who thus takes a name and sticks to it, whether he be a soldier or lawyer, a politician or dramatic actor, is guilty of no falsehood. erasmus did not change his name every day of the week from a deceitful motive; he did not use a score of _aliases_ at the same time; it was not his habit to write to charitable people saying that he was a woman, and whilst feigning to be some one else to pretend he was living in one place whilst he was living in another place. in his epistolary diversions the singularly outspoken and truth-loving shelley was guilty of all these various forms of misrepresentation. he used a score of different names, misrepresented his sex, told fibs about his address, said he was unhappy at what caused him delight, declared himself to have come accidentally on the book written by his own hand, declared to strangers that he was actuated solely by love of truth at the moment when he was boasting to hogg that he was animated by hatred of religion. it cannot be denied that he was habitually guilty of all these different forms of deceit. it is admitted he was guilty of them, even by those who extol him for his singular frankness and sincerity. the end to shelley's oxford career came suddenly. from the day of his return to college after the christmas vacation, things had gone pleasantly with the undergraduate. when medwin, on passing through oxford, spent a day with his cousin, he found him agreeably diverted with the incidents of his controversial correspondence with learned divines, including the bishop who thought him a woman. he was exchanging letters with charming little harriett westbrook. his efforts for the benefit of miss janetta phillips had been successful. he was on friendly, if not affectionate, terms with his father, and was at work on the poem for the newdigate prize. in spite of all mr. denis florence maccarthy says to the contrary, he delighted as much as heretofore in the society of hogg. the term was drawing to an end, and in a week or two the young men hoped to be at field place, in the society of the young lady, whose assent to their wishes would make them brothers-in-law. nothing had occurred to forewarn him of the storm so soon to break in fury upon him, when, one fine, bright, cheery morning, mr. percy bysshe shelley received a summons to appear before the master and some of the fellows of his college in their common-room. it does not appear that, together with the summons, shelley received an intimation of the business that made the master and 'dons' wish to see him. it is more than probable that the messenger who brought the summons left the undergraduate to conjecture, why he was required to meet the magnates of the college in their common-room soon after the usual hour for breakfast. he can scarcely be supposed, however, to have gone to the common-room without an apprehension that _the necessity of atheism_ had something to do with the summons. his suspense was of no long duration. the master and two or three fellows were awaiting his arrival when he entered the room, and, on his appearance, the master produced a copy of _the little syllabus_. how the pamphlet came to the master's hands is unknown to the present writer. there is reason to think the work had not been on sale in oxford for many days, though its speedy publication had been advertised in the _oxford herald_ on the th of the previous month. there is reason for thinking that th march, , the day of shelley's expulsion, was also the day on which the tract was first offered for sale in oxford. after the author's disgrace, no tradesman of the city would have ventured to offer the work to customers in the ordinary way of business. as the university police were doubtless on the look-out for the publication, it is not to be supposed that the tract had been long on sale before it came to the master's hands. i should not be surprised to learn that the first copy displayed in mr. munday's shop-window was snapped up by an officer of the university within a few minutes of its appearance there, and that the policeman's act was speedily followed by the delivery of a notice, that determined mr. munday to lose no time in destroying all the copies of the work remaining in his possession. in fact, i should not be surprised to learn that mr. buxton forman had good authority for the precise number of minutes which he represents (figuratively or literally) as covering the time during which the tract was on sale at oxford. to imagine all this is, of course, also to conceive that the authorities of university college had already completed their inquiries respecting the work, had discovered the author, and at the break of the th day of march, were only waiting for an act of formal publication, to take promptly a course of action on which they had previously decided. anyhow, they were ready for decisive action on the young author's appearance before them. they certainly acted on that occasion with vigour and apparent promptitude; but it does not follow that they acted without due inquiry and deliberation. anyhow, they fastened the deed on the door. they knew that shelley was one of the authors, if not the sole author, of the tract. if, as shelley and hogg averred, the sentence for shelley's expulsion was signed and sealed before he entered the common-room, the fact merely shows that the authorities came there only to act on the result of previous inquiry. the fact does not indicate precipitation or prejudgment of the case,--_i.e._ judgment before sufficient inquiry and clear discovery. it is not wonderful the master and fellows knew all about the matter; for at oxford the academic authorities had great facilities for inquiry into such a business. through inquiries and observations at the post office, the university police could easily discover to whom shelley was writing letters,--to what address in london he was sending letters. it was easy work in the course of a few weeks to gather information from persons who had received copies of _the_ pamphlet, together with letters in the author's handwriting. it was also easy for the master and 'dons' of university college to gather additional information respecting shelley's previous history. there _is_ now, and _was_, seventy years since, close and confidential intercourse between the authorities of the universities and the authorities of the public schools. a boy does not leave eton with a very bad character and enter oxford with a good one. from the date of his matriculation the 'dons' of university college knew what kind of boy shelley was at eton. as soon as he began to trouble them at oxford, they knew what to expect from him, and how they must deal with him. how did the outspoken and truth-loving shelley act when the master, taking the tract from his pocket, inquired whether he wrote it? did he, in a manner becoming a martyr for the truth's sake, reply, 'yes, sir, i wrote the pamphlet, and it declares faithfully my sincere convictions'? did he in a manner suitable to a gentleman (interrogated by his collegiate superiors on a matter about which they had a clear right to question him, and about which they were bound to question him) answer frankly, 'yes, sir, and i am prepared to take the consequences of my act'? not a bit of it. the frank, outspoken, fearless shelley shuffled and quibbled like an attorney's copying-clerk. he asked the master's purpose in putting the question. he told the master to produce his evidence. he blustered about the injustice and illegality of the master's proceedings. then, losing his temper, he became abusive. he accused the master (who was only doing his duty) of tyranny, injustice, and vulgar violence. he asked for the production of evidence, demanded a formal trial, and yet refused to plead 'not guilty.' all that is known respecting what passed between the master and fellows on the one hand, and the contumacious undergraduate on the other hand, within the four walls of the common-room, comes to us from shelley himself, by way of hogg's pen. one would fain have a more reliable witness. but in default of better testimony, we must be content with the report of shelley's evidence against himself. it had been arranged between the two friends that hogg should come to shelley's rooms at an unusually early hour on the lady-day of . in accordance with this appointment, hogg (little imagining what was even then going on in the common-room) entered his friend's apartment, whilst the latter was with 'the dons,' or on his way back from his interview with them. in a minute shelley rushed into the room, terribly agitated. 'i am expelled,' he cried in a shrill voice, 'i am expelled! i was sent for suddenly a few minutes ago; i went to the common-room, where i found our master and two or three of the fellows. the master produced a copy of the _little syllabus_, and asked me if i were the author of it. he spoke in a rude, abrupt, and insolent tone. i begged to be informed for what purpose he put the question. no answer was given; but the master loudly and angrily repeated, "are you the author of this book?" "if i can judge from your manner," i said, "you are resolved to punish me if i should acknowledge that it is my work. if you can prove that it is, produce your evidence; it is neither just nor lawful to interrogate me in such a case and for such a purpose. such proceedings would become a court of inquisitors, but not free men in a free country." "do you choose to deny that this is your composition?" the master reiterated in the same rude and angry voice. shelley (hogg continues) complained much of his violent and ungentlemanlike deportment, saying, "i have experienced tyranny and injustice before, and i well know what vulgar violence is; but i never met with such unworthy treatment." i told him calmly, but firmly, that i was determined not to answer any questions respecting the publication on the table. he immediately repeated his demand; i persisted in my refusal; and he said furiously, "then you are expelled; and i desire you will quit the college early to-morrow morning at the latest." one of the fellows took up two papers, and handed one of them to me; here it is.' he produced a regular sentence of expulsion, drawn up in due form, under the seal of the college. here we have shelley's account of the affair; or, to speak precisely, hogg's report of shelley's account of the affair. there appears no reason to question the substantial accuracy of the narrative. allowance for prejudice and partiality must, of course, be made by the reader, especially in respect to those words that relate to the demeanour of the master and fellows. one can believe the authorities were gracious neither in their looks nor their voices. there was no reason why they should affect complaisance. if they were rude and harsh in style, shelley admits that he was insolent and abusive. it is noteworthy that as soon as the collegiate powers, to whose 'civility' he had borne witness on a previous occasion, presumed to exercise authority over him, the undergraduate (of whose sweet gentleness we have heard so much) flew at them in a manner that was neither gentle nor sweet. in a moment he became the same contumacious youngster who had given his etonian masters so much trouble. there is no reason to suppose that hogg misreported shelley, or that shelley was inaccurate in the words, 'one of the fellows took up two papers and handed one of them to me.' the other paper was doubtless a similar writ of expulsion that had been prepared for delivery to hogg. it follows, therefore, that before shelley entered the common-room, the authorities had determined to dismiss both of the undergraduates from the college, and that hogg learnt he was under sentence of banishment from shelley's lips. like a true durham-and-yorkshireman, hogg seized the bull by the horns. seeing he would be expelled, was in fact already under sentence of expulsion, he saw it would be to his advantage to make it appear that he had been expelled for loyalty to his friend. it would discredit him with his kindred near stockton-on-tees to be expelled for conspiring with shelley to teach atheism; on the other hand it would be rather to his credit with them, and all other robust hearers of the affair, to be expelled for sticking pluckily to a comrade in trouble. seeing the politic course he took it boldly. instead of going to his own rooms, where he would either find a written summons or a messenger inviting him to the conclave of 'dons' in the common-room, this smart young man seized a pen, and forthwith wrote the master and fellows an impudent letter, enjoining them to reconsider their action towards shelley, recall their sentence of expulsion, retrace their steps, and behave better in the future. never was an undergraduate, already under sentence of expulsion, guilty of more extravagant insolence to the authorities of his college. that hogg was guilty of this act of cunning effrontery to the master and fellows, about whose insolence and vulgarity he is so indignant, we know from his own boastful confession. 'i wrote,' he says, 'a short note to the master and fellows, in which, as far as i can remember a very hasty composition after a long interval, i briefly expressed my sorrow at the treatment my friend had experienced, and my hope that they would reconsider their sentence, since, by the same course of proceedings, myself, or any other person, might be subjected to the same penalty, and to the imputation of equal guilt. the note was despatched; the conclave was still sitting; and in an instant the porter came to summon me to attend, bearing in his countenance a promise of the reception which i was about to find. the angry and troubled air of men, assembled to commit injustice according to established forms, was then new to me; but a native instinct told me, as soon as i entered the room, that it was an affair of party; that whatever could conciliate the favour of the patrons was to be done without scruple; and whatever could tend to impede preferment was to be brushed away without remorse. the glowing master produced my poor note. i acknowledged it; and he forthwith put into my hands, not less abruptly, the little syllabus. "did you write this?" he asked, as fiercely as if i alone stood between him and the rich see of durham. i attempted, submissively, to point out to him the extreme unfairness of the question; the injustice of punishing shelley for refusing to answer it.... when i was silent, the master told me to retire, and to consider whether i was resolved to persist in my refusal.... i had scarcely passed the door, however, when i was recalled. the master again showed me the book, and hastily demanded whether i admitted or denied that i was the author of it. i answered that i was fully sensible of the many and great inconveniences of being dismissed with disgrace from the university, and i specified some of them, and expressed a humble hope that they would not impose such a mark of discredit upon me without any cause. i lamented that it was impossible either to admit or deny the publication,--no man of spirit could submit to do so;--and that a sense of duty compelled me respectfully to refuse to answer the question which had been proposed. "then you are expelled," said the master angrily, in a loud, great voice. a formal sentence, duly signed and sealed, was instantly put into my hand; in what interval the instrument had been drawn up i cannot imagine. the alleged offence was a contumacious refusal to disavow the imputed publication. my eye glanced over it, and observing the word _contumaciously_, i said, calmly, that i did not think that term was justified by my behaviour.' this is the substance of hogg's prolix account of his own expulsion; an account at conflict in one important particular with shelley's narrative of his expulsion, and affording several grounds for declaring it untruthful. two writs--one of them certainly a writ of expulsion, and the other presumably a writ of expulsion--having been drawn up before shelley entered the common-room, and hogg having been told that whilst the one writ was given to shelley the other was reserved by the 'dons,' the north-countryman had good ground for thinking the writ so reserved was the writ eventually given to him. if his account of the affair was truthful, in respect to the brevity of the conference and quickness of the proceedings, a third writ could not have been made out and sealed during so short and stormy a conference. there is no reason (apart from certain words of hogg's narrative that seems to have been written disingenuously) for thinking a third writ was substituted for the reserved writ. hogg cannot be supposed to have thought a third writ was so substituted. he must have assumed at the time that the writ, put into his hand, was the reserved writ of which shelley had told him. in suggesting that the writ put into his hand was drawn up during the warm colloquy (_in what interval_ of it he could not _imagine_), hogg must be thought to have written disingenuously, the object of the disingenuous writing being to cover a misdescription of the instrument itself. the writ having been penned before shelley entered the common-room, it cannot have alleged that the sentence of expulsion was consequent on a 'contumacious refusal to disavow the imported publication.' possibly the offence was not specified in the document. but if it was mentioned the instrument must have declared the sentence consequent on the atheistical writing. hogg's motive for misdescribing the document is obvious. smarting under the imputation of atheism, the church-and-state tory freethinker to the last represented himself to society as a sufferer from loyalty to his friend, and he misdescribed the writ so as to make it harmonize with the creditable view of his case. the evidences are conflicting in some particulars and deficient in others, but the case may be stated thus:--hogg and shelley were the joint authors of the atheistical pamphlet, the former being on the whole the more culpable. this tract was put in circulation, and announced for sale, in oxford. having obtained proof that the tract was the production of the two undergraduates, the authorities of university college determined to expel the joint-authors as soon as the work should be offered for sale within the academic bounds. acting on this resolve they sent in the forenoon of lady-day for the culprits, summoning shelley first as the one who had employed the printer, and been the busier in putting the tract in circulation. to put himself in a position to say that he had not been expelled for writing the atheistical tract, but merely for declining on grounds of principle to say whether he was concerned in the publication, shelley refused to answer 'ay' or 'nay' to the master's questions. for this contumacy alone the authorities would have been justified in dismissing him from the college. but using the writ drawn up before the refusal to answer questions, they expelled him as the joint author and promulgator of an atheistical work. hogg was dealt with in like manner, and for the same reason, although he tried at the time to put his inevitable punishment on another ground, and subsequently took credit to himself for standing chivalrously by his friend, when he might (as he averred) have escaped punishment by a less generous course. that he knew he was under sentence of expulsion before he wrote the insolent letter to the 'dons' is sufficient proof that he was actuated by no chivalrous motive in writing the epistle. to urge that the 'dons' prejudged the case and acted with indecent precipitation, because they drew up the instrument of expulsion before sending for the offenders is absurd, because they knew the delinquents could not clear themselves. events justified the action of the 'dons.' the culprits offered no defence, could not offer any, did not venture to say that they were innocent of the charge. the 'dons' had traced the offence to its actual doers before dismissing them from the college. no one who apprehends the legal constitution of the university, the obligations of the authorities, and the obligations of the undergraduates, can question that the writers of the tract were properly dismissed from university college, as persons who were no longer members of the church of england, or deny that the master and fellows were under the circumstances bound to tell the pamphleteers to go about their business. in his letter, dated th february, , from torquay (a letter already referred to more than once in these pages), shelley's cousin, charles henry grove, says, indeed, of _the necessity of atheism_ and its consequences, 'the pamphlet had not the author's name, but it was suspected in the university who was the author; and the young friends were dismissed from oxford, for contumaciously refusing to deny themselves to be the authors of the work;' words of evidence that shelley's attempt to misrepresent the cause of his dismissal from the university was not unsuccessful within the lines of his domestic circle; or at least of evidence that his near relatives liked to attribute his expulsion to contumacy rather than to atheism. the account, given by shelley of his expulsion to peacock, differed notably in certain particulars from the substantially accurate account he gave on the morning of its occurrence to his fellow-collegian. to thomas love peacock, the poet averred that 'his expulsion was a matter of great form and solemnity,' and that 'there was a sort of public assembly, before which he pleaded his own cause in a long oration, in the course of which he called on the illustrious spirits who had shed glory on those walls, to look down on their degenerate successors.' yet further, in confirmation of this extravagant story, shelley showed peacock an oxford newspaper, or what appeared to be an oxford newspaper, containing a full report of these theatrical proceedings, together with his own oration at great length. 'his oration,' peacock adds (_vide_ _fraser's magazine_, of june, ) 'may have been, as some of cicero's published orations were, a speech in the potential mood; one which might, could, should, or would, have been spoken; but how in that case it got into the oxford newspaper passes conjecture.' to the young gentleman, who made the bishop imagine him a lady, and had confidential relations with john munday (the oxford bookseller and printer of the _oxford herald_), it is no injustice to suggest that, instead of being a veritable copy of the _herald_, the paper exhibited to hogg may have been a 'bogus' copy of the journal, made up in accordance with mr. percy bysshe shelley's instructions, for his private use. no reader, acquainted with oxford and the ways in which things are done in the university (and in 'the city' whose people stand, or used to stand, in wholesome awe of the academic authorities), can need assurance that the business of the expulsion was a strictly private affair; that no proceedings in the case afforded diversion to a public assembly; that mr. percy bysshe shelley delivered no grand oration on the degeneracy of collegiate establishments; and that it is highly improbable any oxford printer ventured to offer the readers of any _bonâ fide_ oxford journal any 'such speech in the potential mood.' on the morning following their expulsion (the morning of th march, ), percy bysshe shelley and thomas jefferson hogg, formerly of university college, oxford, made the journey to london on the outside of a stage-coach. thus shelley passed in disgrace from his university at the close of his second residence-term; an event that may be regarded as the termination of the first period of his literary career. what a disastrous period it was! how fruitful of misadventure, ridicule, catastrophe, and shame! no literary aspirant, destined for imperishable fame, ever made a more inauspicious beginning. in his first voyages on literary waters, byron encountered stormy weather and rough usage. his first book of poetry resembled shelley's maiden volume, in being suppressed for fear of consequences. ere his first razor had lost its edge, he was assailed by the _edinburgh review_. but having weathered the gale, that almost wrecked _the hours of idleness_, he enjoyed merry seas and favourable breezes. a notability before starting for greece, he returned from the 'pilgrimage,' to spring to the highest pinnacle of fame. on leaving oxford, shelley had produced the _victor-and-cazire_ book (suppressed for want of originality); two of the feeblest and absurdest novels ever written in the english tongue; the _posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson_, that, despite all hogg says to the contrary, made him the laughing-stock of oxford; the advertisements of the _poetical essay_ that never saw the light; and (with hogg's help) the _little_ syllabus that brought him to _great_ grief,--to about the greatest disgrace a young man can undergo at manhood's threshold, without falling in the grip of the criminal law. chapter xiv. the spring and summer of . arrival in town--the poland-street exiles--the squire's correspondence with hogg's father--his gentle treatment of shelley--dinner at miller's hotel--hogg's testimony to the squire's worth--shelley's nicknames for his father--shelley rejects his father's terms--shelley offers terms to his father--the squire's indignation--he relents--he makes shelley a liberal allowance--lady shelley's misrepresentations-- the exiles about town--the separation of 'the inseparables'--shelley's intimacy with the westbrooks--john westbrook's calling and character-- taking the sacrament--harriett westbrook's conversion to atheism--her disgrace at school--shelley's measures for illuminating his sister hellen--tourists in wales--the change in elizabeth shelley-- arrangements for a clandestine meeting--mrs. shelley's treatment of her son--captain pilford's kindness to his nephew--harriett westbrook's appeal to shelley--her decision and indecision--from wales to london--hogg's influence--the elopement to scotland--hogg starts for edinburgh. leaving oxford on th march, (tuesday), the expelled oxonians reached london at the close of the day, and after dining at the coffee-house near piccadilly (where they put up for the night) took tea in lincoln's inn fields with shelley's cousins, described by hogg as 'taciturn people, the maxim of whose family appeared to be, that a man should hold his tongue and save his money.' though the groves never wasted words, it is conceivable that their extreme taciturnity on the present occasion was in some degree due to hogg's embarrassing presence. in the hearing of the stranger, whom they most likely held accountable for the catastrophe that had befallen their kinsman, they could scarcely talk, even in their usual guarded manner, of the news the visitors brought with them from the seat of learning. 'bysshe,' says hogg, 'attempted to talk, but the cousins held their peace, and so conversation remained cousin-bound.' the position so fruitful of embarrassment cannot have induced the two comrades in misfortune to prolong the visit to a late hour; and it may be presumed that before midnight they were at piccadilly, in the beds for which the long day on the roof of the stage-coach had disposed them. the next morning they sallied forth to look for lodgings, and before dusk they were settled in the poland street lodgings, where they lived together till about th april, . hogg says they 'lived together nearly a month,' before he went off to north wales, whence he journeyed to york, to make the acquaintance of the provincial conveyancer who had undertaken to introduce him to the mysteries of the law. but as they did not take possession of the lodgings till th march, , and shelley's first letter addressed to his absent friend is dated th april, , their joint-tenancy of the poland street rooms barely exceeded three weeks. mr. timothy shelley was not in town when his scapegrace heir alighted from the coach in piccadilly; but the news of 'the late occurrence at university college' was not long in travelling to the squire of field place, who, putting pen to paper just about the time when the naughty boys were settling into their temporary quarters in poland street, wrote from sussex a characteristic note, recalling the invitation mr. thomas jefferson hogg had received to visit field place in the easter holidays. nine days later ( th april, ) the honest and kindly gentleman was in town, and writing from the house of commons a no less characteristic and even more comical letter (_vide_ hogg's _life_) to hogg's father. thinking it needful in the highest degree that the oxonian 'inseparables' should be separated, mr. timothy shelley invited mr. hogg, senr., to co-operate with him for that end. 'these youngsters,' the member for new shoreham wrote from the house of commons, 'must be parted, and the fathers must exert themselves.' on the same day the member for new shoreham (who without seeing his son had corresponded with him since lady-day) wrote his 'dear boy' a kindly, reasonable, and affectionate letter, to be found in hogg's book. alluding briefly to his son's serious disgrace, the father expressed sympathy with the offender under the shame and trouble he had brought upon himself by 'criminal opinions and improper acts,'--no harsh words, surely, for the description of the youngster's misconduct. in this letter (worded the more cogently because shelley had already shown his resolve to oppose his father's wishes) the squire of field place set forth the terms on which he would forgive his errant child: ( ) shelley was directed 'to go immediately to field place and abstain from all communication with mr. hogg for some considerable time.' ( ) the squire wrote to his son, 'place yourself under the care and society of such gentleman as i shall appoint, and attend to his instructions.' the gentleman, who has been charged with driving his boy from his boyhood's home for publishing _the necessity of atheism_, only required that the lad (_ætat._ ) should go straight home, forego the pleasure of hogg's society for a time, and pursue his studies under the direction of a private tutor. were these terms hard and unreasonable? after setting them forth, the squire no doubt wrote a few big words about his boy's unjustifiable and wicked and diabolical opinions, in the fashion of fathers of the period. but these were the father's terms:--go home, where you will see me next thursday; keep clear for awhile of your partner in mischief, and be a good boy with the tutor who will be found to take charge of you. on the morrow ( th april, ) the honest and troubled gentleman wrote again (_vide_ hogg's _life_) to mr. hogg the elder, urging that their boys should be parted, instead of being allowed 'to go into professions together,' as they wished. it was the squire's intention to use paley's arguments for the correction of his dear boy's erroneous views; to make his young man read paley's _natural theology_; to go through the _natural theology_ with him. 'i shall,' wrote the sorrowful father of field place to the other sorrowful father near stockton-on-tees, 'read it with him. a father so employed must impress his mind more sensibly than a stranger.' this is droll and comical from one point of view, no doubt. but it is also pathetic, and very much to squire timothy's credit. hitherto mr. timothy shelley had not seen his son since 'the late occurrence at university college;' but on the day following the date of his second letter to mr. hogg, senior--_i.e._ on th april, , the first sunday of the month--the young men dined with the member for new shoreham, by invitation, at his hotel (miller's) on the surrey side of the river, hard by westminster bridge. leaving poland street at an early hour, the two youngsters prepared themselves for the repast, to which they had been bidden, with a long walk, during which shelley read aloud several passages, to the excessive ridicule of the jews and their religion, from some critical work on the old testament. on coming to miller's hotel, with faces brightened by exercise in the spring breezes, and complexions reddened by laughter at their author's satirical jocosities, they were welcomed with kindness by mr. timothy shelley, and with cordiality by mr. graham, the squire's 'factotum.' the reception was courteous, but the genial warmth and courtesy of mr. shelley's manner did not render mr. hogg blind to its comical extravagances. 'he presently,' hogg remarks of the squire's demeanour, 'began to talk in an odd, unconnected manner; scolding, crying, swearing, and then weeping again; no doubt, he went on strangely;'--even as honest gentlemen of an old school were apt to do under impulses of strong and conflicting feelings. glad to see his boy who had offended him, angry with himself for letting this pleasure appear, and feeling it incumbent on his parental dignity to affect an air of sternness, mr. timothy shelley was stirred far too deeply to play the part he wished to play, and 'broke down' in an absurd and rather ludicrous fashion, scolding a little, swearing a great deal, and blubbering hysterically in his want of self-control. most young men would have been touched by these exhibitions of feeling, but to hogg and his friend nothing was more obvious than that the 'old boy' was going on strangely. 'what do you think of my father?' shelley inquired in a whisper of hogg, whilst the senior was contending with too powerful emotion. 'he is not your father,' hogg replied slily in reference to the pater omnipotens, of whom they had been reading in the satirical treatise on their way to the hotel. 'it is the god of the jews: the jehovah you have been reading about!'--an answer that tickled shelley's never fine sense of humour so acutely, that he slipt from the edge of his chair, and 'laughing aloud with a wild, demoniacal burst of laughter,' measured his length on the floor, to the surprise and alarm of his father, and mr. graham, who hastened to raise him from the ground. if mr. shelley the elder 'went on strangely,' mr. shelley the younger cannot be said to have behaved in an orderly and commonplace manner. dinner being announced, just as mr. timothy shelley and his factotum had raised the younger mr. shelley to his feet, the party went to the meal, which passed off agreeably. after dinner (in the absence of percy bysshe), hogg had some friendly conversation with the member for new shoreham, about his perplexing son. 'you are a very different person, sir,' said the squire, 'from what i expected to find; you are a nice, moderate, reasonable, pleasant gentleman. tell me what you think i ought to do with my poor boy. he is rather wild; is he not?' 'yes, rather.' 'then, what am i to do?' 'if he had married his cousin, he would perhaps have been less so; he would have been steadier.' 'it is very probable that he would.' 'he wants somebody to take care of him--a good wife. what if he were married?' 'but how can i do that? it is impossible. if i were to tell bysshe to marry a girl, he would refuse directly. i am sure he would. i know him so well.' 'i have no doubt he would refuse, if you were to order him to marry; and i should not blame him. but if you were to bring him in contact with some young lady, who, you believed, would make him a suitable wife, without saying anything about marriage, perhaps he would take a fancy to her; and if he did not like her, you could try another.' it has been remarked by mr. rossetti that this conversation accords in some of its particulars with thornton hunt's unsatisfactory evidence, that shelley indulged at oxford in dissipation, hurtful to his health. hogg's admission that shelley had been 'rather wild,' followed immediately by advice that he should be happily married to a young lady qualified to 'take care of him,' would bear this construction; but it may admit of a different interpretation. young men may be rather wild without being rakish; and rakishness is not the only kind of wildness for which early marriage is often prescribed as a remedy. shelley's reappearance (after executing the errand on which his father had sent him) having put an end to the talk about various young ladies, any one of whom might be appointed to wean him from wildness, tea was served; and after tea there was some conversation on matters pertaining to religion, of which hogg gives the following example:-- 'there is certainly a god,' ejaculated the squire of field place abruptly; 'there can be no doubt of the evidence of a deity; none whatever.' no one showing any disposition to question the assertion, the squire, turning sharply upon hogg, inquired, 'you have no doubt on the subject, sir; have you?' 'none whatever.' 'if you have, i can prove it to you in a moment.' 'i have no doubt.' 'but perhaps you would like to hear my argument?' 'very much.' 'i will read it to you, then,' exclaimed the squire, taking out a sheet or two of letter-paper, on which he had jotted down some familiar arguments taken from paley's _natural theology_. 'i have heard this argument before,' remarked shelley in an under-tone to hogg. a minute or two later, whilst the squire was still delivering from notes _his_ demonstration of the existence of a deity, shelley repeated to hogg, 'i have heard this argument before.' 'they are paley's arguments,' said hogg. 'yes; you are right, sir,' assented the squire, as he folded his paper and restored it to his pocket;--adding with delicious frankness and self-complacence, 'they are palley's arguments; i copied them out of palley's book this morning myself; but palley had them originally from me; almost everything in palley's book he had from me.' for a pleasant quarter-of-an-hour readers should refer to hogg's diffuse and piquant account of the meeting and talk at miller's hotel, but enough has been taken from the humorous narrative to show how little reason lady shelley had for reprehending the severity, which distinguished the squire's treatment of shelley, immediately after his expulsion from oxford. on hogg, the born humourist, it is needless to say that shelley's father made a most agreeable impression,--none the less agreeable because his hearty air, grotesque speech, extravagant emotionality, and egregious self-complacence, afforded so much food and many occasions for merriment. to the young man from the north country it was manifested his friend's father was by 'no means a bad fellow!' in later time hogg used to think with cynical sadness and humorous regret how differently life might have gone with shelley had he only borne himself to his sire as leal and loving sons are wont to bear themselves to their fathers. thus thinking, it was small comfort to the biographer to reflect how impossible it was for a man of shelley's brilliant genius and poetic sensibility to pursue the path of homely filial duty. small blame to hogg that he refrained from reflecting severely on the failings of the son who, instead of gossiping sociably with his sire over the daily bottle or two of old port, was quick to show contempt for his understanding, and 'to take umbrage at the poor man's noise and nonsense.' loyalty to the former friend forbade the historian to utter all he knew and felt on this subject. it was enough for him to intimate lightly that shelley was no less to blame than his father for their bitter severance. 'it is,' says hogg, 'only fair to the poor old governor to add that he was the kind master of old and attached servants, and that his surviving children speak of him at this hour with affection.' it is, however, a matter of reproach to hogg, that, taking this view of the elder mr. shelley in , he never appears to have urged his friend to behave with filial loyalty and dutifulness to a substantially good father; that, on the contrary, he encouraged the son to make a jest of his sire, to exhibit him to the ridicule of his acquaintance, to write of him in terms of vulgar flippancy as 'the old boy,' 'the old fellow,' 'the old buck,' 'old killjoy,' 'the enemy,' and 'a practitioner of the most consummate hypocrisy,'--all which expressions are used to the squire's discredit in his son's familiar letters to his especial friend, mr. thomas jefferson hogg. seven days had not passed since the dinner at miller's hotel, before the conflict of the father and son resulted in distinct issues. to the paternal order that he should 'go immediately to field place,' shelley replied that for the present it was his intention to stay in poland street. to the requirement that he should 'abstain from all communication with mr. hogg for a considerable time,' shelley (_ætat._ ) responded that he could not for a moment think of foregoing the pleasure of his friend's society. to the requirement that he should submit to the government of the tutor to be selected for him, shelley replied he would do no such thing. rejecting his father's requirements, and assuming that he was the person to offer the terms of reconciliation, mr. percy bysshe shelley demanded ( ) unrestrained freedom of correspondence with hogg, and ( ) freedom to choose his own profession, as soon as hogg should enter one of the four inns of court, or apply to any other calling. on these terms, he would consent to visit field place and receive his father into favour. on receiving his son's ultimatum, the squire of field place wrote ( th april, ) in great excitement to mr. c. (a gentleman who acted for mr. hogg the elder) a letter of lively animadversion on the presumption of the two disrespectful, undutiful, 'opinionated youngsters.' to his son's ultimatum, the squire of field place replied by stopping his pocket-money, and bidding him keep away from his boyhood's home. there being evidence of all this, surely there is good evidence that the future poet was not banished from his home, and denied the society of his mother and sisters, at the instigation of religious intolerance, _because_ he published _the necessity of atheism_. how, then, did mr. timothy shelley deal with his son on his expulsion from oxford, when the eighteen-years-old boy was lodging in poland street? did he denounce and discard him? on the contrary, he invited him and his friend in trouble to dinner. did this hard-hearted, unnatural father at once forbid the boy to come into his presence, and order him to keep away from the home of his infantile years? on the contrary, he bade him go quickly to his mother and sisters, and resolve to be a better boy under the private tutor, who would soon be found to take charge of him, than he had been under his masters at eton and his tutors at oxford. did he speak of the boy as hopelessly bad and unreasonable? by no means. taking a cheery view of the case, he thought the boy could be brought out of his spiritual disease and mental disorder by a course of 'palley.' and believing that the course of 'palley' would operate more quickly and efficaciously if the reasonings of the divine were enforced by the luminous comments of an equally sagacious and affectionate father, the honest gentleman got down his copy of paley's _natural theology_ and worked away at it so that he might be ready to be his boy's preceptor. the absurdity of his proceedings and purpose must be admitted. no doubt, he went on strangely at miller's hotel. his notion that with paley's help he could recover his son from infidelity, and bring him back safe and sound to orthodoxy, is exquisitely droll. but one looks in vain to discover unnatural harshness and cruelty in his measures for his son's benefit. urging that this troubled father should not be utterly condemned for his action to his son, and speaking of 'some excuse' that may be fairly made for his conduct, lady shelley (writing from those 'authentic sources' which afford her so little information) says:--'still, it is to be regretted that a milder course was not pursued towards one who was peculiarly open to the teachings of love.' if mr. shelley did and said a few unreasonable things, when his conciliatory action was answered with unqualified rebellion, it cannot be denied that the line of action he proposed to take to his boy at the end of march and the beginning of april was reasonable, moderate, generous, and affectionate. what could be milder than his requirements, that the eighteen-years-old boy should go home to his mother and sisters, read with a tutor, and desist from intercourse with hogg 'for some considerable time,'--_not for ever_; not for many years; but for _some considerable time_,--say, till he should come of age and be master of his own actions? was this third requirement preposterous? mr. shelley had grounds for thinking hogg a hurtful companion for his boy. whatever his grounds for it, the opinion was just. hogg's influence _had been very harmful_ to shelley. but for hogg, it is possible that shelley would never have been an atheist. it is certain that if he had gone to atheism without hogg's help he would have gone to atheism at slower pace. it is certain that hogg was the influence which moved him to the deed that had caused his expulsion from university college. the two youngsters had got into trouble and dark disgrace together. what was there harsh in the demand that the disastrous association, which had been fruitful of so much evil in less than six months, should be broken for 'some considerable time?' paternal authority is an empty name, if a father in mr. timothy shelley's position may not say to an eighteen-years-old son in the future poet's position, 'now, my boy, i will do my best for you; but, at least for some time, you must forbear from intercourse with that young scapegrace who was your associate in the ugly business which occasioned your expulsion from oxford.' when lady shelley speaks of shelley as 'one who was peculiarly open to the teachings of love,' she is not writing true biography, but biographical romance. from the moment, when he comes clearly before us, to the moment when he sunk beneath the angry waves, shelley never paid any heed to the teachings of the love, if they admonished him to do what he could not do, without sacrifice of his own strongest feelings. like byron he had no care for the feelings of the man or woman with whom he came into conflict. in his contention with his father it never seems to have occurred to him that his father had feelings to be considered, rights to be respected. as he wished to associate with the friend whom he was still set on marrying to his sister elizabeth (without consulting her parents on the subject), he thought it monstrous that he should be required to cease from associating with him for a considerable time. he would not assent to so intolerable a demand. hogg was everything to him,--his father nothing to him but a dolt, a fool, an ass, a tyrant. it was preposterous that his father should presume to offer him terms. it was for him to offer terms to his father. mr. percy bysshe shelley's terms were that his father should make him a sufficient allowance; that he, mr. percy bysshe shelley, should live where he pleased and do what he pleased; and above all, that he should be free to maintain the closest intercourse with his dear friend, mr. thomas jefferson hogg. this was modest from a young gentleman (_ætat._ ), immediately after his expulsion from his oxford college! the ever-choleric mr. timothy shelley was furious for several days, for some few weeks, at these proposals from the young gentleman whom he had hoped, with 'palley's' help, to bring round to religious orthodoxy; and in his wrath, he said and did foolish things after the wont of extremely angry fathers. he vowed he would 'stop the supplies,' and so far as his own pocket was concerned, he did stop them for some few weeks; during which time the naughty boy lived comfortably enough on money lent him by hogg (who was in funds), money sent to him by his sisters, and money given to him by his uncle, captain pilfold. on th april, , when his father was in the purple stage of his fury, shelley received a present of money from his mother, which, however, he returned from some scruple of delicacy or dignity. 'mr. pilfold,' he wrote on that day from poland street to hogg, 'has written a very civil letter; my mother intercepted that--sent to my father, and wrote to me to come, inclosing the money. i, of course, returned it.' the 'stopping of the supplies' from the paternal purse made them flow in all the more plentifully--from irregular sources. the exile from his home was therefore in easy circumstances so far as money was concerned. the pictures of the future poet languishing in penury, and menaced with starvation, whilst his wealthy father fared sumptuously, may be tossed aside with other biographic fictions. whilst he received no money from his father, the exile of poland street was also under order to keep away from field place and its inmates,--an order that may perhaps be referred rather to the squire's wrath, no less than to a sincere belief that the youngster's presence there would do his sisters any serious injury; though, doubtless, mr. shelley the elder attributed the prohibition to the more creditable motive. it is also conceivable how the squire explained the apparent inconsistency of his conduct in forbidding the boy to do at the end of april, what he had wished him to do a fortnight earlier. at the beginning of the month, when he hoped to find his son comparatively docile and tractable after his humiliating misadventure at oxford, the member for new shoreham doubtless imagined the scapegrace (out of respect to a paternal injunction to that effect) would refrain from talking with his sister elizabeth on religious questions. his son's defiance of parental authority, in respect to his intercourse with hogg, may have caused his father to assume he would be no less unwilling to respect parental orders touching his intercourse with his eldest sister,--an assumption that would put mr. timothy shelley in the way to argue that he was only actuated by care for his daughter, in forbidding her brother to approach her. if the squire of field place put the matter thus to his own conscience, he only contrived to deceive himself as resentful gentlemen are wont to deceive themselves. anyhow, he was determined for a few weeks to keep the brother and sister apart. the order to keep away from field place and from his sister, of course, made shelley desirous of visiting them. in no hurry to return home, whilst his father wished him to go there quickly, shelley had no sooner been commanded to refrain from entering field place than he resolved to go there. on hearing that, if he tried to visit his sister at field place, she would be removed from home, the young gentleman declared he would follow her, whithersoever she should be taken. jubilant over an assurance that 'the estate was entailed on him,'--totally out of the power of 'the enemy' (_i.e._ his father) he declared his intention of entering the enemy's dominions (_i.e._ field place) as soon as he wished to do so. he would walk into field place, whether his father liked or disliked it. and on this point he was as good as his word: for returning to the place something sooner than the squire wished to see him there, he chuckled over the inefficacy of his father's arrangements for putting restrictions on his intercourse with his eldest sister. the quarrel of the father and son was at its fiercest heat when, on th april, , they met one another in the passage of john grove's house, in lincoln's inn fields; a scene occurring which (if shelley reported it truthfully to hogg) was creditable to neither of them, but far more discreditable to the good feeling of the son than to the good sense of the sire. if the father did ill in returning an inquiry for his health with a look as black as a thundercloud, the son did worse by answering the look with a bow, whose extreme lowness rendered the formal show of obeisance a mere act of insult. that even in his wrath the squire of field place was not wholly unreasonable is shown by the shortness of the time that had elapsed since he 'stopt the supplies,' when he consented to make his son an allowance of _l._ a-year. only five days after the exchange of offensive greetings in john grove's passage, the future poet was in high hope that his father would forthwith allow him _l._ a-year. sixteen days later ( th may, ), the arrangement was made on conditions that left shelley free to live and go wherever he liked, so long as he kept away from york, whither hogg had gone for twelve months, to read law and acquire the rudiments of legal draughting in a conveyancer's chambers. the scapegrace of field place had reason to exult at the liberal terms, for which he was indebted no less to his father's placability than to the duke of norfolk's influence over the member for new shoreham. so soon did the cruel and parsimonious father renew the current of 'supplies,' after stopping it in a season of fierce anger. no more than seven weeks and two days had passed since his expulsion from oxford, when the future poet was enjoying a sufficient income, granted on no ignominious conditions. the smallness of this allowance having been often adduced in evidence of mr. timothy shelley's niggardliness to his eldest son, readers should recall what they have already been told respecting the pecuniary circumstances of the squire of field place up to the date of his father's death, till which event he was by no means wealthy for his social position. dependent on his father, who, loving money more passionately as his fingers grew more feeble, was incessantly bickering with his heir-apparent about the excesses of his expenditure, mr. timothy shelley (with several children on his hands) could not make his son a larger allowance. two hundred a-year was a far better bachelor's income seventy years since than it is now-a-days. thirty years later it was still regarded as more than a sufficient allowance for a briefless barrister. shelley was still only eighteen years old when it was allotted to him. moreover at the time of the arrangement, it was not contemplated that it would be his only means of subsistence; for it was made in anticipation that he would be a frequent visitor at his father's house. had he from early boyhood lived harmoniously with his father, and been a loving and dutiful son, shelley in his nineteenth year could not reasonably have looked for a larger income from his father during his grandfather's life. getting so handsome an allowance from his father so soon after his expulsion from oxford, he was treated in money-matters with liberality by the father, who is generally conceived to have treated him with vindictive stinginess. these are the facts of the matter about which lady shelley writes in these words:-- 'exasperated by his son's refusal to conform to the orthodox belief, he' (_i.e._ timothy shelley) 'forbade him to appear at field place. on the sensitive feelings of the young controversialist and poet, this sentence of exclusion from his boyhood's home inflicted a bitter pang; yet he was determined to bear it, for the sake of what he believed to be right and true.' as lady shelley's published book about her husband's father is still regarded as a work of authority, readers should examine this curious conglomerate of misrepresentations. ( ) instead of being exasperated by his son's avowal of atheism, mr. timothy shelley, though naturally shocked and grieved by the incident, treated the eighteen-years-old youngster with affectionate consideration and tenderness, in respect to that serious offence. ( ) instead of excluding him from field place for that reason, he told him to go home quickly, when the boy's atheism was his only reason for displeasure. ( ) mr. timothy shelley's vehement anger with the youngster was due to his contumacious refusal to comply with the reasonable requirement touching his intercourse with hogg. ( ) lady shelley speaks of 'the young controversialist,' as though the profession of atheism were one of the liberal professions, and as though mr. timothy shelley should have been grateful to the boy for embracing so honourable a vocation. ( ) instead of inflicting a bitter pang on his sensitively affectionate feelings, the sentence of exclusion from his boyhood's home merely caused shelley a little irritation and a vast amount of amusement. ( ) instead of 'determining to _bear it_, for the sake of what he believed to be right and true,' shelley resolved to treat the sentence of exclusion with contempt; to go to field place whenever it should please him to go there, 'to enter his father's dominions, preserving a quaker-like carelessness of opposition ... and turning a deaf ear to any declamatory objections,'--and he was as good as his word. the sentence of exclusion had been delivered barely a month, when ( th may, ) shelley was back at field place; from which date till the middle of july, , when he went to stay with his cousins at radnorshire, he remained in sussex staying alternately with his uncle pilfold at cuckfield, and with his mother and sisters in the home of his boyhood, from which he is said to have been so barbarously excluded. the sentence ceased to be operative as soon as the exile cared to disregard it. keeping out of his father's way, so long as the 'old buck' was in his hottest 'rage' (to use the gentle shelley's nice way of talking of his father and his father's displeasure), the exile of poland street went down to field place as soon as he thought life in the country would be pleasanter than life in london. the sentence of exclusion was from the first a mere _brutum fulmen_. it is absurd to speak of this exclusion as a real exclusion. at the worst it was nothing more than such an exclusion from his boyhood's home, as most undergraduates undergo, when they are 'rusticated' for one or two terms. it is needful to return to poland street, and the time when the exiles lodged there. reading divers books, besides _the english bards and scotch reviewers_, writing letters, and blotting no little paper in the composition of essays that never found publishers, the expelled students lived as far as they could in the manner of oxonians. the cousins grove dropt in upon them in the afternoons, and were less taciturn than they had been in lincoln's inn fields on the evening of march th. sometimes by themselves, sometimes with a grove to conduct them by 'the shortest cuts,' the exiles perambulated the town, and amused themselves after the manner of young gentlemen from the country, thrown upon the london pavements seventy years since. one day they dined in the chambers of a smart templar (given to talk about duchesses and countesses) on 'steaks and other temple messes.' another day they roamed about kensington gardens to the delight of shelley, who was charmed with the sylvan aspect of the timbered lawns. on a third day they walked out to mrs. fenning's boarding-school for young ladies on clapham common, where shelley saw his little sister hellen, scampering about with her light locks streaming over her shoulders. one of their favourite places for lounging was st. james's park, where bysshe, after watching the soldiers at drill, inveighed against standing armies, as hostile to the liberties of the people. at least on one occasion shelley was seen at the british forum near covent garden, where he harangued the assembled radicals on the vices of all governments:--the sentiments of the orator being so acceptable to his auditors that, when he ceased to scream at them in his shrillest notes, they rushed upon him to discover who he was and whence he came,--inquiries to which the apostle of liberty (with a large stock of _aliases_ at command) replied with a false name and address. because the _poetical essay on the existing state of things_ was advertised in the _times_ of the th april, and th april, , and because hogg says never a word about that perplexing publication (that in all probability was never published), mr. denis florence maccarthy maintains that the poem was on sale during that month in london, and that (without letting hogg know aught of the matter), shelley made daily runs from poland street to messrs. b. crosby and co.'s shop, to inquire how much the sale of the poem was doing for mr. finerty's advantage. it may be taken for certain that if shelley made daily calls on the booksellers, hogg knew why his friend called on them. it may also be assumed that, instead of appearing in the _times_ because the poem was then on sale, the advertisements appeared in the morning journals because their insertion had been ordered (with the usual prepayment) from oxford some three weeks earlier, when there was, perhaps, an intention to publish the poem, that probably never was published. but if he never crossed the bookseller's threshold, shelley was seen more than once at mr. abernethy's anatomical lectures, and oftener in the dissecting-room of st. bartholomew's hospital, where charles henry grove (nearly two years shelley's junior) was at that time a medical student. hogg would have us believe that to his people in durham co. and yorkshire, mr. timothy shelley (known to them by his not uniformly perspicuous epistles) appeared a 'bore of the first magnitude, and a serious impediment to carrying into effect any ordinary arrangement.' facts, however, make it certain that mr. hogg, the elder of norton, agreed with this bore of the first magnitude in thinking their boys must be parted, and kept from one another, at least for a considerable period. the letter, in which mr. shelley spoke his mind to his afflicted fellow-sufferer, through the afflicted fellow-sufferer's london agent, was dated th of april, . four days later ( th april, ), mr. thomas jefferson hogg was on the roof of a stage-coach, journeying from london towards north wales, where he was allowed to visit a few friends, before going into pupilage under the conveyancer at york. the dates are eloquent. the joint rebellion against parental authority, which put shelley in conflict with the squire of field place, was fruitful of a paternal command to mr. thomas jefferson hogg, that he should pack his traps and move out of london without delay. mr. thomas jefferson hogg did as he was bid, and for nearly twenty weeks the young men were separated. thus rudely severed by domestic tyranny, they cheered one another through the post. on hogg's withdrawal from london, shelley had more time and a stronger disposition for the society of the westbrooks, of chapel street, grosvenor square. something has already been said of charming harriett westbrook, of the influences that caused shelley to be curious of her, of the circumstances under which he made the young lady's acquaintance, and of the correspondence he held with her through the post during his second term of residence at oxford. but the time has come for further particulars about the family, of which the poet became a member by marriage. the family consisted of mr. john westbrook (who must have been in the main a respectable person, as so little has been discovered to his discredit by the many persons who, at divers times, have hunted for evidence against him), his wife mrs. westbrook ('a nonentity,' as mr. rossetti styles her, so far as the shelleyan drama is concerned), his daughter harriett--the pretty child with whom shelley fell in love, and her elder sister elizabeth,[ ] who has the reputation of making up the match, and the misery between her sister and the poet. the private residence of these people was in chapel street, grosvenor square,--not far from mr. westbrook's place of business in mount street. who was john westbrook?--what was john westbrook?--what was his place of business? mr. westbrook was a successful taverner, and as he was sometimes styled 'jew westbrook,' though he was christian, it may be assumed that he was a taverner who (after the wont of successful tavern-keepers in london's western quarters, in the earlier decades of the present century) lent money to those of his modish and more trustworthy customers, who cared to borrow it of him 'on the usual terms.' the development of modern club-life has affected in various ways the character and quality of the taverns in the western quarters of london, and nearly extinguished the sociable, and, in some degree, confidential relations that sometimes existed between the keepers and frequenters of those places of entertainment. before clubs were numerous, modish gentlemen about town lived very much at their favourite taverns (or coffee-houses as they were usually styled), eating and drinking and seeing company at them, using them in fact very much as a gentleman about town now-a-days uses his club. using his coffee-house in this fashion, it was natural for the gentleman about town, after losing heavily at cards, or emptying his pockets at the hazard-table, to look to his tavern-keeper for relief from urgent financial embarrassment. on the other hand, the business of a money-lender fitted in excellently well with the business of coffeehouse-keeper. living sociably with his regular customers, who gossiped _of_ one another as well as _with_ one another, the tavern-keeper gathered from their gossip no little information that saved him from losses in the money-lending department of his business. mr. westbrook was a coffeehouse-keeper whose daughters had heard him spoken of as 'jew westbrook.' as he was a christian by profession and bore a surname which countenances the assumption, it may be assumed that he was sometimes spoken of as 'jew westbrook,' not because he was of israel, nor because he had an israelitish look, but because he was known to lend money: 'jew' being a familiar designation in the days of our grandfathers for every man of business who lent small sums of money, for short periods, on personal security. mr. westbrook's two-fold vocation may not have been in the highest social favour, but it was followed by many respectable men, and there is evidence that mr. westbrook was one of its most creditable followers. living with the fear of god and good society before his eyes, he shaped his ways discreetly. whilst his tavern was well spoken of for its wines and dinners, no evil stories were told of the transactions of the little parlour in which he counted out his money. with the views and tastes of a self-respecting and slightly ambitious tradesman, he was not wholly without the manners and feelings of a gentleman. mrs. westbrook (the nonentity) may have been a cook in early life; if so, she was a good cook, for mr. westbrook was not at all likely to have married a bad one. if he was a butler before keeping a tavern, we may be sure he was an honest butler. without having grown inordinately rich by lawful business, he had acquired the measure of wealth that is styled a 'comfortable independence' or 'moderate fortune.' it is to his credit that on rising to easy affluence he withdrew his wife and daughters from the coffee-house, which was necessarily at times a rather noisy place, and planted them in a private house, where they lived as far as possible after the manner of gentle people. it is to his credit that he was at pains and charges to rear his daughters as far as possible to be ladies. miss elizabeth westbrook and miss harriett westbrook were every whit as well educated as shelley's sisters, that is to say, in all matters of book-learning and school-culture. mr. percy bysshe shelley, late of university college, oxford, had not been a week in poland street without calling at the house, where he made the acquaintance of the young lady, with whom he had been corresponding for more than a couple of months. in walking out to clapham common he was moved by a desire to see his sisters' schoolfellow no less than by a desire to see his sisters. if she was not a weekly boarder at the clapham school, harriett used to visit her father's house in chapel street, grosvenor square, during the scholastic terms, and on these trips to town used to bring the poet money from his sisters. he saw her also during the easter holidays. having seen something of the westbrooks, whilst hogg was staying in poland street, shelley saw more of them when hogg had left london. hogg had scarcely started for north wales, when miss elizabeth westbrook called upon the future poet at his lodgings, bringing her sister with her. on the evening of the th of april, , the day of hogg's departure, shelley wrote to his friend, 'miss westbrook has this moment called on me with her sister. it certainly was very kind of her.' three days later (sunday, st april, ), shelley 'took the sacrament' with the lady who had paid him so acceptable an attention. another three days later ( th april, ), shelley wrote to the same correspondent of the elder miss westbrook's kindness, charity, and goodness. in a subsequent letter, recalling words he had uttered to her discredit, he commended her for cleverness. thinking so well of the lady, with whom he had so lately taken the sacrament, it was natural for shelley to think he ought to illuminate her, as well as her sister, out of the christian religion. resolute to kill religious intolerance by killing creed, and to slay creed by converting people to his own views, he thought he should deal heavy and crushing blows to prevalent superstition by withdrawing john westbrook's daughters from the faith in which they had been educated. 'the fiend, the wretch,' he wrote of christianity to hogg on th april, , 'shall fall! harriett will do for one of the crushers, and the eldest, elizabeth, with some training, will do too.' from the date of hogg's departure from london ( th april) to the middle of may, when he went into sussex, shelley saw much of both sisters. seeing harriett in chapel street, he saw her also at the clapham school, which he described as the young lady's 'prison-house.' accompanying elizabeth in an excursion to the 'prison-house,' he on one occasion spent two hours, walking about clapham common with the two sisters. on another occasion, he hastened in the evening (at the elder sister's invitation) to chapel street, where he found harriett ill and suffering from headache. after talking for some time with the elder sister, on love and other interesting subjects, he found himself closeted with harriett, in the absence of elizabeth, who left the boy and girl together: her complaisance going so far that shelley sate in private conference with the beauty of the clapham boarding-school till past midnight. shelley, of course, availed himself of so good an opportunity for enlarging the child's views of love and religion. by this time, harriett had learnt a good deal on these matters from her future husband, and had proved so apt a pupil as to be in disgrace at clapham for uttering sentiments of his teaching. the girls of the school were holding aloof from harriett, on account of her awfully wicked opinions: some of them even going so far as to call her 'an abandoned wretch.' shelley was under the impression that his little sister hellen was the only one of the girls brave enough to hold friendly intercourse with harriett, under the odium she had provoked. in his delight at his little sister's courage, he determined to seize the earliest opportunity of illuminating her out of the christian faith. 'there are,' he wrote to hogg, 'hopes of this dear little girl: she would be a divine little scion of infidelity. i think my lesson to her must have taken effect.' thus he was already taking measures to convert his little sister (still in her thirteenth year) to atheism. at keswick ( - ) shelley told southey (_vide_ _correspondence of robert southey with caroline bowles_, ) that he endeavoured to make proselytes to atheism in mrs. fenning's school; that he succeeded in making a proselyte of harriett; and that he married her, because she was expelled from the school for accepting his doctrine, and doing her best to induce her schoolfellows to accept it. 'one of the girls,' southey wrote to shelley in august, , 'was expelled for the zeal with which she entered into your views, and you made her the most honourable amends in your power by marrying her.... i had this from your own lips.' the words thus spoken by shelley to southey must be read with suspicion, like all shelley's other statements about himself and his own affairs. there is the more need for caution in this case, as shelley certainly suffered from delusions at keswick, and made southey other statements clearly referable to hallucination. but his statements at keswick, respecting his measures for making proselytes at clapham in the previous spring, are notably confirmed in some particulars by what he wrote at the time to hogg, of his measures for illuminating harriett westbrook and his little sister hellen. writing from field place to hogg on th june, , shelley says, 'i shall see you in july. i am invited to wales, but i shall go to york; what shall we do? how i long again for your conversation!' the invitation being to cwm elan, the place of his cousin, thomas grove, five miles distant from rhayader, radnorshire, whither he went for three or four weeks, towards the middle of july; one at least of his motives for the trip to wales being that he might stay with the westbrooks at aberystwith. writing from field place on st june, , to hogg, at york, shelley says, 'i shall leave field place in a fortnight. old westbrook has invited me to accompany him and his daughters to a house they have at aberystwith, in wales. i shall stay about a week with him in town; then i shall come to see you and get lodgings.' hence, at the date of this epistle, the writer's purpose was to leave field place somewhere about th july, and, after staying a week under mr. westbrook's roof, in chapel street, grosvenor square, to go _viâ_ york to wales, for the visits to cwm elan and aberystwith. changing his plans (for reasons to be mentioned in a later page), he deferred the visit to york, and went by a less circuitous route to rhayader in radnorshire, whence he wrote to hogg somewhere about the middle of july, 'miss westbrook, harriett, has advised me to read mrs. opie's _mother and daughter_. she has sent it hither, and has desired my opinion with earnestness.' a few days later he wrote to hogg, without dating his letter, 'i shall see the miss westbrooks again soon; they were very well in condowell, when i heard last; they then proceed to aberystwith, where i shall meet them.' yet some other few days later (also in an undated epistle), he writes to hogg, 'your jokes on harriett westbrook amuse me; it is a common error for people to fancy others in their own situation, but if i know anything about love, i am _not_ in love. i have heard from the westbrooks, both of whom i highly esteem.' this disclaimer by shelley of love for harriett westbrook, when he had for months been in love with her, may well remind readers of the way in which byron disclaimed (in his private journal) all love for miss milbanke, when he had for months been loving her. 'i am _not_ in love,' shelley wrote from wales within six weeks of eloping with harriett westbrook. 'what an odd situation and friendship is ours! without one spark of love on either side!' byron wrote in his journal of the lady, to whom he had already made one offer and was still yearning to make his wife. including the time spent in journeying to and fro between london and cwm elan, shelley spent some three weeks and three or four days on the welsh trip, which he made in the hope of staying with the westbrooks at aberystwith. leaving him in radnorshire readers should return to the spring of the year, in order to take a view of the future poet's relations with his sister, his mother and his uncle pilfold, from the date of his expulsion from oxford to the midsummer of . mr. timothy shelley's withdrawal of the invitation he had given hogg to visit field place, and his subsequent conflict with his son, did not cause the young men to relinquish their hope of becoming brothers-in-law. on the contrary, the new obstacles to the achievement of their purpose only quickened their desire for the realization of the romantic project. whilst shelley yearned to call hogg his brother, the vein of romance, that mingled with the north-countryman's lively humour and cynicism, caused him to be enamoured of the young lady, who was known to him only through her poetical compositions, her letters to her brother, and his report of her personal, mental, and moral endowments. but the brother, who loved her passionately so long as she worshipped him without presuming to oppose him in anything, had not been many days in conflict with his father, before he was disappointed in his sister, discovered faults in her poetry, suspected he had thought too highly of her intellect and courage, saw reason to bewail her mental narrowness, and to fear she was not worthy to be the wife of his incomparable friend. what caused this change of feeling and opinion? on seeing the goal to which her brother's influence and cautious teaching would carry her, elizabeth started back in horror. trustful in his superior wisdom so long as he only required her to think the legends of christianity were in some particulars fabulous, she fell away from her confidence in the brother who had proclaimed himself an atheist. instructed that hogg's influence had brought her brother to this extreme point of infidelity, she was of opinion that her father was right in determining to separate bysshe from so hurtful a friend. thinking that in this determination her father was only showing proper care for his son's welfare, she thought bysshe's opposition to his father's will undutiful and wicked. she was not brave enough to deny the existence of god; she had the courage to tell her brother he was not behaving like a good son. in the religious conflict, she was on the side of the almighty. in the domestic conflict, she went with her father. no wonder bysshe was disappointed by her servility and meanness of spirit. hogg had barely left london when he was informed by shelley of his sister's deflection from the path of religious freedom and philosophy,--that she was lost to them. hogg's reply to this melancholy announcement was to the effect that, though lost for the moment, she was _not_ lost for ever,--a sentiment which, on th april, , moved the exile of poland street, to reply, 'she is _not_ lost for ever? how i hope that may be true! but i fear i can never ascertain; i can never influence an amelioration, as she does not any longer permit a _philosopher_ to correspond with her. she talks of duty to her _father_. and this is your amiable religion.' instead of writing to him in her old vein of enthusiastic and worshipful admiration, elizabeth had the presumption to remind him of his and her duty to their parents; sending him the letters that moved him to charge her with 'talking cant and twaddle.' had he not cause to think with sorrow and bitterness of the 'young female,' who, after asserting for a brief while her 'claim to an unfettered use of reason,' had returned to the sway of the bigots. how could he be sanguine of again reclaiming her from the darkness of mediæval superstition to the clear sunshine of philosophy, when to do so he must conquer her countless hateful prejudices, teach her to despise the world's opinion; nerve her to repudiate the doctrines of 'the tremendous gregory,' and purge her mind of the absurd notion that she ought to respect her father's wishes. fretted by her letters, he was depressed by her subsequent silence. on returning to field place in the middle of may, , it was a relief to him to learn that, instead of resulting from unconcern for his misery, this silence was due to an attack of scarlet fever. at times, during her convalescence from this illness, he could hope faintly that even yet she would show herself worthy of his former confidence, and not unworthy to be the wife of his incomparable hogg. but these passages of flickering hope closed in a renewal of his conviction, that she was far too weak a creature for the high place and service to which he had too hastily appointed her. there were moments when, instead of thinking her changed for the worse, he attributed her apparent deterioration to his own recently acquired power of perceiving mental and moral infirmities to which he had been formerly blinded by fraternal partiality. possibly the sister, whom he used to adore and extol to hogg, had been a creature of his imagination. obviously it was his duty to put this view of the case before hogg, so that so excellent a man should not be under misconceptions, arising from a friend's imaginativeness and delusive speech, link himself for life with an uncongenial and miserably insufficient spouse. to shelley it was no small trouble that his pen was powerless to make hogg believe, either that elizabeth was greatly altered, or that she had been greatly misrepresented to him. whilst the humorous hogg laughed secretly at the change of shelley's regard for his sister, the romantic hogg declined to think either that she had changed for the worse, or that she had been offered in delusive colours to his fancy. to the humorous and romantic law student, it was clear that the change in elizabeth was wholly referable to her brother's changefulness, and to the lightness and activity of his imagination. whilst hogg refused to be enlightened, shelley despaired of showing him by written words, so much less potent than speech, how 'a change, a great and important change, had taken place in' the girl who had been offered to him in marriage. oh, that he could speak with his dear hogg face to face! 'unwilling as i am,' shelley wrote from horsham, on th june, , 'conviction stares me in the face. _oh, that you were here!_' this wish may have caused hogg to entertain the notion of making a clandestine visit to field place, to inspect the home of the young lady he hoped to marry, and to get a furtive view of her personal attractions, which were still known to him only by her brother's report. or the wish may have been followed by a definite proposal from bysshe that his friend should come to him. anyhow, the friends now entertained a project for seeing one another in sussex. the squire having recalled his invitation to hogg, and shelley (in consideration of his _l._ a-year allowance being under bond to hold no personal communication with his former college-friend), hogg could not visit field place openly. it was therefore arranged that he should enter the house secretly, and by night, and that during his clandestine sojourn in the mansion, he should share shelley's study and bedroom,--two rooms never entered by elizabeth (under the new rules for limiting her intercourse with her brother), and never entered by any one but shelley himself, and the servant who attended to them. taking his sleep by day, it was arranged that hogg should take his exercise by night, when he would be able to pass through a window into the garden without fear of being observed. through the same window, commanding a view of the lawn, he would be able to get a view of elizabeth, when she walked in the garden. this project for a secret meeting of the separated 'inseparables' at field place was dropt, probably on account of the risks the conspirators would run in carrying it into effect. but though it was not pursued to a point, at which the intruder could have been ejected ignominiously from the sussex mansion, the boyish scheme came to the squire's knowledge,--possibly from the lips of a treacherous servant, in whom the future poet had confided; but more probably from a letter shelley had written and forgotten to post to his especial friend. the project for a clandestine meeting at field place having fallen to the ground, shelley (albeit, bound by honour, and the terms of his _l._ a-year allowance to have no personal intercourse with hogg) bethought himself he would go to wales _viá_ york, and pass a few days with his peculiar friend at the archiepiscopal city. could he do so without risk of forfeiting his allowance, he would go there openly _on_ the way to wales. should 'old killjoy' be too sharp for him he would outwit the 'old buck' by running from wales to york under the assumed name of peyton, in order that his movements should be less likely to come to the knowledge of the tyrant, who eventually threatened to stop the allowance, should his son carry out his purpose of paying hogg a visit. too prudent to take openly a step that might result in a withdrawal of the allowance, and at the same time too wary to ask for a direct liberation from his promise to keep away from hogg, the wily and diplomatic shelley bethought himself of alluding to his purpose of visiting york in a letter, which his father might neglect to answer, or might answer without referring to the particular project. in either of those cases silence could be construed as consent; and to any subsequent expressions of displeasure at his breach of a chief article of their agreement, the son could reply by pleading that he had not gone to york without giving his father timely notice of his wish, or without grounds for supposing he had his father's tacit permission to go there. in thus 'trying it on' with 'the old buck,' at a peculiarly inauspicious moment, shelley encountered a rebuff for which he was not unprepared. instead of overlooking the announcement, or treating it with indifference, the squire of field place answered promptly, 'go to york if you like; but _not_ with my money.' finding his father thus resolute in holding him to the terms of their compact, shelley deferred his trip to the north, and went straight to radnorshire. at the same time he determined that before many weeks had passed he would go to york under a false name, and breaking his promise do secretly what he dared not do openly. 'do not think, however, but that i shall come to see you long before you come to reside in london; but open warfare will never do, and mr. peyton, which will be my _nom-de-guerre_, will easily swallow up mr. shelley.' in a later letter from radnorshire, shelley says of his motives for deceiving his father in this business:--'when i come, i will not come under my own name. it were to irritate my father needlessly; this is entirely a _philautian_ argument, but without the stream, of which he is the fountain-head, i could not get on. we must live; that is, we must eat, drink, and sleep, and money is the necessary procurer of these things!' this from the young gentleman whose averseness to underhand ways is extolled so cordially by lady shelley! whilst the future poet was thus at open war and hollow truce with his father, the evidence is conclusive that he was treated (from the date of his expulsion from oxford to the date of his first marriage) with sympathetic and conciliatory tenderness by his mother, who has been charged by successive historians with coldness and severity towards her perplexing and troublesome son. in the letter (of th april, ), which declares his disgust at the intolerance of his sister, who 'talks cant and twaddle,' shelley speaks of his mother as a woman 'who is mild and tolerant,' though 'narrow-minded.' on the th of may, when the exile has come to terms with his father, and returned to the home from which he had been so inhumanly excluded, shelley writes to hogg, 'my mother is quite rational.' she says, 'i think prayer and thanksgiving are of no use. if a man is a good man, philosopher, or christian, he will do very well in whatever future state awaits us. this i call liberality.' it was not in the nature of the callow philosopher and atheist, who wrote so bitterly of his sister's 'cant and twaddle,' to bear this evidence to his mother's liberality, had she vexed him with sorrowful censure or irritated him with bootless opposition. between the naturally indignant father and the unnaturally rebellious son, this anxious and sorely troubled wife and mother seems to have played a difficult part with exemplary dutifulness and affectionateness to the husband she honoured and the boy she loved. it is conceivable, that once and again the squire of field place may have had grounds for charging her with defective loyalty during the cruel contention, but the unruly boy certainly had no right to complain of the imperfect devotion of the mother who, in her desire to hold his affection and confidence, assured him she was tenderly interested in his friend at york. yet biographers have insisted that shelley suffered in heart and fortune from the intolerance and frigid hardness of his mother; the intolerant mother who spoke to him on their differences of religious opinion with so much leniency and forbearance and large-hearted sympathy that he was constrained to extol her liberality: the unsympathetic mother who won so large a measure of his confidence, that he submitted some of hogg's letters to her perusal, and (probably because he had cautiously sounded her on the subject) was assured she would not use her influence to prevent the marriage of his sister to his friend. to complete the view of the future poet's relations with the principal members of his familiar circle, one must glance at the way in which he was treated by his uncle pilfold, and the characteristic way in which he repaid the cheery sailor for his good services. instead of eyeing him askance, regarding him coldly, holding aloof from him, denouncing him as an incorrigible young reprobate, this kindly uncle grasped his nephew by the hand, as though it were a greater honour to be expelled from oxford than to win 'the newdigate.' welcoming the boy to his house, the old sailor opened at the same moment his heart and his purse to the youngster in disgrace. when mr. timothy shelley's wrath at his boy's rebellion had in ten days or a fortnight scolded off its fiercest heat, uncle pilfold became a mediator between the father and son, inducing the former to let the boy have intercourse with his sister, and at the same time making the latter see that he must concede something to his father who, though he had gone a deuced deal too far in stopping the supplies, was not without grounds for displeasure. 'i am now with my uncle,' the future poet wrote from cuckfield to hogg, on sunday, th may, ; 'he is a very hearty fellow, and has behaved very nobly to me, in return for which i illuminated him. a physician, named dr. j----, dined with us last night, who is a red-hot saint; the captain attacked him, warm from _the necessity_, and the doctor went away very much shocked.' grateful for his uncle's kindness, mr. percy bysshe shelley rewarded him with characteristic munificence,--by illuminating him out of christianity. what reason had shelley to complain of the way in which he was treated by his kindred in the season of his heavy disgrace? expelled from oxford for the gravest offence of which an undergraduate could be guilty, he was enjoined by his father to go home before being placed under a sufficient tutor. having refused to obey his father's orders, he was angrily told to keep away from the home he had declined to visit, when ordered to do so. consenting for a few weeks to this barbarous exclusion from his boyhood's home,--an exclusion which he knew he could terminate at any moment by simply walking into the house, and which he did terminate by that simple process,--the exile passed a few weeks very agreeably in london. during this so-called exclusion and banishment he was in affectionate communication with his mother, his sisters, his uncle pilfold, and his cousins grove. on returning to his 'boyhood's home,' within a month or five weeks of the sentence of exclusion, he was received with a measure of affectionate indulgence and consideration by his mother, that may well have surprised him. he was also treated affectionately by his sister elizabeth, though she kept away from his study, and instead of assenting to his sceptical opinions, met them with much exasperating 'cant and twaddle,' and made him despair of illuminating her into a fit mate for his incomparable hogg. at the same time he was treated with substantial kindness by his father (who, in return for a liberal allowance, only required him to desist for awhile from personal intercourse with hogg), and with a flattering show of sympathetic concern by his father's patron,--the duke of norfolk. unless shelley's cousin, charles henry grove, is in error as to the year, his grace of norfolk and the squire of field place talked (in the spring of ) over a plan for bringing the youngster into parliament, on the earliest opportunity, as member for horsham. it was thus that the future poet was persecuted by his kindred, and thus that he endured persecution at their hands in the months ensuing immediately on his expulsion. there must be an end of the wild nonsense about the poet's sufferings for truth and conscience at this stage of his career. perhaps no youngster was ever treated more tenderly by his nearest kindred, so soon after earning signal disgrace by extravagant misbehaviour. relinquishing his design to go to york before going to radnorshire, when he saw the breach of promise and act of disobedience would be fruitful of pecuniary inconvenience, shelley went (as we have seen) direct to cwm elan, rhayader, in the middle of july, , with the intention of staying there till the westbrooks should have arrived at aberystwith, when it was his purpose to run over to them, and enjoy the society of the young lady, with whom he was not at all in love. had the westbrooks' movements accorded with mr. bysshe shelley's anticipations and wishes, there is reason to think he would have eloped with the sixteen-years-old school girl from aberystwith, instead of eloping with her from london. possibly on leaving town he had not fully made up his mind to do so. possibly he took coach for radnorshire, with no more definite programme of proceedings than that in the course of three weeks he should be with the westbrooks at aberystwith; after which event he would, somehow or other, be happy with harriett for ever. it is, however, sufficiently manifest from the records, that he accepted his cousin's invitation to cwm elan, because it afforded him a pretext for going to wales, which would cover the real purpose of the journey from his father, and because the neighbourhood of rhayader would be a convenient resting-place, whence he could slip away to aberystwith, some thirty miles distant. moreover, it is clear in the superlative degree that shelley and harriett had both set their hearts on meeting one another at aberystwith; and that it was an occasion of the sharpest disappointment to both of them, when, after proceeding towards aberystwith, as far as the place, called condowell in one of shelley's letters, mr. westbrook suddenly faced about, and returned to london, with the intention of sending his younger daughter again to boarding-school, when she imagined herself to have 'left school for good.' what caused this sudden relinquishment of mr. westbrook's plans for his summer holidays is matter for conjecture. but from matters of indisputable record, it may be safely inferred that the worthy taverner returned to town because he thought it better mr. bysshe shelley and his younger daughter should not come together at aberystwith; and that he was bent on sending her again to school, because he thought a regular and professional schoolmistress better qualified than miss elizabeth westbrook to take good care of the giddy girl. possibly mr. westbrook had peeped into one of the several letters which shelley sent the sisters from rhayader, and learnt from it enough to convince him he had better return abruptly with his daughters to london. anyhow he decided to do so, alike to shelley's annoyance and miss harriett's chagrin. like byron, shelley never brooked aught that thwarted his will, or in any way threatened to withhold from him a pleasure, on which he had set his heart. on being told she must go back to london and to school, instead of onwards to aberystwith, miss harriett westbrook wrote to shelley for advice. on receiving harriett's shocking intelligence, shelley overflowed with indignation at the monstrous cruelty of the father, who could think of sending his sixteen-years-old daughter to school for another half-year. should she, harriett asked in her letter, submit to her father's tyranny or resist it? shelley, of course, answered, 'resist it.' at the same time he wrote to mr. westbrook a letter which, though it was intended to mollify the stern and inhuman parent, only confirmed him in his hideous and revolting purpose. powerless to subdue by tears and tragic threats the father, who only fumed and sneered at percy's mollifying epistle, harriett wrote to shelley that she threw herself on his protection, and would fly with him anywhere. shelley was delighted. for weeks and months he had been nursing the hope that his darling harriett would rise so far superior to the dwarfing prejudices, which disposed ordinary women to prefer wedlock to free love, as to commit herself to his custody without regard to the laws of priests and the requirements of tyrannic custom. for weeks and months he had been educating her to see in love a sufficient sanction of the union requisite for fulfilment of its desire. and here was the fruit of his instruction. snapping the ties of parental tyranny and filial thraldom, harriett had thrown herself on him for protection, and would fly with him anywhere,--to be happy with him for ever. had he not reason, in the first and liveliest exultations of his triumph, to write to hogg, 'gratitude and admiration, all demand, that i should love her for _ever_?' how could he be sufficiently grateful to the girl who had thus surrendered herself to his honour, in her absolute confidence in his goodness? how could he sufficiently admire the girl, whose magnanimity had enabled her to say to him, 'do your will with me; take me on your own terms, so long as you are good enough to make me yours?' if shelley went to wales, without a project for elopement with harriett westbrook, he certainly returned from radnorshire to london, with the intention of taking her from her father at the earliest opportunity. with the judicial fairness and critical moderation, that are not the only qualities to distinguish him from the poet's other worshipful biographers, mr. rossetti hesitates in inferring from shelley's words ('she ... threw herself upon my protection') that, whilst writing to shelley at cwm elan, harriett westbrook was ready to be his mistress. reminding his readers that, instead of being the girl's own words, the phrase is at the utmost nothing more than shelley's 'summing up' of her expressions,--shelley's way of packing into half-a-dozen words the most momentous of her passionate communications,--mr. rossetti also bids his readers qualify their censure of her indelicacy with considerations, arising from the reflection that 'the school-girl of sixteen, hardly more than a child,' had been 'lately philosophised out of the ordinary standard of propriety' by shelley himself. the biographer who writes with so much conscientious circumspection cannot be charged with straining words to harriett's disadvantage. still i am disposed to think he goes something too far. more doubtful even than mr. rossetti, i hesitate to accept or reject his inference from the words which, instead of being the school-girl's own words, are nothing more than shelley's summary of them. the inexact shelley's mere summary of the written words is no evidence to be accepted with unqualified confidence in its accuracy. moreover, could it be shown that the summary was a fair representation of the purport of her written words, it would still be conceivable that in her haste and excitement the angry girl put them on paper without seeing their full force and realizing to what they committed her. yet, further, it may be urged in palliation of the child's want of maidenly decorum that, if she was ready for flight without marriage at the moment of penning the letter, she changed her mind on coming out of her anger against her father, and subsiding to a temper that permitted her to reflect with comparative calmness on all that had passed between herself and her lover. instead of finding her ready to fly with him on any terms, when he saw her in london after his return from wales, shelley found her in a state of indecision. 'my unfortunate friend, harriett,' he wrote from london to hogg at york, on th august, , 'is yet undecided, not with respect to me, but herself.' but though i am far from confident that harriett ever threw herself on shelley's protection in the sense imagined by mr. rossetti, or even gave shelley sufficient grounds for saying she had done so, i am in no degree disposed to suspect shelley of wilfully misrepresenting the nature of her confidence in, and appeal to, him. on the contrary, i have no doubt that shelley meant to make his friend at york understand the girl was ready to become his mistress, and that he felt himself justified by the words of her letter in crediting her with this readiness. i have no doubt that the future poet wrote to hogg in perfect good faith, and for the mere purpose of letting his correspondent see the exact state of the case. the evidences leave no room for doubt that, after spending weeks and months in training and educating his sister's schoolmate to take a philosophic view of marriage, he accepted with equal sincerity and delight the expressions of her tempestuous letter as a declaration that she was willing to be his mistress, or (in the language of the free lovers) to become his wife without the intervention of the priest and the sanction of legal matrimony. under this impression he wrote to hogg from rhayader with jubilant boyishness,--'we shall have _l._ a-year; when we find it run short, we must live, i suppose, upon love!... we shall see you at york.... i can get lodgings at york, i suppose.' under the same exhilarating impression he journeyed from wales to london, thinking how he and harriett would be journeying northwards a week or ten days later, how happy they would be for ever in lodgings at york, and how furious his tyrannical father would be on hearing he had carried harriett away from her tyrannical father and taken her to the city he was forbidden to enter,--to the dear, delightful, incomparable hogg, with whom he was forbidden to have personal intercourse. but on arriving in town he found harriett in no humour for immediate elopement. she was undecided, not in respect to her choice of a lover, but in respect to the time _at_ which, and the terms on which, she should commit herself to his custody. it is, therefore, by no means so manifest to me as it is to mr. rossetti, that had he cared to take advantage of her simplicity and romantic trustfulness, shelley could easily have seduced his sister's schoolfellow, or, rather (i beg pardon of the free lovers), could have made her his wife without marrying her. 'if the calculating habit is still strong upon us,' says mr. rossetti, 'we may compute what percentage of faultlessly christian young heirs of opulent baronets would have acted like the atheist shelley, and married a retired hotel-keeper's daughter offering herself as a mistress. to deny that the act was foolish would be absurd under any circumstances, and doubly so when we reflect upon the ultimate issue of it to shelley and harriett themselves; let us then distinctly recognize that it was foolish, and no less distinctly that it was noble.' with all his desire to deal fairly with harriett westbrook's reputation, mr. rossetti is less than fair to her in arguing that up to the moment of her scotch wedding she was ready to become shelley's mistress, because she threw herself on his protection (by letter) three weeks earlier. ladies have a proverbial right to change their minds; and if we must concede that harriett had a mind to be shelley's mistress when he was at rhayader, it cannot be questioned she had changed her mind on that particular matter before he came to her again in london. living in chapel street, grosvenor square, under the eye of an elder sister, who, possessing her confidence, knew how to keep her well in hand, harriett was not so completely at shelley's mercy as mr. rossetti would have us think. it is inconceivable that shelley would have been allowed to possess himself of the school-girl on terms which wanted the elder sister's approval; and it is not to be imagined that miss elizabeth westbrook, favouring shelley's suit, partly from romantic affectionateness, and partly from social ambition, would have consented to an arrangement for making her sister the mere kept mistress of a gentlemanly scapegrace, who might one day become a baronet. the elder miss westbrook was no person to allow herself to be treated as a nonentity, or aught less than a very considerable personage, in an affair touching her dignity and self-respect so delicately and deeply. under these circumstances it is in the highest degree improbable that miss westbrook, who facilitated the elopement which promised to make her younger sister eventually a lady of title and estate, would have permitted herself to be made the sister of such a person as harriett would have become, on passing to shelley's keeping without marriage. there are other reasons for questioning whether shelley should be credited with nobility of conduct, in forbearing to do what he would not have been permitted to do. had he in may or june made harriett his mistress _without_ marrying her, he would only have acted in accordance with his notions of morality. he did no more at the end of august or the beginning of september when he made her his wife _by_ marriage. if he should be credited with distinctly noble conduct merely for taking what he thought the right course in september, he would have been no less distinctly noble three months earlier for merely taking what he thought the right and moral course in may and june. had the future poet, however, made the girl his mistress in either of those last-named months, mr. rossetti would scarcely have ventured to credit him with distinct nobility of action in doing so, merely because he conceived himself under a moral obligation to do so. it should be observed that shelley's sentiments respecting marriage were during this period of his career greatly modified by hogg's arguments against them; and that, in commending the future poet's conduct in making harriett westbrook a wife instead of a mistress, mr. rossetti applauds him for conduct largely, if not altogether referable to hogg's influence, and may, therefore, be said to give shelley the praise that should rather be given to his friend. the evidence of hogg's beneficial, though only transient, influence on his friend in this respect is conclusive. the shrewd and humorous north-countryman, who nursed the hope of marrying his friend's sister elizabeth, was, at this stage of his story, a robust and resolute defender of matrimony and the laws for its protection; and in the many letters that passed between him and shelley in the spring and summer of , he seized every opportunity for combating and correcting what he deemed his friend's perverse and erroneous views on the usages and ethics of marriage. it is to hogg's credit (at least in the opinion of those who regard marriage with reverential jealousy) that on seeing his friend more and more strongly set on some kind of domestic association with harriett westbrook, he made the most strenuous efforts to induce him to marry the girl in a legal way, instead of uniting himself to her in a way that would, at least in law and social sentiment, render her only his mistress. besides being strenuous, these efforts were successful. having regard to the miserable consequences of the match, some readers may, perhaps, regret that hogg was so busy and successful. perhaps it would have been better for both parties to the disastrous union, had hogg left ill alone. had the north-countryman been less energetic, it is conceivable that mr. westbrook's pretty daughter would have escaped the misery of being shelley's wife, without falling to the shame of being his mistress. but hogg's action was none the less meritorious, because it may have been hurtful to the friend he wished to serve. shelley's stay in radnorshire did not end before he admitted the force of his friend's demonstrations of the convenience and beneficence of lawful marriage. in the very letter that declared his puerile delight in harriett's appeal to him for protection from her inhuman father, he says, 'we shall see you at york. i will hear your arguments for matrimonialism, by which i am now almost convinced.' some ten days later ( th august, ), when he had passed through london, made a flying visit to horsham and cuckfield, and returned to town for stolen interviews with harriett, he wrote to his incomparable hogg at york, stating most precisely that he had relinquished his purpose of making harriett his mistress, and had determined to make her his wife, in pure submission to hogg's counsel, and to the force of the arguments with which that counsel was enforced. 'i am become,' shelley wrote, 'a perfect convert to matrimony, not from temporising, but from _your_ arguments.... the one argument, which you have urged so often with so much energy; the sacrifice made by the woman, so disproportioned to any which the man can give,--this alone may exculpate me, were it a fault, from an inquiring submission to your superior intellect.' shelley's words respecting himself and his own affairs must of course be always used with caution and lively suspicion. but the words written by him _to_ hogg himself on th august, , are good evidence that, on finding shelley set on taking harriett westbrook to himself, either as a mistress or as his wife, and strongly disposed to take her in the former capacity, hogg used all his power to make him see that he was bound to marry her. it does not speak much for shelley's innate chivalry and generous tenderness for womankind, of which so much extravagant stuff has been written by his idolaters, that he could not discover for himself the most obvious considerations why no man of honour should place a woman of sensibility and refinement in the ignominious position of a kept mistress; that he could not without hogg's assistance see, how much the woman sacrifices of her social dignity and legal rights, who humours masculine insolence and selfishness, by sinking to a position, which, giving her all the trials and responsibilities, withholds from her all the higher privileges of a wife. on the other hand, it is something to the credit of the youngster, who could not discover these facts for himself, that he could see them when they were pointed out to him, and was withheld by the timely expostulations of sober common-sense from the sin of acting on his 'hasty decision.' in the letter, from which the last extract is taken, shelley says, 'i am now returned to london; direct to me as usual at graham's. my father is here; wondering, possibly, at my london business. he will be more surprised soon, possibly.' at the same moment, on the same sheet of paper, he chuckles over the surprise his speedy elopement with harriett westbrook will occasion his father, and pretends to think it unlikely he shall soon be called upon to make a choice between marriage and free love. it was like shelley, to contradict himself in this fashion almost in the same breath. the particulars of shelley's movements between the th of august and the end of the month are unknown, with the exception of a few details, which, in the absence of positive testimony, the imagination would furnish as matters of course. for the expenses of the elopement, shelley obtained _l._ from tom medwin's father (the horsham attorney), who lent him the money without knowing or suspecting the purpose for which it was needed; a slender sum, that seems to have been reduced considerably before the future poet paid the fares for two inside places in the mail from london to edinburgh. there were secret interviews between the lovers; interviews of which mr. westbrook probably knew nothing, and miss eliza westbrook was doubtless cognizant, even when she was not present at them. charles henry grove (younger than shelley by something less than two years) was in his cousin's confidence during these days of pleasant excitement and romantic conspiracy, and accompanied the future poet on some of his visits to harriett. there were understandings and misunderstandings, decisions and changes of purpose, arrangements and re-arrangements. then came the hour of early morning when harriett westbrook, in all the brightness of her still childish beauty--the lovely girl who, a few years later, escaped from unendurable shame and wretchedness by self-murder--stept from her father's house, and entered the hackney-coach, that conveyed her, together with the two cousins (shelley and charles henry grove), to the 'green dragon,' in gracechurch street, where they remained all day, till the northern mail was packed and ready to start. another minute, and the two childish adventurers were at the outset of their long journey for edinburgh, _viâ_ york, whilst the guard's horn sounded cheerily, and charley grove (left standing on the pavement) waved a last farewell to the departing vehicle. it is a question whether the elopement was made at the end of august or in the beginning of september. i have little hesitation in saying harriett left her father's house in september; none in saying she was married to shelley in edinburgh in the first week of that month. the girl may have crossed her father's threshold on the morning of saturday st august, but it is more probable she did so on sunday the st, or monday the nd of september. on passing through york at midnight, after spending an entire night and the following day (allowance made for the usual stoppages) in the coach, shelley, with care for the replenishment of his almost empty purse, wrote a hasty and careless note to hogg, begging for the loan of _l._, and saying that he and harriett would 'have _l._ on sunday.' 'on sunday,' of course, meant 'next sunday.' after answering the brief note, as soon as it was brought to him on the following morning by a messenger from the inn, hogg packed his portmanteau, and in the afternoon of the same day 'in the first week of september,' was on the road to edinburgh, where he arrived some two or three days before the sunday, when shelley hoped to get the _l._ dating from field place on sunday, th september, , immediately on hearing his son and hogg were together in the scotch capital, mr. timothy shelley wrote from field place on th september, , to mr. john hogg, of norton: announcing that shelley had 'withdrawn himself from' the writer's 'protection, and set off for scotland with a young female.' hogg is certain that he answered shelley's note immediately on getting it, that he started for edinburgh in the afternoon of the same day, and that he made the journey to edinburgh in the first week of september. mr. timothy shelley's letter makes it certain the young men were together in edinburgh in that week. had the 'on sunday' of shelley's note pointed to sunday, st september; had he written for the _l._ for his expenses _till_ that sunday, hogg's run to the scotch capital would have been made in the last week of august. chapter xv. motive and influences. the fatal marriage--was shelley trapt into it?--mr. garnett's assurances--the fiction about claire--lady shelley's use of hogg's evidences--the prenuptial intercourse--was it slight?--shelley's opportunities for knowing all about harriett--his use and abuse of those opportunities--mr. westbrook's action towards shelley--his endeavour to preserve harriett from shelley--eliza westbrook's part in making up the match--the tool's reward--the etonian free lover--the social condition of the westbrooks and godwins--harriett westbrook's beauty--her education--her knowledge of french--her quick progress in latin--what wonder that shelley fell in love with her? thus it was that shelley carried off mr. westbrook's sixteen-years-old child, and made her his wife, instead of acting on 'the hasty decision,' from which hogg dissuaded him. did he take this momentous step inconsiderately? on a slight acquaintance with the young lady? under circumstances that denied him fair opportunities for observing the temper and studying the character of the girl whose singular beauty had fascinated him? was he lured, drawn, inveigled, into the marriage by influences, stronger than those that are usually employed by a girl's nearest relatives for compassing what they think a good match for her? the enthusiasts, who draw their inspiration on shelleyan questions from field place, do not hesitate to answer all these questions in the affirmative. mr. garnett (_vide_ his _shelley in pall mall_) assures us that whenever certain documents, hitherto withheld from the world, shall be made public, _i.e._ when field place shall issue its authoritative biography for the ending of all controversies on shelleyan matters, 'it will for the first time be clearly understood how slight was the acquaintance of shelley with harriet, previous to their marriage; what advantage was taken of his chivalry of sentiment, and her compliant disposition, and the inexperience of both; and how little entitled or disposed she felt herself to complain of his behaviour.' it is certain that before submitting to what she could not prevent, harriett complained with passionate vehemence of her husband's behaviour to her. let that matter, however, pass for the present. what are the grounds for saying that unfair advantage was taken of shelley's inexperience, and that shelley, by reason of the slightness of his acquaintance with her, when he stole her from her father, knew much less of harriett than young men usually know of girls they are on the point of marrying? strange things may of course be looked for from the people, who have recently required the world to believe that, instead of taking claire from london to byron at geneva, shelley and mary godwin were taken (like two little children) _by_ claire to switzerland,--and so taken there _by_ her, although they (as the field place story goes) disliked her exceedingly, even to the point of disgustful aversion. but even the authorities of field place will scarcely declare the documents published in hogg's _life_ to be spurious documents. they will scarcely declare that hogg (the writer with a peculiar style from which he could not liberate himself for an instant) forged the multitude of letters, published in his book as letters written to him by shelley,--the epistles, some of which lady shelley herself used for evidential purposes in writing her _shelley memorials_,--the epistles which are so shelleyan in thought and diction, feeling and language, form and style, that no other human being but shelley could have written them. field place has dared to do strange things, but its daring will stop short of this extravagance. to produce documents, drawn by shelley's hand or at his dictation, in contradiction of these letters, would not be to discredit the letters, but only to produce fresh illustration of one of shelley's most perplexing infirmities,--fresh evidence that he often made statements contrary to the truth. from documentary evidences of unimpeachable genuineness and irresistible cogency, it is certain that shelley made harriett westbrook's acquaintance in january, , eight lunar months before his elopement with her; that he corresponded with her between the day on which he made her acquaintance and the date of his expulsion from oxford; that in the spring of he saw her repeatedly at her home and elsewhere,--receiving her at least on one occasion at his lodgings in poland street, attending her from her father's house to her school on clapham common, walking about with her on clapham common, and sitting up with her (at least on one occasion) till past midnight, at chapel street, grosvenor square, in the absence of a third person; that he corresponded with her from march to september; that the wooing, which began at oxford by letter, if not on the occasion of their first meeting, was strenuously prosecuted by shelley to the day of the elopement; that he had opportunities for seeing and influencing her, which enabled him to illuminate her out of christianity and (to use mr. rossetti's expression) to 'philosophise her out of the ordinary standard of propriety'; that he had opportunities, and used them, for making her think lightly of the matrimonial rite; that he had opportunities, and used them, for encouraging her in rebellion against her own father; that instead of being kept in the dark as to the chief, and indeed the only important defect of her temper--a constitutional proneness to discontent--he was peculiarly interested in her manifestations of this significant quality, and sympathized cordially with her groundless grievances and imaginary sorrows. though he was uncertain as to the day on which shelley determined to win harriett westbrook's affections, hogg had no doubt his friend had begun to woo the girl before he left oxford. 'shelley's epistles show the progress of his courtship,' he says, 'and that his marriage was not quite so hasty an affair as it is commonly represented to have been. the wooing continued for half-a-year at least, and this is a long time in the life,--in the life of love, of such young persons.' the interval, between shelley's withdrawal from oxford and his marriage at edinburgh, wanted at least three weeks of an entire half-year. yet, field place requires us to believe slightness was a principal characteristic of the prenuptial intercourse of these young people! how about the charge of inveiglement? no one has ever suggested that mr. westbrook was an accomplice in measures for luring the heir of the heir to a wealthy sussex baronetcy into wedlock with his younger daughter. on the contrary there were reasons why he should regard any such project with disfavour. if he was not a gentleman, mr. westbrook was a man of the world, who came in contact with gentlemen, and knew something of the ways of the higher world and fashionable society, from the gossip of the gentlemen who used his public-house. the west-end taverner, who had risen to comfortable circumstances by attention to his affairs, was not the man to be keenly desirous of having for his son-in-law the scatterbrain youngster who only the other day was expelled from oxford. he had seen too many youngsters of quality drop to grief and ruin, not to know that a young gentleman of shelley's parentage and expectations and story might prove a very poor match for a prosperous tradesman's daughter. he knew the value of his money too well, not to be aware that his pretty daughter, to whom he could make a good allowance during his life and perhaps leave ten thousand pounds at his death, might do much better for herself than marry the harum-scarum son of the member for new shoreham. mr. westbrook did not need to be told that, so married, his pretty daughter and her children might drain his pocket to his last hour. like a prudent man, he did nothing to hurry his daughter into the unfortunate marriage. when shelley came to chapel street with his sister's present and letter of introduction in his hand, he was received with courtesy at the taverner's private house. mr. westbrook received the youngster with civility in the ensuing spring: a civility that would have seemed less 'strange' to shelley (_vide_ letter to hogg, of th april, ), had he not been conscious how little he deserved it. though he writes disdainfully of the tradesman, whom he calls alternately a coffeehouse-keeper and ex-coffeehouse-keeper, and charges him with pitiful stinginess to his daughter, whose disobedience raised her so considerably in the scale of social dignity, hogg forbears to accuse mr. westbrook of imposing his younger daughter on the youth of quality, who made her so poor a husband. according to hogg, miss elizabeth westbrook made up the match, her father being guilty of nothing worse than prudent and hypocritical anger at the event on which he secretly congratulated himself. perhaps mr. westbrook, after the elopement, made the most of harriett's unfilial disobedience, and feigned more displeasure than he felt at her misbehaviour, in order to have and preserve a good pretext for tightening the string of his purse. but no one can suspect him of busying himself to bring about the match. compelling harriett to return to her prison on clapham common after the easter holidays, he did nothing to facilitate their intercourse, before shelley, in the middle of may, went from town to sussex. at the beginning of august, on finding how matters had been going on with the lovers, without his consent or suspicion, mr. westbrook determined to send harriett again to school, returned with his wife and daughters to chapel street, and on shelley's reappearance in the neighbourhood of grosvenor square, shut his door against him. miss elizabeth westbrook no doubt had a hand in making up the match. but what of that? to make matches is the privilege and convenient diversion of mature woman-kind, and a successful taverner's daughter is not to be denied the rights and privileges of her sex, because her father is a licensed victualler. in doing what she did to oblige shelley in the matter, she was moved partly by affection for her sister, and partly by a desire to become, sooner or later, the sister-in-law of a wealthy baronet, the sister of a lady of quality. actuated by ambition and sisterly affection, miss elizabeth westbrook obeyed precisely the same motives that determine any gentlewoman of high condition to make the heir of a peerage, or any other highly eligible _parti_, duly sensible of her eldest daughter's manifold graces and virtues. standing to harriett in the relation of a mother rather than a sister, miss elizabeth westbrook merely did for her younger sister's advantage and her own gratification, what a mother bent on marrying her daughter advantageously is permitted to do for the achievement of her purpose. shelley besought miss westbrook for opportunities of seeing harriett, as he was disposed to love her, and miss westbrook gave him what he wanted. if this is to lure and inveigle a young man into wedlock, the elder miss westbrook was guilty of that offence. but i cannot think her action should be described by such offensive words. she did not seek shelley; it was he who in a very remarkable way sought her and her people out. he was not the mild and compliant youth to be led into wedlock against his will, because a rather mature maiden told him it would be good for him. miss elizabeth westbrook of all women was the least qualified to exercise such control over him. she was not beautiful, and at the outset of their acquaintance she was by no means acceptable to shelley. he thought her affected, and suspected her of unamiability. he felt for her a dislike that almost amounted to repulsion, and would soon have quickened into aversion, had she irritated him by opposing his scheme. till he had made her clearly understand he did not visit chapel street to talk of love with her, but to talk of it with her sister, and she had consented to his design, shelley saw nothing to approve and much to disapprove in the elder miss westbrook. on changing his mind about her, he found the lady amiable merely because she acquiesced in his scheme. when a person consents to be the tool of another, the tool usually has a reward. sometimes in addition to the reward agreed upon by both parties, the tool has in view an end unimagined by the person using the tool. sometimes also it happens that, turning the tables, the tool becomes the tyrant of its former employer. it was so in the present instance. after shelley's marriage, miss elizabeth westbrook insisted on the reward of former services, and for a while exacted heavier payment for them than shelley was willing to pay. amiable in his eyes, whilst she was only his tool, miss westbrook soon grew hateful to him when she had become his tyrant. why should we assume, why was it ever assumed, that shelley was inveigled and drawn into the association, which was so completely an affair of his own desire and contrivance? the notion that he _was made_ to do the thing which he did of his own accord, and in spite of numerous obstacles, probably originated from regard for the disparity of the westbrooks and shelleys in respect to social station. the disparity, no doubt, was considerable. though he was not of aristocratic ancestry as biographers have so stubbornly declared, the young man who, besides being the son of a member of parliament, stood in the direct line of succession to a good estate and a hereditary dignity, married greatly beneath him when he took a licensed victualler's daughter for his wife; and in the majority of the cases, where a young man marries a girl so greatly his inferior in social quality, the marriage is found on inquiry to have been brought about by the artifice and influence of a third person. shelley's marriage, however, was one of those unequal marriages that are distinctly referable to other causes. having in his boyhood a sentimental repugnance to lawful matrimony, that had steadily grown in power from the time when he wrote _zastrozzi_, the oxonian shelley had no sooner been discarded by harriett grove, than he desired a conjugal partner, whom he could attach to himself by a tie less enduring than the bond of marriage,--a girl, in fact, with whom he could live in free love. he could not hope to find such a partner in his own social grade. the prejudices against free love were stronger in shelley's time, even as they are at the present time, in the higher than in the lower grades of english society. in descending from his own social grade, to the grade of the prosperous london _bourgeoisie_, he descended no lower than the highest social grade, in which he could conceive it possible for him to find a girl of beauty, culture, refinement, and delicacy, whom he would be allowed to 'philosophise out of the ordinary standard of propriety,' till she should 'throw herself upon him for protection.' to win harriett westbrook, he descended (at least in the eyes of fashionable society) no lower, than he descended to win mary godwin. of course, in being a very considerable man of letters, godwin (in the opinion of the present writer) was greatly mr. westbrook's superior; but this superiority was in shelley's time more obvious to persons of education moving in the middle way of life, than to people of fashion and patrician quality. moreover, godwin's superiority to mr. westbrook in this particular was attended with circumstances that would render 'society' more than usually indifferent to it. by birth and familiar associations, william godwin and mr. westbrook were of the same social degree. they were also of the same social degree in respect to the avocations, by which the one had acquired sufficient affluence, and the other maintained his family in skinner street. whilst the prosperous man of business lived with the port and bearing of a gentleman in chapel street, grosvenor square, the man of letters was a struggling and needy bookseller in the city. in eloping with mary godwin in , the poet associated himself with a family no less distinctly beneath people of quality than the family from which he took his first wife. yet it has never been suggested that he was lured and inveigled into his alliance with the skinner street family. the notion that shelley was 'caught' and 'trapt,' inveigled and drawn against his will into his first marriage, becomes still more ludicrous, when regard is had to the personal charms of harriett westbrook,--charms that, had she been of far lowlier origin, would account for the young man's action in making her his wife. shapely in figure and graceful in her movements, she possessed a face of singular loveliness, and the air of high breeding that is so often wanting in damsels of high birth. it is no exaggeration to say that she was a rare and faultless example of the girlish beauty, which was most delightful and charming to shelley. her features were delicate and regular; her light-brown hair was of a colour peculiarly acceptable to her admirer; no girl ever had a more transparent complexion, or alluring lips; and in her sunnier moods, her countenance brightened with looks curiously expressive of intellectual alertness and childish _naïveté_. at the same time in a laugh, equally spontaneous and joyous, and a voice so musical, that people delighted in hearing her read unentertaining books for the hour together, she possessed two natural endowments that have been known to inspire passion, when they have been associated with features plain even to ugliness. the air and style of this lovely girl were such, that fifteen months after their wedding, shelley wrote of her and them, 'the ease and simplicity of her habits, the unassuming plainness of her address, the uncalculated connexion of her thought and speech, have ever formed, in my eyes, her greatest charms.' speaking of the pleasure he experienced in hearing her read aloud, hogg says, 'if it was agreeable to listen to her, it was not less agreeable to look at her; she was always pretty, always bright, always blooming; without a spot, without a wrinkle, not a hair out of its place.' peacock admired the taste and simplicity with which she arranged her light-brown tresses, and the simple elegance of her costume. be it also remarked that for a girl of her period (more than seventy years since) harriett was well educated,--writing excellent letters of gracefully fluent penmanship: so familiar with french, that during her six weeks' stay at edinburgh, she found a congenial occupation in translating one of madame cottin's novels into english; fond of reading sound literature by herself, no less than to attentive auditors; and possessing so much taste and aptitude for study that shelley delighted in teaching her latin, and brought her so quickly forward in it, that before the end of , she was reading the horatian odes with interest, if not without difficulty. such was the harriett westbrook of and . and yet field place cannot account for shelley's weakness in wedding so lovely and winsome a creature, without assuming that he was 'caught' and inveigled into the match by a designing third person,--the artful and scheming elizabeth westbrook. chapter xvi. edinburgh, york, and keswick. the scotch marriage--the trio at edinburgh--'wha's the deil?'--posting from edinburgh to york--dingy lodgings and dingy milliners--shelley's run south--did harriett accompany him?--the squire stops the supplies--the earl's description of harriett westbrook--the squire's anger at the _mésalliance_--the course shelley could not take--eliza westbrook in possession--the ouse at full flood--one too many--designs on greystoke castle--shelley's appeal to the duke of norfolk--the codicil to sir bysshe's will--the flight to richmond--miss westbrook strikes her enemy--the trio at keswick--shelley's affectionate letters from keswick to hogg at york--john westbrook's daughters at greystoke castle--ducal benignity and policy--the calverts of greta bank--shelley's means during his first marriage--how to live on three-hundred-a-year--how not to live on four-hundred-a-year. during the latest stages of their long journey in the london and edinburgh mail, shelley and harriett had for their travelling companion a young scotch advocate, who, on being taken into their confidence, told them the right and speediest steps to marriage in accordance with the usage of the land. hence, on embracing his friend in the handsome front-parlour of a high and roomy house in george street, and taking his first view of harriett, 'bright, blooming, radiant with youth, health and beauty,' hogg was in the presence of husband and wife. for particulars of the way in which the young people spent the next three weeks in the scotch capital, readers must go to hogg's much-abused book. for the purpose of the present chapter, it is enough to indicate how life went there with the trio, who in the dead season of a never too lively city, laughed over trivial matters with youth's light-heartedness, and found in themselves all the society they needed. hogg's only disappointment was that harriett's disinclination for exercise denied him opportunities for the long walks he had hoped to take in the surrounding country. otherwise he was abundantly happy in regarding the happiness of the incomparable shelley, and in studying the charms, the character, and endowments of the girl his friend had taken for better or worse. rising for an early breakfast, passing the morning in studious or literary labour (shelley was busy on his translation of a treatise by buffon; harriett on her translation of madame cottin's _claire d'albe_), and dining in the middle of the day, they spent the afternoon in exploring the high-ways and by-ways, the grand places and the nooks and corners, of the picturesque town. having taken tea freely and talked philosophy with equal freedom, the young men surrendered themselves to the music of their official reader (harriett of the clear and mellifluous voice), till the deepening shades of evening reminded them it was time to admire the stars, and gaze at the famous comet that gave our grandfathers the wine, whose flavour lingers on tradition's tongue. for their higher happiness indebted to the heavens and themselves, these young people were indebted to scotch sabbatarianism for some of their heartiest peals of laughter. with unintentional profanity the future poet was laughing in his own peculiarly shrill and vehement fashion in prince's street, on the day that is still the saddest of the seven in north britain, when he was admonished for his scandalous levity by the austere wayfarer, who remarked, 'you must not laugh openly in that fashion, young man: if you do, you'll most certainly be convened;'--a warning that may have been fruitful of the curiosity, which determined shelley on a subsequent sabbath to go to kirk, for the purpose of hearing the servants and children catechized on matters touching religion. the drollery of hogg's account of this visit to the kirk is due to the narrator's lively humour, rather than to any unusual absurdity in the proceedings for instructing an assemblage of servants and children in the rudiments of theology. from dullness and shyness, the pupils were slow in catching their catechist's meaning, and still slower in answering the questions that were shouted to them by a teacher, whose scotch accent was the more effective on his auditors from the south, because at moments of displeasure, his vocal pitch indicated that he was not devoid of scotch irritability. in asking his class 'who is the devil?' this catechist cannot be said to have travelled beyond the lines of ordinary official routine; but his vocal peculiarities and the sharpness of his manner gave the simple question a startling piquancy and grotesqueness, that, sending shelley into shrieks of laughter, drove him to the open streets where, though inopportune, and highly scandalous, such laughter would be less outrageous than in a place of religious instruction. six weeks having slipt away quickly, after the wont of time that passing agreeably passes without exciting incidents, the morning came, on which the trio entered a postchaise and began the return-journey to york. hogg would have preferred the mail or the slowest stage-coach to the private chaise,--a mode of travelling scarcely appropriate to the financial position of the three travellers; the law-student, who had nothing more than a liberal allowance for a student from his father, and the happy pair, who had married on the _l._ a-year, which they had reason to apprehend would be withheld from them by the indignant squire of field place. but harriett had suffered too much on her northward journey to be desirous of resuming her seat in the mail, whilst as a matron of only sixteen summers she wished to travel in a way more befitting a gentlewoman of quality. so shelley, who hated restraint of any kind, and hogg, ever averse to costly ostentation, consented to the young lady's desire for a chaise, in which they could converse freely, and she could read one of holcroft's novels to them. whatever the book had been, hogg would have enjoyed hearing it read by so charming a reader. but the tale was tedious to shelley, who, after sighing in a significant way, vainly entreated harriett to skip some of the less entertaining parts of the narrative. the conflict on so trifling a matter may be noticed as an indication that, even thus early in their married life, the poet and his bride had trivial differences, in which she had her own way, and he was constrained to let her have it. not that harriett insisted on reading aloud the whole of the time from edinburgh to york. there were moments when, if not glad to give her throat a rest, she was pleased to enlarge her knowledge of rural matters by listening to the talk of her travelling companions. how much it needed enlargement at this point of her career, appears from the earnestness with which the little cockney (as shelley styled her) besought her husband to teach her how to discriminate between turnips and barley. hogg's comfortable lodgings in york having been let 'over his head' during his absence in scotland, the trio had no sooner alighted from the last of their successive post-chaises, than they went forth in the rainy twilight to look for other rooms. hogg suggested, was indeed urgent, that they should pass the night at an inn, and defer the search for lodgings till the morrow. but shelley flatly refused to acquiesce in the proposal;--a refusal that may well have perplexed hogg at the moment, as the cause of the future poet's impatience to get into rooms in a private house did not appear till the following morning. shelley declaring thus stoutly for an immediate entrance on lodgings--any lodgings rather than rooms in a tavern for a single night,--and harriett of course concurring with her husband, hogg was in a minority, and could not decline to join them in the search for a temporary home, which, in the course of the damp and chilly october evening, made them the joint-tenants of certain rooms in 'the dingy dwelling of certain dingy old milliners' (the misses dancer of coney street), who, in the course of a week or ten days, were as glad to be quit of their lodgers, as the lodgers were glad to be quit of the austere and reasonably suspicious needlewomen. on the morrow hogg, who had overrun his leave of absence by a few days, went early to the chambers of the conveyancer with whom he was reading; but he did not return thus early to the scene of legal labour and study, without having heard of shelley's intention to start for london by the next night-mail. the future poet's announcement of this intention to run southward, whilst leaving his bride at york under his friend's care in the rooms they had occupied for a single night, of course showed hogg why harriett's youthful and erratic husband had been so urgent for an immediate choice of lodgings,--so averse to tarrying in a tavern for a few hours. on the journey from edinburgh to york, shelley had been secretly nursing his project for running off to london and sussex,--to see his father's attorney (mr. whitton), to take counsel with his uncle pilfold, and to come to a financial understanding, either by personal interview or through the attorney's intervention, with the squire of field place. the charges of six weeks' residence at edinburgh, followed by the charges of the southward journey, had reduced his money in hand to so insignificant a sum, that, on approaching york, he could not think of taking harriett with him on the meditated trip to middlesex and sussex. it was manifest to him that she must remain at york, whilst he went on the expedition for 'raising supplies.' at the same time it was obvious, even to the harum-scarum shelley, that he could not with propriety leave his girlish bride in a york tavern, where she would not fail to become the one subject of gossip, with the landlady and her chamber-maids, the gentle folk of the coffee-room, the bagmen of the commercial-room, the tipplers and loiterers at the public bar. left to the accidents of life in a tavern, the lovely school-girl--staying by herself in a provincial hotel, without husband or lady's maid, without any companion of her own sex--would be liable to various kinds of insult and annoyance, from which she would be secure in a quiet lodging-house. hence shelley's determination to lose not an hour in settling his bride in lodgings after their arrival at york, as he was set on leaving her for a while, in little more than four-and-twenty hours. hogg had several reasons for opposing his friend's resolve to go south so abruptly. seeing what mischief might be made by gossips at york, and by gossips in london and sussex, of the young husband's voluntary withdrawal from his childish wife, at a moment when she stood in peculiar need of his presence,--when nothing short of overpowering necessity should make him leave her side for an entire day,--and when the very circumstances of their union required them to be more than ordinarily thoughtful for appearances and the world's opinion, hogg saw the impropriety and insufficiency of the arrangements for her comfort during shelley's absence. whilst he was too much a man of the world to think himself the fittest guardian for the lovely girl, on the point of being thrown so completely and unceremoniously on his hands, or to imagine the ladies of york would think him so, hogg had grounds for a strong opinion, that his friend would gain nothing more by interviews with mr. whitton and mr. whitton's client than he could gain from them by letters sent through the post,--that he would, in fact, be wasting on a profitless journey the few guineas still remaining to him of borrowed money,--the last lingering guineas, which in a few weeks he might need for bare necessities. under these circumstances, it is not strange that the more worldly-wise of the two youngsters advised his comrade to postpone the journey for a few days. even so short a time would have given hogg opportunities for introducing the shelleys to ladies of the northern city; for inducing some of those ladies to take an interest in harriett who, wedded woman though she was, needed a chaperon as much as any recently emancipated school-girl; and for withdrawing from a domiciliary relation to the young lady that, during shelley's absence, was likely to give rise to equally egregious and undesirable misconceptions in the northern capital. in pleading for delay, hogg could not, of course state frankly his reasons for the prayer. the questions at issue were too delicate for candour. all the north-countryman could do was to recommend postponement. of course, the counsel was in vain. holding to his purpose, shelley went for the south, leaving his bride and the incomparable hogg fellow-lodgers in the same dingy dwelling, and sharers of the same dingy parlour. surely the circumstances of the case may be held to justify, or at least to excuse, suspicion on the part of the two ancient and austere milliners, careful for their own characters and the reputation of their house in a provincial city, abounding, like all other provincial towns, with people more curious about their neighbours' doings than heedful of their own affairs. here is the case from a milliner's point of view.--late one evening, mr. hogg (a sprightly young bachelor of the city) enters the house, in the company of mr. shelley (a very young gentleman, looking no older than his wife) and harriett shelley (looking less than her sixteen summers); the entrance of the trio being covered with assertions that the sprightly mr. hogg's juvenile friends are husband and wife. twenty-four hours later, the young gentleman with the aspect of a schoolboy goes off by the london mail, leaving the sixteen-years-old girl in the house, under the charge of the sprightly mr. hogg, whose way of saying strange things makes it doubtful to maiden ladies of mature age and lowly station, whether they should smile or frown. who is the young lady? who the young gentleman who has gone off to london? are they really husband and wife? if so, why has the young gentleman gone off without her? why has he left her under the care of the sprightly mr. hogg, of all people in the world? can it be that the scotch marriage, instead of making her the very young gentleman's wife, made her the sprightly mr. hogg's wife? the austere and suspicious milliners may well have asked themselves these and half-a-hundred other questions. whilst shelley was away, harriett spent lonely days at york. the weather was rainy, but there were hours when the sky cleared or its clouds forbore to spend themselves on the roofs and open spaces of the city. it speaks for the girl's uneasiness in a position from which she should have been preserved, and also for her sense of womanly fitness and delicacy, that during her boyish husband's absence she kept herself within the doors of the dingy lodging-house,--forbearing to visit the minster and other sights of the city, and declining the many invitations hogg gave her to take exercise in the open air under his escort. in edinburgh she took daily walks, usually with her husband and hogg, sometimes with no other companion than her husband's friend; but at york, during her husband's absence, she remained at home. 'when it was fair,' says hogg of her _triste_ and uneventful days at york, 'she did not go out, having unfortunately transplanted her london notions of propriety to york: she considered it incorrect to walk in the streets of that quiet city by herself.' as shelley was certainly absent from york on one sunday ( th october, ),--a day on which mr. hogg's work at chambers did not preclude him from walking about the town--it may be fairly assumed that harriett's notions of propriety forbade her to walk in the streets with him no less than by herself. certainly in her circumspection the sixteen-years-young gentlewoman gave the grim and vigilant milliners no grounds for speaking of her with disapproval, apart from the fact that she continued to share the same parlour with mr. hogg. in this matter, how could the poor child do otherwise? how could she help herself? having so much of her own company by day, whilst her fellow-lodger was 'at chambers,' harriett may well have enjoyed hogg's company in the evening, when they talked together of her husband, and his projects for the regeneration of human kind, her papa and his affairs, her clapham boarding-school and its discipline, her mamma and sister,--the mamma who looked so ladylike in black satin, and the sister eliza (in the fulness of her christian name, elizabeth) who had so elegant a figure and so noble a crop of black hair. when these and other domestic topics did not hold their attention, harriett's fellow-lodger used to sit with unqualified contentment for hours together, whilst she read aloud to him holcroft's _anna st. ives_, dr. robertson's historical works, and other staid and instructive books. it may be inferred from expressions in hogg's book that, though she often read aloud to him at edinburgh, harriett read aloud to him at york, during shelley's absence from the city, more copiously than during any other time of their acquaintance. noteworthy, also, is it, that (by hogg's admission), harriett's audible readings became much less frequent and lengthy when miss westbrook appeared upon the scene, just four-and-twenty hours before shelley returned to the city, and that they ceased almost entirely before the shelleys went away abruptly to keswick. possibly, hogg was wrong in attributing this change of harriett's conduct altogether to miss westbrook's influence. possibly, also, he was mistaken in attributing the copiousness of harriett's audible readings, during her husband's absence, altogether to her delight in reading aloud. harriett read no less clearly than musically. 'hers,' says hogg, 'was the most distinct utterance i ever heard.' it is conceivable that, instead of reading thus distinctly either for her own pleasure or for mr. hogg's pleasure, harriett at york read thus audibly for the protection of her own character, and the edification of hearers listening in the passage outside the parlour door. it cannot be doubted that the poor child, left as she should not have been left, in a position of vexatious and humiliating embarrassment, knew that she, hogg and her husband were each and all objects of suspicion to the austere and dingy milliners. so placed, she was, of course, painfully jealous for her reputation, and resolute that she would shape her course, so as to be able to extort evidence to her goodness from the very women who suspected her of evil. never leaving the house, she put it beyond the power of the austere milliners to accuse her of going about the town in pursuit of pleasure. never receiving any visitor but her fellow-lodger, she confined the milliners' suspicions within narrow limits. whilst she and her fellow-lodger were together, it was her practice to be incessantly conversing with him or reading to him in a voice, clearly audible outside their room,--so that the milliners should have the evidence of their own ears, that she and her fellow-lodger were no fit objects of suspicion. i have no direct and conclusive evidence that harriett talked and read aloud for this end. but that she talked and read aloud mainly for this end, is a fair inference from what hogg says of her talking, reading, and other behaviour during her husband's absence. reading hogg's evidence in this way, i have no doubt it was to harriett's relief, if not at her suggestion, that miss westbrook, immediately after her arrival at york, forbade the readings as exercises too exhausting for her sister's nervous system. in passing through london, shelley made attempts to see miss westbrook and mr. whitton, and, probably, saw both of them. if he did not see the attorney, he communicated with him by letter, saying that he should quickly return from sussex to london. if he saw miss westbrook, one may be sure she told him plainly he had done ill in leaving his bride at york under hogg's care, at a moment when he was especially bound to be thoughtful for her comfort and character. it cannot be doubted that, on coming to cuckfield, he found his uncle pilfold of miss westbrook's opinion on this matter. if the old sailor did not say so in words, we may be sure the expression of his countenance told his nephew, that he should not have come to sussex without his wife; that in leaving her at york he had given people another reason for talking lightly of her and to his disadvantage; that he would do well to withhold from the field place and horsham people a matter they would not fail to report with unfavourable comments, should it come to their knowledge. under these circumstances it was natural for the young gentleman to take measures to make the field place and horsham people imagine that harriett had accompanied him to sussex. the evidence in his own hand-writing, which has caused some writers to imagine she accompanied him to sussex, is only evidence of the pains taken by shelley to conceal the indiscretion of which he had been guilty. dating from his uncle's house at cuckfield, on monday st october, , the future poet wrote mr. medwin (the horsham attorney) a letter which has been produced in testimony that, instead of being at york (as hogg truthfully represented), harriett was on that day with her scatterbrain husband under captain pilfold's roof. instructing the lawyer that mrs. shelley spelt her christian name with a second t, shelley further instructed him to prepare a deed of marriage settlement (assigning _l._ a-year for mrs. shelley's provision during her life, in case of her husband's death). further, mr. medwin was directed to address to his youthful client 'at mr. westbrook's, chapel street, grosvenor square.' after giving these directions, and announcing his purpose of remarrying harriett (by english form) in the course of three weeks or a month, before which renewal of his nuptials he intended to execute the settlement, shelley added: 'we most probably go to london to-morrow. we shall probably see whitton, when i shall neither forget your good advice, nor cease to be grateful for it.' the instructions by the nineteen-years-old boy for a deed of settlement on his wife, to be executed by him in a few weeks, are amusing. what induced him to say she spelt her christian name with two t's, when she spelt it in the ordinary manner with only one, is unknown. the main object of the epistle was the purpose of the two delusive sentences beginning with 'we,'--sentences intended to create an impression, or to confirm mr. medwin in the impression, that harriett had accompanied the writer from york. even in the absence of evidence to the point, the young gentleman (who ten months earlier 'resorted to deception' in order to escape a trivial annoyance) might be presumed to have written other letters to make the horsham and field place gossips imagine his wife was with him in sussex and london, when she was at york. taken by itself the evidence that, instead of leaving her at york, shelley took harriett with him to london and sussex is considerable. indeed, standing by itself, it would justify the historian in representing that the boyish husband carried her southward in his company. but the counter evidence that he left her in york is so much stronger, that i do not hesitate in adopting hogg's narrative, and in regarding the contradictory evidence as fallacious testimony, arising from shelley's wish to conceal, and his measures for concealing, the impropriety of which he had been guilty. shelley had better have remained at york in submission to hogg's counsel, instead of spending the greater part of his few remaining guineas on the costly journey, from which he got nothing but disappointment. refusing to see him, the squire of field place declined for the present to hold any communication with him except through mr. whitton. at the same time the squire declined to give his unruly son any more money, till he should promise to amend his ways and submit himself to his father's authority with fit expressions of penitence. acting doubtless at his client's instance, mr. whitton begged he might not be troubled with a call from his client's son, who could say all that was needful under the circumstances on a sheet of paper. the attitude of the squire and the attitude of the attorney are clearly defined in two notes dated by the latter to mr. percy bysshe shelley on the same day ( rd october, ); the one note being addressed to the poet at cuckfield, the other being directed to him at the turk's coffee-house, strand. the young gentleman, who in august chuckled over anticipations of his father's surprise and fury at his runaway match with an innkeeper's daughter, had not made his account for his father's steady persistence in displeasure. the young gentleman who had just travelled southward by mail from york, to talk matters over and settle them with the 'old boy' (shelley's expression), found the 'old buck' (also shelley's expression) in no haste to talk matters over, found him resolute to leave matters as they were till he could rearrange them in his own way. kept at a distance in this way by 'old killjoy' (also one of the son's nicknames for his sire), mr. percy bysshe shelley was treated with similar insolence by old 'killjoy's' attorney, who enjoined him to say what he wished to say in writing. it was mr. percy bysshe shelley's turn to feel surprise and indignation. baffled and resentful the young gentleman returned to york with a heavy heart and a light purse. at length there was war to the bitter-end between the long-suffering father who had endured so much, and the son, who had now exhausted his sire's patience. at length he was excluded from field place, _not_ for his religious opinions, _but_ for his successive extravagances of deceit, disloyalty, and disobedience to an affectionate father, and for the _escapade_ by which he sought to introduce a tavern-keeper's daughter to his mother's drawing-room as the young lady, who in the course of time would be lady shelley of field place. successive writers have insisted that the poet would never have been drawn into this disastrous marriage had it not been for the excessive chivalry of his nature, that placed him at the mercy of the designing, artful, unscrupulous eliza westbrook. a chivalrous boy usually has some care for the feelings and dignity of the women of his own blood and hearth. if shelley really surpassed other boys in chivalry, even as he surpassed them (according to lady shelley) in truthfulness and candour, he would surely have been more thoughtful for his mother's feelings and his sister's dignity, than for miss westbrook's wishes. it does not appear to have occurred even for a single moment to this chivalrous youth that, in choosing a wife, he should not be absolutely without concern for his mother's sensibility, his sister's honour and social interest. from first to last he seems to have assumed that his own feelings were the only sensibilities for which he was required to think. by those who (with the present writer) think shelley ran away with harriett westbrook because he was thoroughly in love with her, it may, of course, be urged in his excuse that love is proverbially selfish, and that in choosing their wives young men are always more bent on pleasing themselves than on pleasing their mothers and sisters. but such considerations cannot be urged in the youngster's behalf by those, who maintain (with mr. garnett) that, instead of marrying the young lady, because he desired her passionately, shelley fell with passionless weakness into the _mésalliance_ through miss eliza westbrook's artful treatment of his sense of chivalry. moreover, even by those who believe him to have been honestly in love, it must be conceded that he was less thoughtful for his mother and sisters, than a generous and chivalric young man must necessarily be when he is choosing a wife. had he thought for a moment how the _mésalliance_ would affect his mother, he must have seen it would occasion her sorrow and acute mortification. had he given a thought for the interests of his sisters, he must have seen the match would be greatly injurious to them. had he taken thought for the honour of the family, which his father and grandfather had raised to the dignity of a territorial house, he must have seen that the gentlewomen of many of the neighbouring families would be slow to recognize and visit john westbrook's daughter. if he thought with indifference of these sure consequences of the _mésalliance_, the chivalrous shelley was strangely wanting in chivalric care for the women of his nearest kindred. if he did not think of them at all, his selfishness exceeded the selfishness permitted to lovers. when 'society' is invited to consider and pass judgment on a new _mésalliance_, it is in the nature of things for the unpleasant and reprehensible features of the affair to be magnified and multiplied by social sentiment. on hearing that young shelley of field place had surpassed all his previous offences by running off to scotland with an innkeeper's daughter, to his father's unutterable wrath and his mother's grief and dismay, the sussex families imagined something far more shocking than the actual incident. knowing nothing of harriett's beauty and refinement, of her father's respectability, and the care expended on her education, the people of the county houses thought of what was least agreeable in inns and innkeepers, and of all that was most disagreeable in the smart girls usually employed in the inns along the posting roads of the country; and having thus surrounded themselves with more or less repulsive recollections of simpering damsels, the sussex families leapt to the conclusion that the boy, who was expelled from oxford last spring, had thrown himself into the arms of some pert barmaid or saucy chamber-woman. in the correspondence (preserved at the record office) touching the box of shelley's pamphlets, that was opened by the surveyor of customs at holyhead in march, , a letter is preserved, which affords curious evidence respecting the view taken of shelley and his marriage by the great families of the poet's county. dating from stanmer, near brighton, on th april, (just seven months after the elopement) the earl of chichester--the chief of sussex pelhams and postmaster-general (in conjunction with ... )--wrote to mr. francis freeling, secretary of the post office:-- 'dear freeling,--i return the pamphlet and declaration. the writer of the first is son of mr. shelley, member for the rape of bramber, and is by all accounts a most extraordinary man. i hear that he has married a servant, or some person of very low birth.' it was thus that the chief of a great sussex family wrote, and the sussex quality spoke, of the lovely girl, whose marriage had raised her to the honour of being so quaintly and disdainfully misdescribed. for a few weeks known by report to the county families as an innkeeper's daughter, she was vaguely remembered by them a few months later as 'a servant, or some person of very low birth.' a year later the castle goring shelleys were known in county houses, lying outside the immediate neighbourhood of horsham, as people who made low marriages. such was the kind of discredit that came to shelley's kindred from the alliance he had formed in absolute carelessness for their feelings and interests. a man of the world (albeit an eccentric one), the squire of field place was aware of the disrepute that would come to him and his house from his son's latest escapade. he was also precisely the man to feel acutely the disrepute, which he had reason to fear would be hurtful to his girls. the son of the man who had founded a new family, the heir of the old man who had gathered together enough wealth for the sufficient endowment of half-a-dozen baronets, the _protégé_ of the duke of norfolk, who had for several years regarded him with growing complaisance, and a member of parliament, who had contrived to persuade himself he was no ordinary borough-member, the honest, kindly, hearty squire of field place, had hoped that his boy would, under his grace's favour, pass directly from his nonage to public life; that his girls (the eldest of them already a beauty, the three younger ones bearing on their childish faces the promise of uncommon womanly loveliness,) would marry into the best families of the county, with whose history his name had been so long associated, though none of his father's lineal ancestors had ever held place amongst its aristocracy. doubtless, the simple, sport-loving, and mildly ambitious englishman had cherished the hope that his son, or one of his son's sons, would wear a coronet. and now all these pleasant and not inordinate hopes were dissipated by his perverse boy's marriage with the girl, with whom the county families would decline to associate,--the girl who would be called the field place 'barmaid,'--the girl who, so soon after her discreditable marriage, lived in the minds of the sussex grandees as a servant or other low person. the squire's mortification might be deemed his fitting punishment, had he in pride of purse borne himself insolently to former friends; had he, on rising to friendship with 'the great,' fawned and cringed to their grandeur; had he, in his desire for the elevation of his offspring and the aggrandisement of castle goring, attempted to force his son into a distasteful union, requiring him to marry for more money or higher rank. but the honest gentleman had committed none of these faults. addressing the great without sycophancy, he lived in good-fellowship with all men. instead of trying to force his son's affections, he would have been content to see him marry harriett grove,--a girl of no fortune, and of a family something nearer doubtless, but only something nearer, the aristocracy than the small squireens and gentle yeomanry from whom he was himself descended. all he had asked of the boy, who with good conduct would succeed to a noble fortune, was to marry a gentlewoman, fit to be his mother's daughter and the sister of his sisters. and what had the boy done? he had run off with a barmaid!--for, of course, to the squire, in his fury, john westbrook's lovely child was nothing better than a barmaid. in the autumn of the squire of field place could not comfort himself with reflecting that, if he was a much worried father, he was worried by a marvellously clever boy whom it was an honour to have begotten; for at that time shelley had done nothing to indicate he would win a place amongst men of genius, or even figure amongst men of considerable parts. his eton career had been worse than disappointing; his oxford career had been eminently disgraceful; his novels were ludicrous performances; _the necessity of atheism_ was not an achievement on which his father could be expected to think with complaisance. at the worst he had, from his fifteenth year, been a bad boy; at the best he was a mere scatterbrain. having pardoned the boy repeatedly for serious misdemeanours; having again and again relented towards him and, saying 'let bygones be bygones,' given him a fresh start, is it wonderful that mr. timothy shelley determined to make no more bootless concessions, to accept no more imperfect recognitions of his authority, to have done with half-measures, and to insist on his son's unqualified submission as the prelude to a renewal of their intercourse? the father has been charged with enormous severity to his son, because he required him to behave like other sons, and held steadily to his determination to keep his son at a distance, until the youngster had promised to show ordinary consideration for the feelings of his parents. when percy said, 'out of regard to my feelings give me a good allowance, and let me bring my wife to field place,' what was there so monstrous in the squire's answer, 'out of regard to my feelings, your mother's feelings, your sisters' welfare, forbear from giving expression to sentiments that offend me, shock her, and bring social disrepute to your family?' what should the father have done? hogg was of opinion that the squire should have given his son a handsome allowance, and left him at liberty to say and do what he liked. bearing in mind that shelley was still only nineteen years of age, most readers of this page,--certainly most fathers with unruly sons still in their nonage,--will see reasons for differing from mr. hogg on this matter. if miss eliza westbrook was desirous of a good pretext for hastening to york and taking the young couple under her protection and government, she found her desire in the singular circumstances under which her sister (a mere child) had been left at york. packing her trunks, miss westbrook took the road along which her sister had travelled seven or eight weeks earlier. she was in possession of her darling, and at war with hogg in the dingy lodging-house, whilst shelley was still on his way back to the northern city, with a light purse and a heavy heart. on returning to the dingy house, the boyish husband found both sisters in the dingy parlour. having been told by harriett that her sister was 'beautiful, exquisitely beautiful,' with an elegant figure, dark bright eyes, and a profusion of black hair, hogg was surprised by the indications of age in her countenance which, instead of being lovely, was chiefly remarkable for marks of small-pox, and the not translucent pallor common in faces disfigured by that malady. to hogg (a prejudiced and strongly biased witness against the woman he loathed) it appeared that, though dark, eliza westbrook's eyes were dull and meaningless; that, though black and glossy, her hair was coarse; that her figure was meagre, prim, and graceless; that her personal charms existed only in her younger sister's imagination. history has still to discover the year of miss westbrook's birth; but it may be safely assumed she was not so old as mr. hogg imagined,--that she was over five-and-twenty, and under thirty years of age. it may also be assumed that her appearance was less repulsive to other people than to mr. hogg. if harriett's fancy erred in one direction, mr. hogg's animosity erred in another. if harriett's partiality caused her to think too well of her sister's appearance, hogg's resentment inspired him to speak too unfavourably of miss westbrook's looks. miss westbrook and hogg were enemies even before they set eyes on one another. the lady had travelled to york to encounter the enemy of her sister's reputation. on hearing she would soon appear in the dingy lodging-house, hogg knew that on her arrival he would be face to face with a foe. at the moment of their first meeting, shelley's incomparable friend and shelley's sister-in-law exchanged glances of aversion. when he bowed before her, at their introduction to one another in the dingy parlour, the 'barmaid by origin' (to use hogg's words) scarcely deigned to notice him. 'i thought bysshe was to have brought you with him,' observed hogg to the lady, who, in her haste to shelter her darling, had not waited to travel with her brother-in-law. 'oh dear, no!' miss westbrook replied, with cold and disdainful significance. 'shall i make tea?' hogg inquired, glancing at the tea-things on the table; and as he was not forbidden to do so, he brewed the tea, and brought miss westbrook a cup of the beverage, which she regarded contemptuously when it was placed before her. this was embarrassing to the gentleman who was joint-tenant of the dingy parlour. if it was not farce, what followed this meeting of the enemies was very broad comedy. miss westbrook, thinking hogg in the way, was of opinion he ought to get out of the way as quickly as possible. thinking miss westbrook had come where she was not wanted, hogg was of opinion she ought to be ordered back to london. on reappearing in the dingy lodging-house just twenty-four hours after miss westbrook's arrival, shelley found himself between an incomparable friend who said, 'you must get rid of miss westbrook,' and an incomparable sister-in-law who said, 'you must get quit of mr. hogg.' as harriett was on her sister's side, the future poet could not act on hogg's advice. there was another reason why the youthful husband could not deal thus summarily with his sister-in-law. thinking that miss westbrook should be sent back immediately to london, and seeing that shelley was scarcely the person to tell her and constrain her to go home, hogg was of opinion that his friend ought to put strong pressure on his bride, to tell her sister she must retire from the scene where she was unwelcome,--that he should say firmly to harriett, 'choose between me and your sister: i leave york if she doesn't. if you wish me to remain by your side, you must tell your sister to go and leave us alone.' five-and-forty years later, when he reviewed this critical passage of the poet's career, and all the miserable consequences of miss westbrook's transient power of him, hogg felt as firmly as ever that harriett's husband might have preserved his conjugal contentment for a much longer period, by saying stoutly to her 'either eliza goes or i go,' and showing he would forthwith act on the menace, if the intruder did not at once retire. the happiness, coming to him from his marriage, might not have been great and enduring under any circumstances; but by shaking eliza from him at york, he would have rid himself of the creature, whose scheming spirit and false tongue made it so miserably brief and insufficient. this was hogg's one-sided and possibly erroneous view of the case. holding it honestly, he may well have deplored the weakness that incapacitated 'the divine shelley' for casting from him so promptly the influence which extinguished for ever his confidence and delight in his young wife, after having placed him for a while at war with the friend, who induced him to make the lovely child his wife, when he was thinking of making her his mere mistress. thinking eliza should be dismissed in this fashion, hogg doubtless told shelley so. as shelley, whilst differing from byron in being able to keep a secret, resembled him also in a habit of blabbing to others what he should have kept to himself, it may be assumed that, if he did not impart it directly to miss westbrook, he communicated hogg's counsel to his wife, without requiring her to act upon it. further, as harriett's confidence in her sister was perfect at this point of their curious story, it cannot be questioned, that whatever shelley told his wife of hogg's view of the position, was speedily communicated by her to miss westbrook. it is not probable that under any circumstances shelley would just then have concurred in hogg's opinion, and decided to act upon it. but even if he approved the advice on general grounds, circumstances forbade him to adopt it. returning to york with an almost empty purse, and no hope that it would be speedily replenished by his father, shelley could not afford to quarrel with his sister-in-law, who had a little money in her pocket, and was influential with her father, to whom he was already looking for pecuniary relief. though he could lend shelley _l._ from time to time, hogg (as he tells us) was unable to provide him with enough money for his own and his wife's maintenance. at that moment, the law-student's store of money in hand had been reduced to a trifle by the charges of his recent trip to scotland. captain pilford had already done his utmost for his nephew's pecuniary relief. having incurred the squire's vehement displeasure by lending shelley the _l._, which enabled him to fly with harriett to edinburgh, mr. medwin (the horsham attorney) was in no mood to incense his powerful neighbour and relative to fiercer wrath, and to provoke further censure from the squire's patron, the duke of norfolk, by lending the young gentleman any more money. under these circumstances, mr. percy bysshe shelley could not afford to quarrel with miss westbrook, the only person to whom he could just then look for the relief of his immediate necessities,--'the influence' through which he was hoping to get a regular allowance from his father-in-law. seeing that shelley would not put the needful pressure on his wife, the brilliant thought occurred to hogg that, doing what his friend dared not do, he would indicate the 'necessary course' to harriett, and urge her with equal delicacy and firmness to take it. miss westbrook spent much time in brushing the black hair, which harriett regarded admiringly, and mr. hogg spoke and wrote about with profane flippancy. one day, whilst the elder sister was brushing her hair, hogg persuaded mrs. shelley to walk with him to the old roman bridge, and have a look at the ouse, which had just then overflowed its banks, and was in divers ways behaving with picturesque and sensational extravagance. 'is it not an interesting, a surprising sight?' remarked harriett, whilst viewing 'the floods' from the middle of the bridge. 'yes,' returned hogg, 'it is very wonderful. but, dear harriett, how nicely that dearest eliza would spin down the river! how sweetly she would turn round and round, like that log of wood! and, gracious heaven, what would miss warne say?'--miss warne being a maiden lady (daughter of a london taverner) who held so high a place in miss westbrook's affection and esteem, that the latter, in her ordinary talk on things in general, was in the habit of referring admiringly to the lady's discretion and faultless taste. at this piquant suggestion, that it would be well to pitch eliza into the river, and give miss warne a fine opportunity for saying something remarkable, harriett (says hogg) 'turned her pretty face away, and laughed--as a slave laughs, who is beginning to grow weary of an intolerable yoke.' it speaks much for hogg's rashness, that he ventured to speak in this fashion of miss westbrook to her younger and admiring sister;--for his self-sufficiency, that he imagined a few words from him would put the girl in revolt against her only sister;-for the excessive familiarity of his bearing to her, that he addressed her as 'dear harriett,' as he spoke thus lightly of the 'dearest eliza,' and her super-excellent miss warne;--for his vanity and ignorance of human nature, that he imagined harriett would respect his confidence so far as to keep his saucy words from her sister. of course the sixteen-years-old girl did not deem herself under an obligation of honour to withhold from her only sister the flippant utterances of so recent an acquaintance. honour and loyalty required her to tell eliza that hogg wished to separate them,--was set on compassing their estrangement. on learning that hogg meant shelley and harriett to discard her, miss westbrook resolved that they should discard him. whatever may be thought of the means she used for the achievement of her end, it cannot be denied, that she could plead extreme provocation in excuse of what was reprehensible in her extreme measures;--and that it was natural for her to determine her sister and brother-in-law should banish the man who wanted them to dismiss her. it was a fight between an angry and unscrupulous young woman and an overbearing young man. the fight was sharp and short: for the moment, the victory was with the woman. in fighting mr. hogg,--in taking for his humiliation and discomfiture a course, which she probably never thought of taking till he struck her, and possibly would never have thought of taking, had he treated her in a courteous and conciliatory manner,--it is conceivable that miss westbrook persuaded herself she was actuated by pure concern for her sister's happiness, and righteous disapproval of masculine wickedness, and in no degree whatever by personal spite and resentment. the lady was in just the position to imagine she did altogether for her sister's good what she did chiefly for the gratification of her own vindictiveness. travelling northward to guard her darling from hogg's indiscretion, she made the journey in a mood to suspect him of something worse than indiscretion. by no means wanting in self-esteem, or disposed to underrate her charms, the lady naturally inferred from hogg's desire to extrude so fascinating a person as herself from so small a circle, that her presence was distasteful to him, because it promised to defeat his insidious designs on harriett's honour and happiness. the young man, who would deprive harriett of her sister's society and protection, desired to get the dear child into his power,--to have her at his mercy. for what end did he desire to have the dear child in his power, at his mercy? the answer to this question determined miss westbrook to preserve the dear child from a villain. tractable and docile in the hands of the elder sister, whom she admired and loved enthusiastically, the dear child in perfect simplicity and purity of thought provided miss westbrook with evidence that shelley's incomparable friend was a young man of incomparable wickedness. here are the damnatory admissions and confessions of the younger sister. mr. hogg had been extremely attentive to her in edinburgh, and also (during her husband's absence) at york. at edinburgh he had taken her for walks, unattended by shelley. he certainly admired her beauty, for he had said so outright on several occasions. he had paid her extravagant compliments,--indeed compliments so extravagant, that they caused her embarrassment. he was very kind and attentive to her; but she had often wished he would not commend her so immoderately to her face. she had refused to take walks with him in york during shelley's absence, but it cost her no little effort to hold to her decision on this point, so urgent was he in begging her to walk abroad. when he was not at chambers, or on the way to and fro between them and the dingy lodging-house, hogg had spent all his time at the house. taking tea with her every evening, he had passed the whole of each evening in the dingy parlour with her, till she retired to rest for the night. it had been very awkward for her, to live in the same house and share the same parlour with him, during her husband's absence:-all the more awkward, because he persisted in paying her such extravagant compliments. the milliners had been disobliging and suspicious in their bearing to her. possibly they would have been less so, had hogg left her under their protection altogether, or been less attentive to her in her husband's absence. such were harriett's admissions and confessions to her sister,--admissions and confessions made afterwards to her husband. miss westbrook knew how to manipulate and dress up these simple admissions into evidence to shelley, that his friend's gallantry to harriett had been excessive, that his admiration of her was embarrassing to harriett, that he might have been more thoughtful for the delicate sensibilities of the simple and innocent child, that they had been too much together for her contentment and reputation, that the dear child had been worried and harassed by her admirer, that her husband should put a distance between them. care for the dear child's nerves and feelings required that she should be removed from york as soon as possible. committing herself to no statement of fact, in which her sister would not concur, miss westbrook was careful to say nothing that would make shelley suspicious of his wife's goodness, or render him wrathful with hogg. it was enough for the present to suggest that harriett's mere beauty had inspired hogg with a sentiment of strong admiration, trembling on the verge of passion;--that, without doing or saying aught to justify shelley in quarreling with him outright, hogg had permitted harriett to see the state of feeling which he should have been most careful to conceal from her; that harriett was secretly troubled by her sense of hogg's regard for her;--a regard for which of course she was in no degree to be blamed, and he was to be pitied rather than condemned. of course miss westbrook (a clever woman) knew how the seeds of distrust and jealousy would grow in the breast to which she was committing them; knew that by charging hogg at first with nothing worse than weakness, she would be able to persuade harriett's boyish and fanciful husband a few weeks or months later, that his incomparable friend was a false friend. whilst he was being thus educated to regard his friend with distrust and pity, shelley was living with his wife and her sister in mr. stickland's (? strickland's) lodging-house, blake street, york;--lodgings to which they migrated from the dingy dwelling of the austere milliners, within a day or two of shelley's return from london. though certain expressions of hogg's second volume would countenance a contrary opinion, it is not probable that he was permitted to accompany them to this new abode. in the absence of definite evidence to the point, it may be assumed from divers circumstances that, whilst the newly constituted trio rested in mr. stickland's house, the fourth member of the party had quarters elsewhere. if it was so, however, hogg was a daily visitor on uneasy terms at the blake street lodging-house; talking as freely as heretofore with his friend and harriett, but painfully conscious that they spoke less unreservedly with him, and that forces were in operation to sever him from them. there seems to have been no distinct rupture between hogg and his friend, before the latter went off abruptly for keswick. it having been decided by the trio, that they must get away from york and hogg, they spoke openly to him of their intention to migrate to keswick. he was pressed to go thither with them,--pressed the more cordially because the trio knew his legal studies and other obligations constrained him to remain at york. but whilst telling him of their intention to go to keswick, and begging him to accompany them, they forbore to tell him their real reason for selecting keswick as their next resting place. to the last, hogg was under the impression that they were drawn to keswick by the picturesqueness and the poetical associations of the district, dwelt in and beloved by wordsworth and southey, coleridge and de quincey; and under the quite erroneous notion that they were pining for the beauties of derwentwater and the lodore falls, he urged them to postpone their journey to the lovely region till a season more favourable for the enjoyment of its scenery. 'if you dislike york,' he urged, 'and the neighbourhood of york, so much do not remain there--quit it at once; but go to the south, to a part of the world with which you are acquainted, and where you are known; to a milder and more genial climate, and where you will be nearer your supplies? why expose youselves to the bleak north at this unkindly season? why go out of the way of everybody and of everything? why go out of the reach of money, and bury yourselves alive amongst rude and uncivilised barbarians?' the counsel (adds hogg bitterly and compassionately) was offered in vain. to miss westbrook the advice was only another reason why she and her young charges should go farther north. on leaving mr. hogg at york, for them to do the very thing he urged them not to do would be a fit humiliation to the overbearing gentleman. it would show him how lightly they regarded his opinion, and make him feel that he was the discarded one. that he might take this view of their action was another reason with miss westbrook, why he should be kept in ignorance of its chief object. when he told them, with mingled pomposity and vehemence, that in going to keswick they would be going 'out of the way of everybody and everything,--out of the reach of money,' and into the society of 'rude and uncivilised barbarians,' the trio smiled in their sleeves at one another. and well might they do so, as they were set on the journey because they hoped it would bring them to the house of somebody of no common account, to society in the like of which their monitor had never moved, and to the money which they so urgently needed. thinking the while of greystoke, and the duke of norfolk, and the exalted people they hoped to meet at 'the castle,' the sisters could scarcely keep their smiles in their sleeves, as mr. hogg prated of 'rude and uncivilised barbarians.' had he known that the march on keswick was a march on greystoke castle; that the march on the northern potentate had for its end the conciliation of the southern powers; that instead of going to keswick for the pleasure of drinking tea with southey, the trio were going thither to fix themselves on the great duke, who would in ten days or a fortnight be at his northern seat, hogg would either have refrained from opposing the project, or would have opposed it on other grounds. it shows how completely he had fallen out of favour with the trio, how completely eliza and harriett had extruded him from shelley's confidence, that hogg had no notion why his companions were set on going to the lakes at a time when the hardiest tourists were leaving them. from blake street, york, without conferring with his incomparable hogg on the matter, shelley on th october, , wrote (_vide_ _notes and queries_, second series, vol. vi., p. ) to his father's patron, the duke of norfolk, entreating his grace to use his influence again, even as he used it in the last spring, to mediate between the writer and his too indignant father, and induce the same too indignant father to allow his son a sufficient income. a letter to be looked up by readers, who have the _notes and queries_ volumes on their shelves, this remarkable epistle from the future poet to his father's patron comprises these extremely noteworthy words:-- '... as i experienced from you such an undeserved instance of friendly interposition in the spring, as i am well aware how much my father is influenced by the mediation of a third person, and as i know none to whom i could apply with greater hopes of success than to yourself, i take the liberty of soliciting the interference of your grace with my father in my behalf. you have probably heard of my marriage. i am sorry to say that it has exasperated my father to a great degree, surely greater than is consistent with justice, for he has not only withheld the means of subsistence which his former conduct and my habits of life taught me to expect as reasonable and proper, but has even refused to render me any the slightest assistance. he referred me on application to a mr. whitton, whose answer to my letter vaguely complained of the disrespectfulness of mine to my father. these letters were calculated to make his considerations of my proceedings less severe. my situation is consequently most unpleasant; under these circumstances i request your grace to convince my father of the severity of his conduct, to persuade him that my offence is not of the hideous nature he considers it, to induce him to allow me a sufficient income to live with tolerable comfort. i am also particularly anxious to defend mr. medwin from any accusations of aiding and assisting me, which my father may bring against him. i am convinced that a statement of plain truth on this head will remove any prejudice against mr. m. from the mind of your grace. that he did lend me _l._ when i left field place is most true. but it is equally true he was ignorant of my intentions; that he was ignorant of the purposes to which i was about to apply the money....' every sentence of this extract from an important letter should be carefully weighed by the reader who would apprehend precisely the relations of mr. timothy shelley and the poet, and observe the pains taken by the duke of norfolk in mediating between the father and son. the letter shows to whose influence shelley attributed, and no doubt justly attributed, the quickness with which his father relented to him in the spring. in this respect the squire suffers in some degree from the testimony of the epistle, which denies him the credit that would otherwise seem due to his clemency and financial liberality to the son, who had so recently exasperated him by rebellious extravagances. it does not follow that left to himself the squire would not in a somewhat longer time have subsided from his wrath, and treated his boy with the same generosity. it must, however, be conceded that the duke's counsel was accountable for the quickness with which the squire dismissed his anger, and offered the terms which shelley accepted with exultation, calling the terms 'very good ones,' when he wrote of them exultingly to hogg in the middle of may. on the other hand, by all who would take an impartial view of the father's treatment of his son, it must be admitted that the squire's readiness in deferring to his patron on so delicate a question was creditable to his moderation, was at least incompatible with the violent and stubborn wrong-headedness with which he has been unfairly charged. indicative of a disposition to do what was right by his boy, this readiness indicates a conscientious desire to be preserved by judicious counsel from the vehemence of his own temper, and withheld from errors to which he might be betrayed by the fervour of his feelings. the evidence is conclusive that shelley was not more quick than his father to have recourse to the duke's mediation; a fact which must be at least allowed to indicate a desire on the father's part, that his behaviour to his son should be such as a fair and high-minded arbitrator would approve. the evidence is no less conclusive that mr. timothy shelley's treatment of his son had the duke's approval; and that his sense of the duke's approval caused him to look to his patron as a friend, who would defend his paternal character from social reprehension. it is noteworthy that, whilst thanking the duke for his good services of the previous spring, shelley speaks of the pecuniary arrangement resulting from his grace's intervention as a 'reasonable and proper' arrangement. even more noteworthy is it that, instead of attributing his father's anger and withdrawal of the allowance to disapproval of his religious and philosophical views, he attributes them altogether to indignation at his marriage, and displeasure at his letters. it is not suggested by phrase or word that the rupture was due in any degree to differences of opinion on matters of creed. the letter's only complaint against mr. timothy shelley is that his indignation is 'greater than is consistent with justice' (words of admission that the writer had given his father cause for serious, though less extravagant, displeasure): the letter's only prayer is that the duke will address himself to the pecuniary consequence of this displeasure. the duke is not asked to modify the squire's religious intolerance, but to moderate his anger at the _mésalliance_, and induce him to allow his son 'a sufficient income to live with tolerable comfort.' there is no suggestion that he was shut out of his 'boyhood's home' on account of his heterodoxy. on the contrary, the writer speaks of himself as leaving that home of his own accord to make the match, on which he had not spoken to his father. writing to the duke, who knew the truth of the case, shelley could not venture to be otherwise than precisely truthful on these points. in the letter, therefore, we have shelley's sincere view of his relations with his father, and see how he spoke of them to well-informed persons. by-and-by it will be seen how he wrote of those relations to william godwin, who did not know the truth of them. just two days before shelley dated his letter (of th october, ) from york to the duke of norfolk, old sir bysshe shelley executed a noteworthy codicil to the will, by which he had directed that all persons entitled to lands, &c. (designated a in my abstract of the will), whose consent and co-operation should be needful for the purpose of the testament, should join in settling the same lands a precisely as the lands, &c. (designated c) were ordered by the same will to be put in strict settlement. it was observed in the aforementioned abstract, that the testator's grandson (percy bysshe) was tenant in tail in remainder expectant on the deaths of his father and grandfather, of two lots of real estate, designated a and b. by the will he was required to resettle, in accordance with the testator's purpose, the lands, &c., a; no requirement being made for the resettlement of lands, &c., b. by the codicil, which old sir bysshe executed on th october, , it was directed that any person, being tenant for life at the same time of a, b, and c, and every person or persons being tenant in tail of a _and_ b, and at the same time tenant for life of c, should settle a _and_ b _as_ c, within a year of so becoming entitled and capable of joining in the resettlement. it was further provided by this noteworthy codicil that, if any such entitled person or persons should refuse or neglect to settle a and b as c, then the estates of such person or persons and their respective issue under the will in estates c, should be forfeited, and the remainder expectant on such estates should be accelerated. yet, further, it was directed by this remarkable codicil that if, by reason of alienation or charge any person, at the date of the codicil interested in remainder to any estate in a and b should not be able to settle a and b _as_ c, there should then be the same forfeiture of the estate and estates of such person and his issue under the will, as if he had refused or neglected to settle a and b _as_ c. as this last provision was aimed directly at the future poet, though he is not mentioned by name in the clause, and as readers of this work should be under no uncertainty respecting the provision, by which the poet may be said to have disinherited himself and his issue from participation in his grandfather's very large property, it is well to put on the present page the _ipsissima verba_ of the provision, which runs thus:-- 'provided always and i do hereby declare,' says old sir bysshe in this momentous codicil, 'my will and mind to be that, if any person or persons who is or are now entitled in remainder under or by virtue of the said indenture of appointment of the twentieth day of april, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-one, and the said indenture of release of the thirtieth day of april, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-two respectively, to any estate or estates of and in the hereditaments therein respectively comprised hath or have or shall alien or charge the same whereby he or they may be prevented from making or causing to be made the resettlement hereinbefore by me directed to be made of the said settled estates, then and in such case, from and after the expiration of the time before limited or mentioned for making such resettlement, the uses or use estates or estate by my said will directed to be limited to or for the benefit of the person or persons who hath or have so aliened or charged or shall so alien or charge as aforesaid and his or their issue shall, notwithstanding he or they may be personally willing to make such resettlement as aforesaid, cease determine and become absolutely void, and that the manors and other hereditaments by my said will devised and directed to be settled in trust as aforesaid shall in such case immediately thereupon go over in the same manner as i have hereinbefore directed the same to go over in case such person or persons had refused or neglected to make such resettlement as aforesaid, and i do hereby expressly declare that my intentions in respect to the resettlement of the said settled estates shall be carried into effect by proper clauses and provisoes to be for that purpose inserted in the settlement in and by said will directed to be made as aforesaid.' it is obvious that differences on questions of religion or politics were in no degree accountable for the codicil, by which the future poet was required to resettle the real estates, that would devolve on him absolutely after the lives of his father and grandfather. himself an atheist and materialist, it mattered nothing to old sir bysshe, whether his grandson believed in fifty gods or one god, or chose to deny the existence of a supreme deity. himself a man of the people, the son of a yankee apothecary by the miller plum's widow, old sir bysshe was not so strongly prejudiced in favour of aristocratic persons and institutions, as to be greatly incensed by his grandson's folly in wedding a publican's pretty daughter. it was a matter of comparative indifference to the aged cynic, whether the boy held to the whigs, went over to the tories, or, declaring against both political parties, joined the red republicans. the one thing he required of his eldest son's eldest son, was that on coming of age, the youngster should join in a resettlement of the settled estates, that would make them part and parcel of the big entailed property of the castle goring shelleys. let him be compliant on that point, and the youngster had his grandsire's permission to be as wilful as he pleased on all other matters. on the other hand, should he prove rebellious and undutiful in respect to this one requirement, neither he nor his issue should profit by the grand estate that would be created for the perpetual dignity of the house, founded by his grandfather. for all the veteran cared, the youngster might think, say, write, do whatever he pleased, provided he forbore to cross the purpose of his elders on the one matter of business. should he refuse to exchange his larger estate in the settled lands for a contingent life interest in them, he must be content with that estate (which, though a comparatively small affair, was sufficient to maintain a baronet's dignity), and forego all interest for himself and issue in the lordly revenue, to which he would otherwise succeed in the course of nature. having formed this scheme for the honour of his descendants, at a time when he never imagined the little brentford schoolboy might decline to further it, sir bysshe was not the man to relinquish any part of his grand ambition out of deference to the whim and wildness of an unruly stripling. from the boy's action in wedding a girl of harriett westbrook's condition, without the consent or knowledge of his parents, it was obvious to the veteran, that his grandson's regard for the feelings and wishes of his nearest kindred were not likely to be largely operative in determining him to concur in the proposed resettlement of family estate. from the circumstances of the _mésalliance_, the veteran had also reason for thinking it probable that the youngster would raise money on his future resources even in his minority; and, unless pressure was put upon him at the earliest moment to resettle the estates a and b, would be under the control of money-lenders, soon after the attainment of his majority. hence the old man's resolve that the strongest possible appeal should be made at the earliest moment to the young man's self-interest to put it out of his power to squander the estates, in which he was interested as tenant in tail in remainder expectant. the stringent codicil was old sir bysshe's answer to his grandson's mad-cap elopement; and in taking this action on the boy's latest escapade, the founder of the poet's mushroom 'house' had no consideration whatever for the young man's religious or political opinions. it is uncertain on what day the trio left york. mr. denis florence maccarthy is certain they departed on friday, th october, the day next after the date of the epistle to the duke of norfolk, and perhaps the inaccurate writer does not err on this point. anyhow it is unquestionable that they had left york several days, when the duke's reply (dated th november, ) came to hogg's hands, and was forthwith (on the th or th of the month) forwarded to shelley, at keswick. moreover, enough is known of the droll circumstances of the departure, which may indeed be called a flight, and of the manner in which his grace the duke of norfolk answered shelley's judiciously worded letter. charles, the eleventh duke of norfolk, a keen politician, and methodical man of affairs, kept a diary; and on th november, (when he was in his sixty-sixth year) he made this entry in the personal record, 'wrote to t. shelly that i would come to field place on the th, to confer with him on the unhappy difference with his son, from whom i have a letter before me.--to mr. b. shelley in answer that i should be glad to interfere, but fear with little hope of success; fearing that his father, and not he alone, will see his late conduct in a different point of view from what he sees it.--that i propose going into the north next week, and will come to york to see him, provided he will inform me when i may find him there.' written to shelley himself, a letter of this sentiment and tone shows, even more forcibly than the earl of chichester's gossiping note, written to his official subordinate, what view the great sussex families took of the young gentleman's latest _escapade_. to the duke no less than the earl, the marriage with the innkeeper's daughter appeared a discreditable business; and though in writing to shelley, he of course made no mention of her low origin, the duke told him frankly the marriage was an affair about which his father had reason to be indignant. in saying the squire would not be singular in declining to take shelley's view of the matter, the duke declared, as plainly as courtesy allowed him, that he could not take that view. shelley's view, as exhibited in the letter, was a mere opinion that his father's anger exceeded just and reasonable displeasure; and from this opinion the duke dissented. having in the meanwhile dined with the angry father at horsham, the duke, thirteen days later ( rd november), wrote shelley another letter, inviting him, his wife and sister-in-law, to greystoke castle, some twelve miles from keswick. of this invitation, shelley wrote on th november to mr. medwin, the horsham attorney, 'we dine with the duke of n. at graystock this week,' words implying that this first invitation was only for dinner. on the same day ( th november), the duke appears from another entry of his journal to have sent the trio a second invitation, which enabled shelley to write on saturday ( th november) to the horsham lawyer, 'we visit the duke of n. at graystock to-morrow. we return to keswick on wednesday,' words indicating an extension of the invitation, and a stronger disposition on the duke's part to befriend the young people. what was there comical in the departure from york? having gone to chambers one morning under the impression that the trio would leave york on the morrow, hogg was not a little surprised at his dinner-hour to discover that, whilst he was at work over legal papers, his friends had gone away in a post-chaise for richmond. 'when i returned to dinner, such was the precipitation of the young votaries of the muses, that the birds were flown,' says hogg, in language which, at the first glance, seems to imply that he lived in the same house as the trio, till the moment of their departure. but though the evidence is less than conclusive, i have grounds for thinking that, after retiring from the dingy abode of the dingy milliners, shelley and the sisters rested in a tenement which hogg did not enter except as their visitor. if i am right on this point, it would seem that on returning to the lodgings, where he was a daily visitor, he went there by invitation to a farewell dinner, instead of returning to his proper place at the common board. anyhow it is certain that, on going to the blake street lodging-house, he learnt that the friends with whom he meant to dine had taken their departure. the birds had flown, to hogg's surprise and perplexity. had they at the last moment changed their plans? or had they gone away in accordance with pre-arrangements, that had been withheld from him? the blood may well have brightened hogg's cheek, as he asked himself these questions. his annoyance was not diminished by the short note left for him by the fugitives, who merely informed him they were off to keswick, and would pass the next night at richmond, whither he had better follow them speedily, if he would attend them to the lakes. as the trio knew he could not leave york, it was impossible for hogg to regard their invitation as sincere or flattering. moreover, he could not be indifferent to the signal affront they had offered him in running away without a word of farewell. that the incident was miss westbrook's work he had no doubt; that mrs. shelley was an accomplice in her sister's scheme for his humiliation he may well have suspected. nor could he acquit shelley of being a partner to the insult. it is thus that human schemes miscarry, and human hopes perish into disappointments. for months shelley had looked forward to the pleasure of settling in york, and living there 'for ever,' with his incomparable hogg and his dearest harriett. what was the end of this scheme for perpetual felicity? after so brief a stay in the ancient city, shelley was posting to richmond with his wife and sister-in-law, in order to get away from the friend whom he had been so quickly taught to think a dangerous companion for his childish wife. in the absence of conclusive testimony, the known circumstances of the flight admit of several different explanations, provoke many curious conjectures. one may imagine that shelley, harriett, and miss westbrook, were confederates on equal terms, and in perfect mutual confidence, for hogg's humiliation. or one may conceive shelley was not admitted to the confidence of the ladies, until they had arranged all the particulars of the departure. readers are at liberty to imagine no deception was practised by the trio, or any person of the trio, on hogg, when he was informed the departure would be made twenty-four hours later. it is conceivable the suddenness of the departure was no less real to the fugitives than apparent to hogg. possibly no one of the three was aware two hours before the departure that they would sleep the next night at richmond. shelley may have been looking for days to the particular hour at which his chaise eventually rattled out of blake street, as the particular hour at which he would start from york. his taste for making mysteries about nothing would countenance an opinion that he misled hogg as to the pre-appointed day. it makes little for the contrary opinion that, writing ten days or so later from keswick, he declared himself to have had no part in concerting the departure from york, or the later departure from richmond. on the other hand, it is conceivable he was carried off at a moment's notice and in high excitement from york by his clever and irresistible sister-in-law. there are divers other points of this business, in respect to which the ingenious reader may be left in the free exercise of his imagination, and at perfect liberty to think what he pleases. my own hypothetical view of the business is, that shelley was kept almost to the last moment in ignorance of the time appointed for the departure; that on this matter he was in the confidence neither of his sister-in-law nor of his wife during the last days of his sojourn at york; that, in respect to this affair, harriett submitted to the judgment and will of her elder sister, who was for the moment the controlling member of the trio; and that in thus concealing part of her intentions from harriett's boyish husband, miss westbrook was actuated partly by malice against hogg, and partly by prudent regard for the difficulties she might reasonably anticipate in tearing the incomparable hogg and the incomparable shelley asunder, when the moment for severance should arrive. playing her game no less cautiously than boldly, miss westbrook (whilst at york) could not venture to do more for the severance of the friends, than to hint to shelley that harriett had been placed in a false and embarrassing position towards hogg, that one consequence of this false position was hogg's inordinate and inconvenient admiration of harriett, that, without doing anything distinctly culpable (harriett's goodness precluding any such contingency), hogg had been too demonstrative of a far too affectionate interest in his friend's wife. the sum of the maiden lady's case against her 'enemy' at york was, that he had been wanting in discretion and delicacy and chivalric self-control. at york she could not go much beyond this in her statements to hogg's discredit, without inspiring her pupil with suspicions of his wife's delicacy and discretion; and to urge only thus much in support of her counsel for prompt withdrawal from hogg's society, was to forbear from stirring shelley to resentments, that would at once put it out of his friend's power to keep him at york in opposition to her wish and purpose. hence, miss westbrook had reason to apprehend shelley might even at the last hour decline to quit york, unless she eventually effected her object in his friend's absence, and with an abruptness for which neither of the young men was prepared. it is therefore conceivable that four-and-twenty hours before he intended to leave the city, shelley was surprised by his sister-in-law with an announcement that harriett's nerves required them to clear out of york instantly. to the execution of such a _coup-de-main_, the aggrieved and angry lady would also be strongly moved by a desire to inflict sharp annoyance on her adversary. this hypothesis accords with shelley's emphatic assertion that the flight from york was no affair of his arrangement. that shelley did not leave york in any mood of vehement animosity against hogg, or with any disposition to accuse him of serious misconduct towards harriett, is shown by the affectionate warmth with which he wrote from keswick to his incomparable friend. 'you were surprised,' he wrote immediately after his arrival at keswick, 'at our sudden departure; i have no time, however, _now_ either to account for it or enter into an investigation which we agreed upon.--with real, true interest, i constantly think of you, believe me, my friend, so sincerely am i attached to you.' a few days later shelley wrote to his friend at york:--'we all greatly regret that "your own interests, your own real interests," should compel you to remain at york. but pray, write often; your last letter i have read, as i would read your soul.... yours most affectionately, most unalterably, ...' in another of his undated letters from keswick to his friend at york, shelley writes in this vein of affectionateness:--'if i thought we were to be long parted, i should be wretchedly miserable,--half mad!... cannot you follow us?--why not? but i will dare to be good,--dare to be virtuous; and i will soon seize once more what i have for a while relinquished, never, never again to resign it.' in another letter, shelley says to his friend at york:--'i did not concert my departure from richmond, nor that from york. why did i leave you? i have never doubted you,--you, the brother of my soul, the object of my vivid interest; the theme of my impassioned panegyric.' in another letter he writes to his friend:--'i do not know that absence will certainly cure love; but this i know, that it fearfully augments the intensity of friendship.' these passages from letters which, though undated, were obviously written in the time between the future poet's first arrival at keswick and his visit to greystoke,--letters affording evidence that, during the earlier weeks of the residence at keswick, hogg was writing to harriett with her husband's cognizance and approval, epistles which she submitted to his approval. possibly the trio would have tarried a few days longer at york, had they not felt it would favour their designs on greystoke castle that they should be at keswick, when the duke's reply to shelley's appeal (of october th) should come to their hands. knowing the duke would be journeying to cumberland in the course of the next month (november, ), the trio had reason for hoping his grace would propose to see them on his way through york. on receiving this expression of the ducal pleasure, it would be well for them to be already at keswick, so that the meeting should take place in the neighbourhood of greystoke, if not _at_ the castle itself. anyhow, they were at keswick when the duke's offer ( th november, ) to see shelley at york came to the hands of the conspirators, whose reply (dated from keswick) may be said to have forced the squire's patron to invite them to his cumberland place--barely twelve miles from that town. that the duke, on the rd of november, invited the trio to meet him at the castle appears from his diary; but this first invitation seems to have been regarded by the adventurers as nothing more than an invitation to dinner. 'we dine,' shelley wrote to mr. medwin, of horsham, on th november, , 'with the duke of n. at graystock this week.' a few hours later he received the letter from greystoke, which enabled him on the last day of the month to write to the same correspondent:--'we visit the duke of n. at graystock to-morrow. we return to keswick on wednesday.' coming to them at a time when they had reason to be thankful for small mercies, the duke's second invitation may be supposed to have cheered the trio, whose spirits had been already raised from the deepest dejection by another reassuring incident. influenced possibly by prompt intelligence that his daughters had been invited to the duchess of norfolk's dinner-table, mr. westbrook had sent his son-in-law a few pounds. the gift may have been accompanied (as shelley, in his letter of november th to the horsham attorney, avers it to have been) with an intimation that it was not to be regarded as the first of a series of similar benefactions; but, however guarded and qualified it may have been with cautious words, the remittance was an occasion for thankfulness to the trio, who had for several days needed money for their immediate necessities. enabling them to pay their few debts in keswick, the gift enabled them to go to greystoke, albeit (to use the future poet's words) the visit was paid almost with their very last guinea. going to the castle on sunday, st december, , for three nights, the trio stayed there for eight or nine days;--an extension of the visit which, whilst certainly indicative of the duke's growing disposition to befriend the young couple, may also be thought to indicate that he and the duchess were favourably impressed by john westbrook's daughters. seeing in her rare beauty a palliation of the youngster's reckless act, the host and hostess must have been surprised by the charm of harriett's simplicity, the music of her voice, the refinement of her tone. at a glance it was obvious to them she was no saucy barmaid. before the sunday dinner was over, they saw she was one of those girls of lowly origin, who under auspicious influences may win the confidence and love of the high-born. though she lacked her sister's manifold charms, it was no less manifest to the duke and duchess that, instead of being such a young woman as the mere knowledge of her father's calling had predisposed them to find her, miss westbrook was a person of education and cleverness who might figure creditably in the drawing-rooms of the subordinate sussex gentry. and in their judgment of shelley's womankind, the duke and duchess had the concurrence of the several other gentle people who were staying in the castle,--of lady musgrave, of edenhall and hartley castle, co. cumberland; james brougham, brother of henry, the future lord chancellor; and mr. calvert, of greta bank, near keswick, a cumberland squire, who, differing widely from mr. timothy shelley in mental and moral characteristics, seems to have stood towards the duke of norfolk in cumberland somewhat in the same relation in which the sussex squire stood to his grace in the southern county. why did the duke of norfolk show so much concern and take so much trouble in the domestic affairs of field place? this question should be answered precisely, as the extravagant notions of the poet's ancestral quality are mainly referable to misconceptions respecting the nature of the intercourse of the ducal howards and the castle goring shelleys. having taken sir bysshe and the squire of field place under his protection, and in a certain sense into his familiar friendship, the duke was doubtless moved to trouble himself about the squire's dealings with the future poet, by a genuine desire for mr. timothy shelley's welfare. nor can it be questioned that the powerful noble was influenced at the same time by affectionate interest in the youth, whose cordial looks and bearing, ever conciliatory to strangers and slight acquaintances, were none the less pleasing to the duke, because the boy's manner towards his father's patron was gracefully expressive of ingenuous reverence for the age, experience, and rank of so august a personage. but it would be a mistake to suppose his grace's treatment of the shelleys was chiefly due to these amiable and altogether disinterested motives. a keen politician, who was charged by his enemies with sacrificing his religious convictions to his political interests, the duke cared for men in proportion as he saw they might be serviceable to his ambition. having raised the shelleys to a higher grade of local quality, because they could be useful to him, the duke continued to cherish them for the same end. the mushroom house, which he had dignified with the bloody hand, was dear to the duke as an instrument for advancing his own greatness, and promoting the grandeur of the howards. to such a patron the estate, which at any moment might devolve on the member for new shoreham, represented money and influence that would be employed by the second baronet at elections for the advantage of the norfolk connexion. the estate that might come to-morrow to the squire of field place was so much social power that, two or three years later, might, by a gun-accident, a fall in the hunting-field, a violent and fatal illness, pass from sir bysshe's son to the unruly boy, who under the new circumstances might be no less serviceable to the howards than his father promised to be. in squire timothy the duke had a loyal adherent and thorough whig partisan; in the squire's boy, who had come to grief at oxford and made a runaway match with an innkeeper's daughter, the duke saw a youngster who, after running through the fever of red-republicanism, and surviving his freakish infidelity, would take sober views of politics and religion, and settle down into as good a whig as his father, and on nearing middle-age be more desirous of ranking with the peers than with the poets of his country. hence the pains taken by his grace last spring to mediate between the father and son, to induce the former to give his boy a sufficient allowance, and to talk the latter into a disposition to live quietly and with due regard for his ultimate interests, until he should be of an age to enter parliament and sit there like a sensible fellow for a pocket-borough. hence also the duke's readiness to act again as mediator between the angry sire and contumacious son. the same view must be taken of the duke's condescension,--and, an even more remarkable fact, the duchess's condescension,--in asking john westbrook's daughters to greystoke castle. as he lived at greta bank, less than a mile from the town of keswick, and was at home when the trio became his near neighbours, it is not surprising that mr. calvert had made shelley's acquaintance before meeting him at the duke of norfolk's table. an observant and energetic man, ever vigilant of the life, and keenly interested in the improvements, of his neighbourhood, the squireen of greta bank was certain, under any circumstances, to hear of the arrival of so singular a party of tourists within a fortnight of their coming to the town, at so inclement a season. it is, however, probable that the duke of norfolk's useful neighbour at keswick was the sooner cognizant of the strangers and their proceedings, because he had been asked by his grace to be on the look-out for them. circumstances indeed warrant something more than a suspicion that harriett and her sister were not invited to greystoke till the duke had learnt from mrs. calvert that john westbrook's daughters had the looks and manners of gentlewomen. anyhow shelley and harriett had encountered mr. calvert on the hills about keswick before meeting him at the castle; and on talking with him at greystoke it was soon apparent to the future poet that much of his private affairs had come to the knowledge of his new acquaintance. the 'elderly man,' whose looks impressed shelley so agreeably, may be presumed to have gained his surprising knowledge of the youngster's concerns from the duke of norfolk. other circumstances indicate that, before the shelleys came to greystoke, the duke and his useful neighbour had conferred together on what had better be done for the suitable entertainment of the adventurers from southern england. the results of the march on keswick justified the enterprise from which hogg had vainly tried to dissuade the trio. whilst harriett's rare beauty and simple girlishness palliated to her august host and hostess the _escapade_ that had stirred the squire of field place to natural indignation, shelley's speech was no less conciliatory than the tone of his letter to his father's patron. if she did little to enhance the effect of her sister's loveliness and her brother-in-law's discreet behaviour, miss westbrook was by no means the combative and offensive person she had shown herself to mr. thomas jefferson hogg at york. the young woman, who ruled her brother-in-law for many months, was clever enough to appear a fairly sensible and meritorious person for a few days to the duchess of norfolk and lady musgrave. having consented to receive the trio under his roof, the duke could not have declined to befriend them any further, even if they had offended him. but the prolongation of the visit to the ninth day is conclusive evidence that the visitors won the favour of their entertainers. another and even stronger indication of ducal benignity appears in the arrangement that was made (certainly with the duke's approval, and probably at his instance) for providing the trio with a comfortable home during their sojourn at keswick, where they seemed likely to linger to a time considerably later than the day, on which they eventually started from cumberland for ireland. before the visit at greystoke came to an end, it was settled that the trio should move from their (second) uncomfortable lodgings in keswick to rooms under mr. calvert's roof at greta bank, to which the duke's useful neighbour agreed to welcome them in the twofold character of guests and lodgers;--as guests receiving mrs. calvert's hospitable courtesies, and at the same time as lodgers rendering their entertainer a payment, that would enable them to live in his house for a considerable period (for several months, even for two or three years) without incurring an oppressive sense of pecuniary obligation. that a gentleman of mr. calvert's social position consented to receive the trio on these terms is of itself a clear indication, that the domiciliary arrangement was expected to last for more than a few weeks. it is also conceivable that the duke approved the pecuniary arrangement as a compact, that would render it easier for him to induce mr. timothy shelley to renew the yearly allowance to his son. on hearing that his son and daughter-in-law had been received on such terms by one of his patron's friends, the squire of field place would of course feel it incumbent on his honour to put his son in a position to fulfil his pecuniary obligations to the duke's friend. this view of the pecuniary arrangement, and of the effect it could not fail to have on mr. timothy shelley, accords with the ungracious terms in which the renewal of the allowance was soon afterwards announced to shelley by his father's man of business. writing on th january, , to william godwin, shelley says of his father's action in this matter, 'a little time since he sent to me a letter, through his attorney, renewing an allowance of two hundred pounds per annum, but with this remark "that his sole reason for so doing was to prevent my cheating strangers."' the strangers thus pointed to in the lawyer's letters were doubtless the strangers (mr. and mrs. calvert) who had taken the trio into their house. the date of this letter, whose needless offensiveness (offensiveness, by the way, that may have been exaggerated by shelley) was perhaps referable to the attorney's ill-breeding rather than the squire's harshness, is unknown; but it may be assumed that the allowance was renewed soon after the arrangement with the squire of greta bank came to mr. timothy shelley's knowledge, _i.e._ within two months of its withdrawal. the squire of field place having thus again given his son an income (revocable at will) of _l._ per annum, mr. westbrook (no doubt mollified and flattered by the duchess of norfolk's civility to his daughters) appears to have determined to act with equal liberality to his daughter harriett and to raise her husband's annual revenue to _l._ it has been questioned by successive biographers whether john westbrook acted thus liberally. even by mr. rossetti (an authority, from whom i never venture to differ without carefully reviewing the facts) it is doubted whether the poet had so good an income during his first marriage. but i see no grounds for thinking his yearly income in that term of his career was less than _l._ shelley had no obvious motive to overstate his means to william godwin and miss hitchener in . on the contrary, there were considerations that would dispose him to understate his income to those correspondents. yet he assured both of them in that year that he had a yearly allowance of _l._ writing on th january, , on information given him by shelley, southey says mrs. shelley's father allowed her and her husband _l._ a-year. a fortnight later ( th january, ) shelley in the letter to godwin, speaks of his father's renewal ('a little time since') of 'an allowance of two hundred pounds per annum.' on the th of the next month shelley wrote to miss hitchener that he had ' _l._ per annum.' five months later ( th july, ) he wrote from lynmouth, north devon, to william godwin, 'i am, as you know, a minor, and as such depend upon a limited income ( _l._ per annum) allowed me by my relatives.' during the three first months of his married life (_i.e._ the months preceding the renewal of his father's _l._ a-year and his father-in-law's first concession of a similar allowance) shelley received considerably more than _l._ from different sources (_i.e._ _l._ from mr. medwin, spent on the charges of the elopement; _l._ from hogg; _l._ sent to him at edinburgh; the money [say _l._] provided by miss westbrook for expenses at york and the journey to keswick; and the 'small sum' [say another _l._] sent to him at keswick towards the end of november by mr. westbrook,--sums amounting to _l._) there is no reason to suppose that mr. timothy shelley withheld the allowance of _l._ a-year after its renewal, or that mr. westbrook failed to give the other _l._ a-year, till the poet's rupture with his first wife in the spring of . surely then there are good grounds for saying shelley had at least four hundred a-year from the date of his first marriage to the time of his quarrel with harriett:--an income (equivalent to _l._ or _l._ a-year at the present time) that certainly acquits mr. timothy shelley of the charges of scandalous and hurtful niggardliness to his perplexing and contumacious son. further evidence to the same conclusion is afforded by shelley's way of living throughout the period, when he is generally supposed to have suffered severely from insufficient means. so long as he tarried under mr. calvert's roof he lived well within his average monthly income; but with the exception of this brief period of about three months, shelley's way of living from the september of to the midsummer of was a way in which he could not have persisted on less than _l._, even if no regard is had to the costly extravagances with which he indulged his wife in the later and inharmonious months of their conjugal association. to subsist on _l._ or _l._ a-year, it would have been necessary for shelley and harriett to live in one place and in the same small house, practising the petty domestic economies by which a little money may be made to go a long way. but instead of living in this manner, they chose a life of restless vagrancy--a way of living that of all modes of existence is the one most impoverishing to gentle folk of limited means. economical in clothing and parsimonious in diet, they were prodigal in travelling expenses. wandering hither and thither, from london to edinburgh, from edinburgh to york, from york to keswick, from keswick to the isle of man, from the isle of man to dublin, from dublin to wales, from wales back to ireland, now lingering at killarney, and now worshiping nature in north wales, they were incessant tourists at a time when touring (in respect to charges of locomotion) was far costlier than in these later years of grace. as tourists in scotland, ireland, wales and england, and in a later stage of their joint-career as strangers in london, they spent yearly on hotel-keepers and lodginghouse-keepers twice the sum that would have maintained a cottage with two servants and a pony carriage in a sussex village. at the same time it must be remembered that, though he seldom spent a shilling for pleasures on which young men of his degree are apt to spend many pounds, shelley was by no means a man without 'personal expenses.' giving much to beggars and other victims of distress, he was an habitual buyer of books, and in the execution of his literary enterprises, spent much on printers. though he rarely bought wine, he often bought a costlier drink--laudanum, for his own drinking. how could he live in this way on _l._ a-year? of course his expenses exceeded _l._ a-year. of course in his wanderings he resembled the eighteenth-century poet, who dragged at each remove a lengthening chain of debt. but how could he have met the immediate, urgent, unavoidable and not-to-be-deferred charges of such incessant touring on less than four hundred a-year? chapter xvii. greta bank. shelley wishes for a sussex cottage--his friends at keswick--southey at home--poet and schoolmaster--southey's way of handling shelley--shelley caught napping--mrs. southey's tea-cakes--eggs and bacon on hounslow heath--at home with the calverts--shelley's remarkable communications to southey--his story of harriett's expulsion from school--the story to hogg's infamy--mr. maccarthy on the _posthumous fragments_--miss westbrook's transient contentment--shelley's _for ever_ and _never_--his interest in ireland--burning questions--southey and shelley at war--the _address to the irish people_--letters to skinner street--godwin tickled by them--shelleyan conceptions and misconceptions--shelley forgets all about dr. lind--preparations for the irish campaign--letter of introduction to curran--project for a happy meeting in wales--miss eliza hitchener--bright angel and brown demon--shelley's delight in her--his abhorrence of her. from shelley's letter of th november, , to mr. medwin, of horsham, it appears that the trio came to keswick with the purpose of journeying southward, and settling in some picturesque nook of sussex, when they should have succeeded or failed in the main object of their expedition to the lake country. the horsham attorney was instructed to look out for a cottage, adapted to their means and requirements, near st. leonard's forest or in any other part of the county, where they would be at a distance from soldiers and workshops, and have rural quietude with good scenery. it would have been well, perhaps, for shelley and his chances of domestic contentment, had they held to this plan, and settling down in a peaceful sussex village, avoided the life of comfortless vagrancy, in which he spent the rest of his life. it would have been better still, perhaps, both for him and harriett, had they been content to lead tranquil and studious days at greta bank for two or three years in the society of the southeys at keswick, of de quincey and wordsworth at grasmere, of coleridge and john wilson. but it was not in his nature, nor, perhaps, was it possible to a young woman of her peculiar temper, to be happy for many months together, in any place that wanted the charm of novelty. anyhow, instead of biding his time at greta bank till de quincey and wordsworth, coleridge and wilson, had come about them, shelley surrendered the advantages of the home, that had been provided for him by ducal favour, and left cumberland at the beginning of february without making any acquaintances at keswick with the exception of the calverts from whom he parted regretfully, and the southeys from whom he parted in no kindly temper. either through the carelessness of the original writer (who may have made the common mistake of pre-dating the epistle by an entire month), or through the carelessness of the copyist of the document, a wrong date ( th october, ) is given in mr. denis florence maccarthy's _shelley's early life_, to the extract from an unpublished letter, in which the poetical aspirant says of the author of _thalaba_, 'southey hates the irish; he speaks against catholic emancipation. in all these things we differ. our differences were the subject of a long conversation.' as shelley had not seen southey on th october, , as he made southey's acquaintance at keswick, which he entered for the first time on some day of the following month (november, ), he cannot have talked in the earlier days of october, , with the celebrated man of letters on questions touching catholic emancipation and the discontents of the irish catholics. the long conversation and differences about those topics may have been affairs of november, but it is more probable that the famous poet and the unknown literary aspirant had no angry altercations about ireland's wrongs and robert emmett's story before the last month of . it is, however, certain that they differed on these subjects, and that their differences of opinion were fruitful of overbearing speech on southey's part,--and of much vehement and bitter speech from shelley. shelley came to keswick with a disposition to have the friendliest relations with the man of letters who two years since had been his favourite english poet, and whom he regarded as a great man till personal intercourse extinguished the favourable opinion. and whilst shelley went to 'the lakes' in a mood to render homage to southey's greatness, southey was by no means disinclined to receive the homage in those portions of his laborious time, in which he condescended to have speech with inferior mortals. but, notwithstanding shelley's readiness to admire and southey's readiness to be admired, no one familiar with their peculiar infirmities of intellect and temper would have predicted that the two men would prove congenial companions. in return for his worship and deference, the vehement and romantic shelley looked for encouragement and sympathy from the famous scholar and poet. hoping for a cordial welcome to the great man's heart and library, shelley was reprimanded with a look of mingled surprise and displeasure for his presumption in taking books from the great man's shelves. the welcome accorded to him by the man of fame was attended with limitations and conditions. the house was open to him, but only at times when the master could see him. the library was open to him for the perusal of such books as their owner put into his hands, or rather for such passages of them as were submitted to his consideration. eager for approval and acutely sensitive of disrespect, the youngster was quick to perceive that southey listened to his words with supercilious curiosity and amusement, and in replying to them felt himself talking to an intellectual inferior,--to a mere whimsical scatterbrain singularly devoid of mental discretion; to a youth whose exuberant speech ran on matters of which he knew very little. taking this view of his young friend, southey (whose dictatorial air and eloquence had, in his thirty-eighth year, assumed all the overbearing insolence that distinguished him in later time) gave his young friend much equally wholesome and unacceptable admonition, that would have been less ineffectual for good and far less effectual for harm, had it been given in a less offensive manner. whilst he never failed to take something more than his proper share of the conversation, in whatever company he found himself at this period of his life, the argumentative shelley liked to imagine he controlled the minds of the listeners, who were more often silenced than swayed by his excessive loquacity. with comical and characteristic self-complacence he wrote of mr. calvert and the duke of norfolk's other guests, soon after the visit to greystoke castle, 'we met several people at the duke's. one in particular struck me. he was an elderly man, who seemed to know all my concerns, and the expression of his face, whenever i held the argument, _which i do everywhere_, was such as i shall not readily forget.' the young gentleman who, 'holding the argument everywhere,' pursued his customary course even in the presence of ducal quality, met in southey's house with an entertainer, no less fond of holding the argument; with a host not at all disposed to be overtalked by a boy, barely half his own age. in southey, the poet usually went hand-in-hand with the pedagogue; but in his dealings with shelley, the poet disappeared in the pedagogue, the scholar merged in the schoolmaster,--sometimes in the angry schoolmaster. instead of withdrawing into silence, southey met the youngster's vehement assertions with scornful counterstatements, traversed his arguments with caustic speech that turned them to ridicule, or raising his voice poured upon him torrents of invective, that only stung and lashed the beardless disputant to wilder extravagances of speech. some of southey's donnish ways to the irrepressible lad were superlatively exasperating. one of the schoolmaster's tricks was to stop the course of controversy by taking down a book, opening it, and reading a passage in a tone, which implied that the quotation closed the discussion for all minds, accessible to reason. at other times, when shelley had talked himself purple, this exasperating southey was content to remark in a tone of galling pity and tenderness, 'no doubt, no doubt; i thought and spoke in just the same way when i was your age.' few forms of dissent are more irritating to a callow disputant than a suggestion that he thinks what he thinks and says what he says, merely because he is very young and inexperienced. whilst southey was writing with sublime compassionateness of the young 'man at keswick, who acted upon him as his own ghost would,' shelley wrote from greta bank to a correspondent, whose personal acquaintance he had still to make:--'southey, the poet, whose principles were pure and elevated once, is now the paid champion of every abuse and absurdity. i have had much conversation with him. he says, "you will think as i do when you are as old." i do not feel the least disposition to be mr. s.'s proselyte.' recalling how he had dealt and differed with shelley in keswick, southey (_vide_ _the correspondence of robert southey with caroline bowles_, ) wrote to the author of _laon and cythna_ in june, :--'eight years ago you were somewhat displeased when i declined disputing with you on points which are beyond the reach of the human intellect,--telling you that the great difference between us was, that you were then nineteen and i was eight-and-thirty.' southey's letter about his own ghost was dated th january, ; shelley's letter to godwin, about 'the poet, whose principles were pure and elevated once,' was dated just two days later, th january, . whilst shelley was nothing more respectable to southey than a young simpleton of parts, who might survive his folly and become a sensible man, southey was nothing less contemptible in shelley's eyes than a literary hireling, who defended every abuse and absurdity he was ordered to defend. few were the words spoken in later time to southey's advantage, many the words spoken to his ridicule, by the younger poet, with whom he had wrangled so hotly on the marge of derwentwater. one of shelley's stories, to his enemy's discredit, was the droll account of the way he was led by southey into his little upstairs study, locked into the narrow chamber, and then 'read' into unconsciousness by his merciless captor; the thing thus read to the captive's stupefaction being one of the captor's poems in manuscript. charmed with the beauties of his own creation, the author read on slowly and distinctly, till the listener would fain have escaped from the scene of his punishment; read on till the listener nodded from drowsiness, instead of approval; read on till the whilom unwilling listener had ceased to listen; read on till the same whilom listener slipt from his seat to the floor; and still read on till, on looking up from his manuscript for something more flattering than silent admiration, he looked in vain for him who should have given it. the southey of this comical anecdote may well have been surprised at the listener's unaccountable disappearance. how had he escaped?--not by the door, for it was locked; nor by the window, for it was barred; nor by the chimney, for it was too narrow. the poet's wonder at the listener's disappearance was exchanged for wonder at his insensibility and indifference to what was loveliest in poetic art, when, on looking under the table, he discovered the whilom listener, lying at full length on the carpet, and wrapt in profoundest slumber. it is suggested by the humorous hogg that, if shelley had kept his chair and consciousness, during the reading of the long poem, he would never have been placed by the naturally indignant bard on the roll of the satanic school. mr. denis florence maccarthy, by the way, discovers cause for virtuous indignation at hogg's monstrous untruthfulness, in representing that the poem, which acted thus soporifically on shelley, was _the curse of kehama_. the poem of _the curse_ had been published long before shelley set foot in southey's house. even whilst he was at oxford, shelley had taken from a printed copy of _the curse_ four lines to serve as a motto for the title-page of his own sublime and undiscoverable poem (that possibly was never written), _on the existing state of things_. it is infinitely absurd to suppose southey read in manuscript one of his _old_ poems to shelley at keswick. in saying southey was guilty of this offence, hogg said what was untrue. it follows that hogg was a reckless writer, false biographer, and bad man. the fun of the matter is that hogg does not say the poem was the curse of kehama. on the contrary, he is at pains to say he is uncertain whether it was _the curse_, or some other of the poet's metrical performances. 'the poem, if i mistake not, was _the curse of kehama_,' are the words of the biographer, who is so rashly assailed for inaccuracy, though in his mere repetition of shelley's piquant anecdote, he is so careful to say the poem of the story may _not_ have been the _curse_. it is thus that, in his passion for defaming hogg, mr. denis florence maccarthy pelts him with any stone, or stick, or bit of dirt that comes to hand. the incident of the story, if it was a real one, cannot be supposed to have taken place when mrs. southey regaled the stranger from southern england with the tea-cakes, which he devoured so ravenously, after abusing them with the vehemence of unqualified prejudice. had he at that time offered her husband the affront of going to sleep at the poetical-reading, the lady would scarcely have pressed shelley so cordially to partake of the tea and hot buttered tea-cakes, blushing with currants, or sprinkled with caraway seed, with which she and her poet were regaling themselves, at the close of washing-day. 'why! good god, southey!' the younger poet is reported to have exclaimed, with a look of disgust at the unromantic fare, 'i am ashamed of you! it is awful, horrible, to see such a man as you are, greedily devouring this nasty stuff.' 'nasty stuff, indeed!' cried mrs. southey. 'how dare you call my tea-cakes nasty stuff?' to assuage the lady's wrath, shelley scanned the cakes, sniffed their savour, took up a piece of one of them, and ate it. scent and palate convincing shelley that it was an occasion for prompt recantation of a sentiment formed from the mere appearance of things, he went to work at the remaining tea-cakes, devouring them even more greedily than southey. another plate of the hot and buttered cakes being brought to the board, shelley took something more than his full share of them, and was hoping for the appearance of yet a third plate, when he learnt that more could not be had, the whole batch having been eaten to the last fragment and crumb. hogg had the story of mrs. southey's tea-cakes from harriett (westbrook) shelley, who added, naïvely, 'we were to have hot tea-cakes every evening "for ever." i was to make them myself, and mrs. southey was to teach me.' the story has considerable biographical value, as an example of shelley's alternate abstemiousness and self-indulgence in food. resembling byron in habitual abstinence and indifference to the quality of the fare that sustained him, shelley also resembled byron in occasional acts of feasting that might almost be called excesses of greediness. hogg gives a piquant account of a meal shelley made off eggs and bacon, in the parlour of a humble inn on hounslow heath, at a time subsequent to his union with william godwin's daughter, when, as a vegetarian, he had for a considerable period regarded pork with abhorrence. entering the modest tavern, at a moment when hogg was about to assail a goodly dish of the gross and abominable meat, the hungry poet eyed the bacon with disgust, looked at it with curiosity, sniffed its alluring savour, regarded it longingly, just as he had in former time regarded mrs. southey's tea-cakes. 'so this is bacon,' he observed daintily, taking a morsel of the meat on the end of a fork, and putting it into his mouth. having tasted fat, he fell from the purity of abstinence to the uncleanness of carnal enjoyment. having consumed a liberal portion of his friend's dish, he ordered another dish on his own account, and devoured it voraciously. sharpened with what it fed upon, his appetite caused him to cry aloud, 'bring more bacon;' an order that was speedily followed by the appearance of a third dish. after despatching this third dish, the poet demanded a fourth, when to his lively annoyance he learnt there was no more bacon in the house. it was debated whether the landlady should not be sent to staines for more bacon; but hogg prevailed on his friend to put a bridle on fleshly appetite, and set forth for his cottage at bishopgate and mary's well-furnished tea-table. on coming to that tea-table, shelley astonished his wife by exclaiming eagerly, 'we have been eating bacon together on hounslow heath, and do you know it was very nice? cannot we have bacon here, mary?' on hearing he could not have bacon till the morrow, but must for the present be content with tea and bread and butter, the poet replied plaintively, 'i would rather have some more bacon.' when a worthy book shall be written on the feasts of the poets, it will not fail to tell how byron, after long spells of fasting, used to devour huge messes of broken potato and stale fish, drenched with vinegar. nor will it omit to record how shelley ate poor mrs. southey out of buttered tea-cakes, and gorged himself with fried bacon at a pot-house on hounslow heath. whilst they dispose me to think the famous feast on tea-cakes cannot have preceded the hour when shelley fell asleep under southey's poem, circumstances also incline me to think the acrimonious disputations on irish affairs must have followed the first day of shelley's entertainment at greta bank. anyhow, it is certain that the shelleys and southeys were on friendly terms, when the former took up their abode in mr. calvert's house. the garden at greta bank was the 'pretty garden' of the piquant story known to every reader of de quincey's curiously inaccurate paper about shelley. it was to a question, put to her by one of the southey party, then calling upon her in her new quarters, that mrs. shelley replied, with winning childishness, 'oh, no, the garden is not ours; but then, you know, the people let us run about in it, whenever percy and i are tired of sitting in the house;' an utterance that, coming from the girlish wife, may well have amused the married ladies to whom it was made. nor is it conceivable that southey and shelley had exchanged hot and disdainful words on questions of irish politics, when the younger poet, overflowing with pitiful speech on subjects about which he should not have uttered a syllable to so slight an acquaintance, told southey the story of harriett's conversion to atheism, and the still more revolting tale of hogg's attempt to seduce her. by the first of these excesses of communicativeness, southey was informed how shelley had busied himself in making proselytes in mrs. fenning's boarding-school; how harriett westbrook was expelled the school for accepting his doctrine and aiding him in his purpose; and how he had married her, in order to render her the _amende honorable_ for the disgrace and trouble he had brought upon her. the second of the amazing stories was, that on their journey from edinburgh to york hogg had attempted to debauch his friend's bride, so soon after her marriage. telling these things to his wife's discredit and hogg's infamy, shelley spoke frankly of his disapproval of marriage. about the same time, either from shelley's own lips, or from the lips of some other informant, it came to southey's knowledge that, since coming to keswick, shelley had told his wife expressly, that he regarded the marriage-rite as a ceremony of no binding force, and that he should leave her on ceasing to love her. having no doubt the statements thus made to harriett _at_ keswick were a mere repetition of statements made to her by shelley _before_ their marriage, southey had reasons in for declining to believe that, after deciding to wed one another by lawful form, either she or shelley had entered the compact on the free love understanding that they should be at liberty to separate on ceasing to like one another. one could wish southey had stated more precisely how much of his knowledge of shelley's nuptial and pre-nuptial relations to harriett came to him from shelley's own lips, and how much from other informants. it is, however, certain that southey received from shelley's own tongue, his information, or misinformation, touching the circumstances of harriett's alleged expulsion from school, touching shelley's alleged motive for marrying her, and touching the attempt said to have been made by hogg on her honour. whether the allegation to hogg's infamy should be deemed good evidence against the law-student is a question to be considered in a subsequent chapter. for the present, it is enough to observe that shelley spoke to southey at keswick on divers delicate personal matters, about which even he would scarcely have opened mind and heart to so recent an acquaintance had they already squabbled fiercely on irish affairs. because shelley introduced a virtuous irishman into the later part of _st. irvyne_, and published in the _posthumous fragments of margaret nicholson_ some metrical trash about a banshee's moan, and a white courser, bestridden by a shadow sprite, mr. denis florence maccarthy would have us believe, that shelley did not leave oxford without seriously interesting himself in the history and legends of ireland, and entertaining a purpose to redress the wrongs of her miserable people. here are mr. denis florence maccarthy's own words:-- 'one of them' (_i.e._ the poems of the _posthumous fragments_) '_the spectral horseman_, is interesting as showing that at this early period, shelley had begun to take that interest in the history and legends of ireland, which led to such extraordinary results two years later. we have here "the banshee's moan on the storm;" "a white courser," like that of o'donoghue, "bears the shadowy sprite;" "the whirlwinds howl in the caves of innisfallen,"-- "then does the dragon, who, chained in the caverns to eternity, curses the champion of erin, moan and yell loud at the lone hour of midnight." _fragments, page ._ 'extravagant as all these passages are,--they show shelley's sympathies for ireland had already been awakened, and that his practical efforts for her benefit at a later period were not the result of any sudden or passing caprice.' what evidence that a youngster--living in the times of moore, and maturin, and sydney morgan; in times when the popularity of the 'irish melodies' had called into existence a score imitators of their author; in times when romantic irish ballads and patriotic irish ballads lay on every drawing-room table; in times when to humour the prevailing taste for fiction about ireland, and to profit by the demand for irish tales at circulating libraries, lady morgan christened one of her stories _the wild irish girl_, though no such girl played a part in the narrative,--was a serious student of irish history and legends, and had entered on a course of inquiry and thought, that naturally resulted in a resolve to visit ireland, for the purpose of striking the manacles from the bruised and bleeding limbs of fair erin! thus is it that shelley's story has been told by his fanciful idolaters. the instruction given (november th, ) to mr. medwin, the horsham lawyer, to find a sussex cottage for the poet's habitation, is a sufficient proof that shelley at that time designed to settle ere long in his native county. when a man speaks to his lawyer on such a matter, he may be assumed to mean what he says. shelley's written words to the man of business were: 'we do not intend to take up our abode here for a perpetuity, but should wish to have a house in sussex. let it be in some picturesque, retired place--st. leonard's forest, for instance. let it not be nearer to london than horsham, nor near any _populous_ manufacturing town. we do not covet either a propinquity to _barracks_.' the young man who wrote with this amplitude and precision must have meant what he said. he could not afford to hire a house and let it stand empty. with no purpose of staying a long time at keswick, he wished for a house in sussex to retire to, in the company of his wife and sister-in-law, when he should withdraw from the lakes. this was his plan when he entered keswick; and when he had been there some weeks. what made him relinquish this scheme for a home? probably he relinquished it at the advice and with the approval of his wife and her sister, and also in accordance with his own judgment, immediately after the visit to greystoke castle, and mr. calvert's offer to take them into his house. when they had been received at the castle--not for a mere formal dinner, not for a brief three nights' stay, but for a visit of several (eight or nine) days--the prospect of living for a considerable time at keswick must have been acceptable to both the sisters; to the gentle and lovable harriett, who had several reasons for thinking such a residence would be for her husband's advantage,--and to the scheming and ambitious eliza, who, in some degree sincerely desirous for harriett's and percy's welfare, was chiefly ambitious of taking rank with gentlewomen. exulting in her reception at greystoke castle,--a reception that qualified her to speak of the duchess of norfolk as her friend, and gave her the castle-mark of gentility in the eyes of the 'highest quality' of and near keswick--miss westbrook, we may be sure, was in no hurry to withdraw from the neighbourhood, that was the scene of her sweetest social triumph; from the town that necessarily rated her one of the greystoke circle. it was manifest to the prudent and ambitious miss westbrook, that nothing could be more favourable to her own hopes, and aims, and interest, than such a residence at keswick as would plant her amongst the local 'quality,' and result in future invitations to the castle,--nothing more certain to please her money-grubbing and upward-looking father; nothing more likely to conciliate percy's wrathful father; no course more likely to end in her own admission to field place during the life of percy's mother. at the same time it was no less manifest to miss westbrook that a better place of residence than keswick could not be found for her youthful and erratic brother-in-law during the next two or three years. living in sussex he would be a perpetual irritant to his irritable father. living in cumberland he would be out of his father's way, and under the fewest temptations to exasperate him to fiercer anger. not only would he be out of his father's way in cumberland, but living there, in a certain sense, under the duke of norfolk's patronage, he would be passing his time under conditions most likely to confirm the duke in his friendly disposition towards him, and therefore most likely to result in the reconciliation of the father and son. at keswick her brother-in-law would have literary society, form literary friendships, and have access to the libraries of his literary friends. on hearing her brother-in-law enjoyed the duke of norfolk's favour, and meant to remain for a considerable time at greta bank, miss westbrook was hopeful that mr. de quincey would soon call upon him. on their return to the lakes, mr. samuel taylor coleridge and mr. john wilson would make his acquaintance. mr. wordsworth might hold aloof from the new-comers for a time, but in some way or other he would extend the hand of good-fellowship to them, soon after coleridge's reappearance in his favourite haunts. living with such friends, percy would read many books, and write a wonderful poem, that, raising him yet higher in the omnipotent duke's good opinion, would restore him to his father's favour, and open the doors of field place to his wife and her sister. these were miss westbrook's views of the position and prospect. no one can say they were unreasonable views. had they been so, harriett would have accepted them out of her usual submissiveness to so incomparable a sister. but there was no need for miss westbrook to force her views of these matters on her sister, who, without guidance or instruction of any kind, had come to the same conclusions. harriett and eliza had seldom been of different opinions on anything up to this point of their story. at least for once, the concurrence of their sentiments was in no degree due to the elder sister's authority. whilst harriett and miss westbrook both liked the notion of living at keswick for a considerable period, shelley also favoured it. one consequence of shelley's enthusiasm and nervous vehemence was that, whilst he was the most changeable of mortals in some matters, he seldom did a thing once without at the same time intending to do it 'for ever.' a restless vagrant from his manhood's threshold to his death, he seldom entered a picturesque place without declaring he would live in it 'for ever.' he was perpetually doing things 'for ever,' and undoing them a few days or weeks later. he never made a friendship with man or woman without vowing the league should be perpetual. he went to york with the intention of living there 'for ever.' he declared he would love hogg 'for ever.' he vowed he would live 'for ever' in friendship with miss hitchener, of hurstpierpoint, and no long time afterwards vowed just as passionately and sincerely to hate her 'for ever.' it mattered not to him in periods of passionate excitement, that in his opinion love and all other sentimental preferences were mere consequences of perception and wholly independent of volition. it mattered not that 'love was free,' and that in his judgment 'to promise for ever to love the same woman was not less absurd than to promise to believe the same creed,' because such a vow excluded its maker from inquiries he might be constrained to make, and from new judgments he might be compelled to form, and was therefore by the nature of things powerless to bind its utterer when the mental perceptions required him to disregard it. all the same, he never desired human affection without praying for it, in order that he might enjoy it 'for ever,'--never wished vehemently for anything without hoping, in his emotional intensity, to get happiness from it 'for ever.' he promised to love harriett westbrook 'for ever,' whilst believing himself to be so constituted that at no distant time he might be powerless to love her at all. in the same spirit, with the same fervour, and the same perception of love's fickleness and instability, he carried off mary godwin with avowals that he would love her 'for ever.' when claire, in the 'six weeks' tour,' exclaimed with delight at each new scene of loveliness, 'let us live here,' the lively and humorous girl was laughing in her sleeve at shelley's practice of declaring he would 'live for ever' in any place, that pleased him greatly at first sight. allowance must be made for shelley's vehement emotionality and extravagance of diction by readers who would not be misled by his use of 'ever' and 'never' in matters of his own personal story. in the absence of positive evidence to the point, i have little doubt that shelley entered the rooms assigned to him in mr. calvert's house with a declaration that he would inhabit them 'for ever,' and that the sisters who had him in their keeping entered the same rooms with a strong opinion that he would do well to inhabit them for a considerable time. he would scarcely have remained in them for seven weeks had he not taken possession of them with the intention of occupying them for as many years. how was it then that he withdrew so soon from so eligible an abode? certainly the cause was neither a sudden dislike of keswick, nor a diminution of his affectionate regard for mr. and mrs. calvert. there exists testimony in his own handwriting that he left keswick with regret, and the calverts with a hope to see more of them. 'i hope,' he wrote to a friend from whitehaven on rd february, , as he was on the point of sailing for ireland, 'some day to show you mrs. calvert; i shall not forget her, but will preserve her memory as another flower to compose a garland which i intend to present to you.' how came he then to tear himself away at the beginning of february, , from a place he liked, and from friends in whom he delighted? how was it that, on tearing himself from this place and these friends, he went off to ireland,--an expedition he certainly cannot have thought of making when, on th november, , he wrote to mr. medwin, of horsham, about a house in sussex? how are we to account for the change of purpose that sent him on a mission to ireland for the repeal of the union and the emancipation of the catholics? successive writers have either declared their inability to answer this question, or have answered it in the wrong way. confessing his inability to answer the question, hogg conjectures that some irish frequenter of the mount street coffee-house, or some hibernian hampden, encountered by shelley on the hills of cumberland, may have inspired shelley with an ambition to settle all the irish questions, and put a period to all the irish grievances, by making the voyage to dublin, and speaking words of wisdom to its inhabitants. mr. denis florence maccarthy is certain that this new project for the pacification of ireland was the natural result of shelley's oxonian study of irish history and legends; that the poet went to ireland of his own mere motion, after coming slowly and dispassionately to a strong and reasonable opinion that he would do ireland good service, by visiting her capital, and in the course of a few weeks converting her children to moderation, temperance, industry, orderliness, and universal political amenity. the present writer is no less certain that shelley's oxonian concern for irish literature had nothing to do with his marvellous scheme for settling irish difficulties; that his premature departure from keswick was mainly due to his dislike of southey; and that his irish mission was the outcome of sentiments arising from his acrimonious disputations with the same poet on questions of irish politics. it is not surprising that the man of letters and his young friend exchanged their views on questions that engaged the attention of all persons interested in the politics of the united kingdom. it would have been strange had the _quarterly_ reviewer and the literary aspirant--the mature tory, who spoke disdainfully of his former republicanism as mere boyish effervescence, and the youthful enthusiast of the revolutionary school--differed amicably on matters, so calculated to stir the temper of either disputant. whilst they were alike fervid and intolerant, each had a manner peculiarly irritating to the other, as soon as their pulses quickened under verbal contention. overbearing and contemptuous, even to those who agreed with him, southey soon grew insufferably dogmatic and disdainful to the boy who had the presumption to contradict him. never remarkable for a reverential and conciliatory demeanour to those of his elders who ventured to teach him what he did not wish to be taught, shelley soon ceased to show his opponent the respect due from him to a man, so greatly his superior by age, experience, and achievement. southey's attempts to snub his young friend into submissiveness, and lecture him into sensible views, only stirred and stung shelley to declare in shriller notes his repugnance to the views that were forced upon him in so dictatorial a manner. on finding that in southey's study and presence he was expected to hold silence and take instruction, the young gentleman (_ætat._ ), who deemed himself qualified 'to hold the argument everywhere,' became furious. of course, everything southey said in this insolent style, against the irish, only made shelley think, or confirmed him in thinking, the reverse. the more insultingly he was told that all ireland needed was firm government and the steady maintenance of existing laws, the more clear was it to shelley that ireland's chief need was the gentle rule of new and humane laws. southey's assertions that reasoning was wasted on the irish, for whose government the bayonet was the best instrument, only made shelley more positive that the irish were a gentle, generous, and reasonable people, who could be reasoned into virtuous behaviour, and be cured by sympathetic and persuasive speech of their faults and failings,--faults and failings chiefly, if not altogether, due to the tyranny under which they had groaned so long. to show that he was altogether right, and the exasperating southey altogether wrong, about ireland and the irish, shelley set to work with his pen on the production of _an address to the irish people_, that, written at keswick in the last month of and the first month of , was printed and published at dublin in february, . as the words of this curious and delightfully boyish composition fell to the paper, it struck the author that it would be well for him to visit ireland, and enforce with his persuasive tongue the wholesome admonitions of his pen,--and very pleasant for him, and harriett, and eliza, to observe in the streets of dublin the first signs of that conversion of the irish people to thrift, industry, temperance, and tolerance, which could not fail to be the immediate consequence of the publication of so excellent an essay. this notion of going to ireland, for the purpose of contributing to, and witnessing the success of, his pamphlet, was the more agreeable to shelley because he was eager to get away from the odious southey, and because, in going to ireland (of all places of the earth's surface) to get out of the renegade's way, he would exhibit, in a singularly telling and emphatic manner, his contempt for all that had been urged to the discredit of the dear irish people by the malignant apostate from pantisocratic and other republican principles. under these circumstances, is it wonderful that the later slips of the _address_ were written in the midst of arrangements for the author's expedition to the land, that would be so speedily recovered from rancour and wretchedness to contentment and prosperity? whilst writing the _address to the irish people_ at greta bank, shelley found other employment for his pen, in producing verses to robert emmett's glorification, with other additions to the collection of poems which he designed to publish in dublin; and in throwing off letters to miss eliza hitchener, of hurstpierpoint, near brighton, and to a certain famous author and struggling bookseller, who must have experienced emotions of amusement and self-complacence on perusing the first of the letters, in which the author of the _necessity of atheism_, approached william godwin with expressions of profoundest reverence, several months before he was permitted to gaze on the altogether human lineaments of the divine philosopher. in the first of these letters (a letter dated from keswick on rd january, , though it is one of the many blunders of mr. kegan paul's book about godwin to insist that it was written from keswick ten months before shelley set foot in the place) shelley assures the addressee of the epistle that 'the name of godwin has been used to excite in him feelings of reverence and admiration;' that he has been 'accustomed to consider' the sublime godwin as 'a luminary too dazzling for the darkness which surrounds him;' and that after long regarding the sublime godwin regretfully as one of 'the honourable dead,' as a personage 'the glory of whose being had passed from this earth of ours,' he has learned with 'inconceivable emotions' that so great a benefactor of his species still has an earthly existence and an earthly habitation in skinner street, in the city of london. 'it is not so,' ejaculates the writer of the adulatory epistle; 'you still live, and, i firmly believe, are still planning the welfare of human kind.' it was in this strain of extravagant and obsequious reverence that shelley approached, in january, , the man whose house he entered some months later, whose hospitality he accepted freely as it was proffered, and whose sixteen-years-old daughter he lured into free love two and a half years later. it is also well for the reader to know and remember, that at the time of writing this characteristic epistle, the singularly truth-loving shelley had not recently discovered with inconceivable emotion that godwin was still living and following his trade in skinner street. the evidences are clear that the sentimental words about the writer's regret for the death of the too dazzling luminary were untrue words. the dazzling luminary, who would perhaps have left the letter unanswered, had not its adulation tickled his self-complacence agreeably, replied in terms that caused the young enthusiast to produce an autobiographic fragment for his correspondent's enlightenment. writing from keswick on th january, , to the philosopher of skinner street, shelley (after the customary announcement of his filial relation to 'a man of fortune in sussex') remarks that his habits of thinking never coincided with his father's habits of thinking; that it was his misfortune in childhood to be 'required to love, because it was his duty to love' his father, a system of coercion which, of course, rendered it impossible for him to love his father; and that he published his two novels (_st. irvyne_ and _zastrozzi_) before he was seventeen years of age,--a statement not a little wide of historic truth. instead of publishing these books when he was at eton, and only sixteen years of age, he was seventeen years and ten months old when he published the earlier story, and eighteen years and four months old when he published the later tale, both romances having appeared whilst he was a member of university college, oxford. these inaccuracies are followed in the letter by a more remarkable example of the writer's inaccuracy in statements touching his personal affairs. representing that he read godwin's _political justice_, and adopted its views, whilst he was at eton, he adds, 'no sooner had i formed the principles which i now profess than i was anxious to disseminate their benefits. this was done without the slightest caution. i was twice expelled, but recalled by the interference of my father.' all this is represented to have taken place at eton before he 'went to oxford;' yet it is certain that he never published anything controversial on the questions raised in the _political justice_ whilst he was at eton, and no less certain that he was not twice expelled from the school for doing so. though he left eton prematurely, and with a bad name, his dismissal from the school differed so widely from expulsion, that he would not have been justified in speaking of himself as having been expelled once. in the same letter (of th january, , to godwin) shelley says of the circumstances of his expulsion from oxford, 'i printed a pamphlet, avowing my opinions and its occasion.... mr. ----, at oxford, among others, had the pamphlet; he showed it to the master and the fellows of university college, and i was sent for. i was informed that in case i denied the publication, no more would be said. i refused and was expelled.' it is scarcely needful for me to remind the readers of this work, that the collegiate authorities never told him he could escape punishment by disclaiming the publication; never urged him to deny the publication; never expelled him for refusing to deny it. the whole statement is untrue in every particular. what made him pen these untruths, with or without cognizance of their absolute untruthfulness? ever taking the most charitable view of his friend's most perplexing infirmity, hogg maintains that shelley had no intention of misstating the case when he misstated it so egregiously. 'this is incorrect,' says hogg; 'no such offer was made, no such information was given; but musing on the affair, as he was wont, he dreamed that the proposal had been declined by him, and thus he had the gratification of believing that he was more of a martyr than he really was.' yet further shelley writes in the same delusive style in the same epistle:-- 'it will be necessary, in order to elucidate this part of my history, to inform you that i am heir by entail to an estate of £ per annum.... my father has ever regarded me as a blot, a defilement of his honour. he wished to induce me by poverty to accept of some commission in a distant regiment, and in the interim of my absence to prosecute the pamphlet, that a process of outlawry might make the estate on his death devolve to my younger brother. these are the leading points of the history of the man before you.... i am married to a woman whose views are similar to my own. to you, as the regulator and former of my mind, i must ever look with real respect and veneration.' readers should notice and remember each of the several untruthful statements of this extract. ( ) it was untrue that the squire of field place had 'ever regarded' his son 'as a blot and defilement of his honour.' ( ) it was untrue that the squire had endeavoured to force his son to accept a commission in a distant regiment in order that, during his absence on military service, he might deprive him by legal process of his birthright to the advantage of his younger brother. ( ) it was untrue that the squire had put pressure on his son to enter the army, though it has been suggested by one of the poet's several friendly biographers that, soon after his expulsion from oxford, it may perhaps have been suggested to the unruly boy that he should adopt the military profession, like his cousin tom medwin, who went from the university into a cavalry regiment. ( ) the father who had dealt so leniently and tenderly with his son on first hearing of his academic disgrace, never for an instant entertained a thought of compassing the prosecution of the author and printer of the scandalous tract. of the malicious purpose and scheme, attributed to the kindly though irascible squire of field place by the boy to whom he had been a considerate and good father, hogg says justly:-- 'it is only in a dream that the prosecution, outlawry, and devolution of the estate could find place. the narration of such proceedings would have been too strong and strange for a german romance; it would have been too large a requisition upon the reader's credulity to ask him to credit them in the father of _zastrozzi_....' one may well smile at such egregious ignorance of law and affairs in the self-confident youth, who was preparing to visit ireland in order to emancipate the catholics, repeal the union, and instruct the whole irish people in political science. it is, however, no matter for smiling that this young scatterbrain, whom his adulators compare with the saviour of the world, penned these egregious inventions to his father's discredit in a letter to a person, with whom he had no domestic connexion,--to a stranger, of whom he knew nothing, save that he was a writer of entertaining and clever books. readers must settle for themselves whether the untruthful statements were sheer and wilful untruths, or the fruits of misconception scarcely compatible with mental sanity, or products of a state of mind that would justify the critic in adopting peacock's term, and speaking of them as results of 'semi-delusion.' on these points there may be room for differences of opinion; but it must be obvious to all judicious readers that in putting the erroneous statements on paper, the generous and chivalric shelley was actuated by a desire to exhibit his father as an unnatural and treacherous parent to the man of letters, to whom the epistle was addressed. had the squire of field place been the bad father shelley declared him, it was not for shelley to say so in a letter to a stranger. even to his nearest and dearest friend--even to so familiar a comrade as hogg, in the time of their most affectionate intimacy--shelley would have been silent on so painful and shameful a subject, had he been the loyal and chivalrous being his idolaters would have us think him. readers may also reflect on the different strain in which shelley, only a few weeks earlier, wrote of his father to the duke of norfolk. godwin, the stranger, is informed by shelley that his father regards him as a blot and defilement; that his father had striven to force him out of the country into distant military service; that his father had designed to institute legal proceedings against him for writing _the necessity of atheism_; that his father had desired to despoil him of his birthright, and place his younger brother next in succession to the family estate. these statements are made to the stranger, who is not likely to know the real causes of his correspondent's estrangement from his father. but in shelley's letter to the duke of norfolk, who knows all about the domestic question and the squire's treatment of his son, it is not suggested by shelley that 'the pamphlet' had anything to do with his father's anger. on the contrary, his father's extreme displeasure with him is attributed to the real cause--his marriage, and the circumstances of the _mésalliance_. why this difference? to those who answer that, whereas shelley was in his right mind when writing to the duke of norfolk, and labouring under delusions when writing to william godwin, it must appear curiously significant and suggestive of another conclusion--that he wrote truthfully of his affairs to the correspondent who (to his knowledge) knew the truth of them, and altogether untruthfully about his affairs to the person whom he had reason to think ignorant of them. godwin's answer to the letter containing these inaccurate statements is not extant; but it is on the evidences that the philosopher's reply indicated surprise at, and disapproval of, the terms in which his youthful correspondent had spoken of his father. finding he had exhibited himself in an unfavourable light to the author of _political justice_, shelley hastened to retrieve the false step, and recover his correspondent's good opinion by writing ( th january, ), in his third letter from keswick to skinner street:-- 'you mistake me if you think that i am angry with my father. i have ever been desirous of a reconciliation with him, but the price which he demands for it is a renunciation of my opinions, or, at least a subjection to conditions which should bind me to act in opposition to their very spirit. it is probable that my father has acted for my welfare....' neither misconception nor semi-delusion can be pleaded for shelley's statement that he was not angry with his father. it was not true that he had 'ever been desirous of a reconciliation with his father.' the two statements were untruths, told by shelley in order to set himself right with his correspondent. for the same purpose he now admits that his father (charged in the previous letter with an execrable design for depriving him of his birthright) may have acted for his welfare. other words of the extract should have the reader's thoughtful consideration. one of the charges against the squire of field place being that, after banishing his son from his boyhood's home at the instigation of religious intolerance, he required his son's renunciation of his sincere opinions as the condition for their reconcilement, it is well for readers of the poet's story to take especial notice of his admission that, instead of being required to renounce his opinions, he was only required to 'submit to conditions which should bind him to act in opposition to their very spirit,' words of qualification which, coming from shelley, are sufficient evidence to the moderation and reasonableness of the conditions. there is a wide difference between a demand for the renunciation of opinions and a demand for abstinence from noisy and aggressive assertion of them; and the father who requires a youngster in his nonage to hold his pen and tongue on certain subjects of difficult and perilous controversy is guilty of no despotic excess of paternal authority. the forbearance which mr. timothy shelley had required of his son was in truth nothing more than the forbearance which william godwin was already urging the youngster to exercise for his own advantage. 'i will not again,' shelley writes to his newly selected mentor, 'crudely obtrude my peculiar opinions or my doubts on the world;' a promise which he, of course, had no intention of keeping; a promise he was, even at the moment of making it, on the point of breaking in the imbecile _address to the irish people_. had he made the same promise to his father and kept it, there would have been peace between them,--at least on mere matters of opinion. writing to william godwin, on th january, , a letter that affords some curious examples of the obsequious adulation with which he approached the man of letters, whose friendship he was desirous of winning, shelley remarked:-- 'i have known no tutor or adviser (_not excepting my father_) from whose lessons and suggestions i have not recoiled with disgust. the knowledge which i have, whatever it may be (putting out of the question the age of grammar and the horn-book), has been acquired by my unassisted efforts. i have before given you a slight sketch of my earlier habits and feelings--my present are, in my opinion, infinitely superior--they are elevated and disinterested; such as they are, you have principally produced them.' 'i have known no tutor or adviser (_not excepting my father_) from whose lessons and suggestions i have not recoiled with disgust.' this language is no less comprehensive than precise. including all his schoolmasters and other official teachers, it includes all his advisers and social monitors--includes even his own father. how about dr. lind?--the wise, the humane, the gentle and large-minded dr. lind? the physician who trained him in science and philosophy, and carried him through brain-fever at field place? the benign hermit of _laon and cythna_, the persuasive teacher of _prince athanase_? readers cannot need to be reminded of all shelley told hogg and his second wife about the wise physician's influence on his mental and moral development; of the poetic egotisms of _laon and cythna_ and _prince athanase_, that glorified the doctor for having been the beneficent illuminator of his pupil's young mind; the poetic egotisms which mrs. shelley accepted, and the present lady shelley regards, as severely accurate autobiographic evidence. taking them _au pied de la lettre_ lady shelley argues from these scraps of egotistic verse as though they were historic _data_ of unimpeachable authority. lady shelley is confident that dr. lind ('the erudite scholar and amiable old man,' as she styles him) was one of shelley's eton tutors,--a tutor in whom he delighted at school, and remembered in after-life with love and veneration. yet shelley assures us that up to january, , he never had tutor or adviser of any kind from whose lessons and suggestions he had not recoiled with disgust. did shelley really recoil with disgust from the hard-swearing doctor who taught him to curse his father?--from the enlightened physician who guided his 'scientific studies?' or had he clean forgotten the doctor and all his virtuous ways when he was writing from keswick to william godwin? to those who answer this last question in the affirmative, it must seem strange that dr. lind, with all his virtue and wisdom, was so completely forgotten by the young gentleman, whom he had influenced so strongly and agreeably so few years since. if dr. lind was so great a power in the poet's education as trustful readers of his poetry imagine, it is passing strange that shelley never remembered him when he was recalling his teachers and their services in the first month of . by those who attribute the frequent inaccuracies of his personal statements to a fertile fancy, an innocent and unconscious inventiveness, it must be considered that shelley's unruly and too vigorous imagination was suspiciously associated with an unreliable (though often strongly retentive) memory,--that whilst curiously apt to imagine things had taken place which had never occurred, he was also at times strangely forgetful of matters that he might well have been thought certain to remember. on learning from this same keswick letter of th january, , that shelley had made up his mind to go shortly to dublin, with his wife and sister-in-law, for the purpose of furthering, to the utmost of their joint powers, the cause of catholic emancipation, godwin (who seems to have been vastly delighted with the letters from keswick, whilst seeing much to disapprove in them) sent his youthful and enthusiastic correspondent a letter of introduction to curran, the irish master of the rolls. in the letter which acknowledged the note of introduction as 'a great and essential service,' shelley ( th january, ) referred apologetically to the lawfulness of his union with harriett westbrook, as a concession he made to despotic usage from 'considerations of the unequally weighty burden of disgrace and hatred, which a resistance to this system' (_i.e._ of lawful wedlock) 'would entail upon his companion' in connubial felicity. yet further in defence of his politic 'submission to the ceremonies of the church,' and in reference to the uneven consequences of the other and in some respects better course, he remarked, 'a man in such a case, is a man of gallantry and spirit--a woman loses all claim to respect and politeness. she has lost modesty, which is the female criterion of virtue, and those, whose virtues extend no further than modesty, regard her with hatred and contempt.' unaware how completely godwin had abandoned certain of his earlier views respecting wedlock (_i.e._ ( ) that in the existing state of english society the existence of mutual love was a sufficient sanction of the conjugal association of a man and woman; ( ) that where such love existed it was better for spouses to live together in the liberty of free love than in the bondage of lawful marriage; and ( ) that the institution of lawful matrimony was a demoralizing interference with the liberty of individuals), shelley regarded his marriage as a domestic incident, from which he would suffer in the philosopher's esteem, unless he were duly informed of the considerations which had determined harriett's husband to accommodate his conjugal arrangements to the prejudices of society. but though he wrote thus apologetically of his marriage, in order to place himself higher in the philosopher's favour, shelley wrote honestly. from his eton days he had been a favourer of free love. but for hogg, he would have taken harriett to his embrace without marrying her. he did not relinquish his purpose of uniting himself to her in the loose and easy fashion, until hogg had made him see the enormity of the disadvantages that would ensue to him and her from the arrangement. the principal reasons he gave in january, , for having married her were the same reasons he gave in the previous august for determining to marry her. another thing to be noticed in this statement to godwin is its evidence how precisely he saw, and how fully he realized, the shameful character of the position held by a woman living conjugally with a man not her lawful husband,--the position in which he, ere long, placed his intimate friend's sixteen-years-old daughter. whilst the male partner of such an association merely acquired a reputation for gallantry and spirit, the female lost all title to social respect. whilst he became the gallant keeper of a mistress, she became nothing less contemptible than a kept mistress. the youngster of birth and breeding, who saw this in the january of , saw it no less clearly in the summer of , when he determined to become the gallant keeper of a mistress, and, in violation of one of the most sacred laws of hospitality, prevailed on his intimate friend's sixteen-years-old daughter to accept the position of a mistress. shelley did not leave keswick without a plan for making away with time agreeably in the ensuing summer, when he should have emancipated the irish catholics, repealed the act of union, and withdrawn from the land he had endowed with perpetual felicity. on th january, , he wrote to godwin: 'in the summer we shall be in the north of wales. dare i hope that you will come to see us? perhaps this would be an unfeasible neglect of your avocations. i shall hope it until you forbid me.' twelve days later ( th january, ), whilst referring lightly to this project for a meeting in wales, shelley ventured to express his hope that in the ensuing summer he and harriett would entertain mr. and mrs. godwin, and their children, in the same romantic spot, where it was their purpose to receive another 'most dear friend.' this 'most dear friend' was miss eliza hitchener of hurstpierpoint in sussex, whose acquaintance shelley had formed whilst staying under his uncle pilford's roof at cuckfield. philosopher, deist, and republican, miss eliza hitchener kept a school for little girls at hurstpierpoint, and seems to have enjoyed, in her particular parish of sussex, a larger measure of social respect than was accorded to her father, the keeper of a public-house in the same neighbourhood, who had been in some way or other concerned in the contraband trade of the sussex coast, before he changed his name from yorke to tichener and joined the noble army of licensed victuallers. thus much was discovered about miss hitchener and her father from the letter, written by joint-postmaster-general, the earl of chichester, to the secretary of the general post office on th april, :--'miss hichener,' the earl wrote, 'of hurstpierpoint, keeps a school there, and is well spoken of; her father keeps a publick house in the neighbourhood; he was originally a smugler, and changed his name from yorke to tichener, before he took the publick house.' the statesman, who spelt smuggler with a single 'g,' and described mrs. shelley as 'a servant, or some person of very low birth,' cannot be said to merit unqualified confidence for the accuracy of his spelling and personal intelligence; but he may have been right in representing that the whilom 'smugler' and his daughter assumed different surnames. as an instructress of children, miss hitchener may have had a professional motive for getting away from her papa's assumed surname, even as he had a sound prudential motive for getting away from a proper name, disagreeably familiar to the 'smuglers' of the sussex coast. anyhow, the lady figures as miss eliza hitchener in shelleyan annals. opinions differ respecting miss hitchener's character and conduct. shelley had not known her long before he thought much ill of her. but there are sufficient grounds for a confident opinion that she was neither the angelic creature he imagined her, whilst cherishing her with platonic affection, nor the superlatively evil being he imagined her when he came to denounce her, in shrillest notes of abhorrence, for being a brown demon and an hermaphrodite. chapter xviii. shelley's quarrel with hogg. shelley's suspicion of hogg--his conviction of hogg's guilt--did hogg make the attempt--the manipulated letter--hogg's object in publishing it--his purpose in altering it--the great discovery--evidence of hogg's guilt--sources of the evidence--shelley's correspondence with miss hitchener--his letters from keswick to hogg--their vehement affectionateness--eliza westbrook in office--shelley under training--sisters in council--shelley's conferences with harriett--proofs of hogg's innocence--_primâ facie_ improbability--why hogg was not charged at york--his arraignment at keswick--condemned in his absence--the reconciliation--divine forgiveness--hogg's restoration to intimacy with harriett--shelley's subsequent intimacy with hogg--hogg's intimacy with mary godwin--shelley's acknowledgment of delusion--he begs pardon of hogg--hogg's denials of the charge--hypothetical letters--concluding estimate of harriett's evidence--if hogg should be proved guilty--consequences to shelley's reputation. whilst telling william godwin of his benevolent purpose towards ireland, shelley was silent on the subject to the incomparable hogg. how was this? hogg had fallen out of shelley's favour. incomparable till circumstances caused miss eliza westbrook to regard him with enmity, hogg became incomparably evil in shelley's eyes before the trio bade the calverts farewell with tearful emotion, and set their faces for whitehaven. what evil had the alternately ductile and unmanageable shelley been educated into thinking of his no longer incomparable friend? there is no need to answer the question, readers having been already informed that shelley did not leave keswick, without coming to the conviction that hogg had attempted to seduce harriett, either on the journey from edinburgh to york, or in the last-named city. shelley did not charge hogg with seducing harriett, but only with _attempting_ to seduce. had he charged hogg with the larger offence, he would have preferred against his familiar friend the accusation that, even when it is supported by considerable _primâ facie_ evidence, is so often found on enquiry to have proceeded from unreasonable marital jealousy. in charging him with the mere attempt, shelley charged his friend with an offence which, though no less flagitious, is by no means so easily proved as the more comprehensive crime. there are crimes, whose preliminary circumstances are necessarily too manifest and unequivocal to admit of any doubt of the culprit's purpose. but seduction is one of the secret and insidious offences, that are seldom preceded by circumstances affording evidence of clear and unmistakable attempt to perpetrate them. no doubt cases arise from time to time, where a seducer's measures for the accomplishment of his purpose may be fairly described as a manifest attempt to commit the crime. but these cases are rare. in most cases, where a man is charged with attempting to seduce, the accusation rests altogether on circumstances that, admitting of another construction, are compatible with the innocence of the accused person. to field place, animated by bitter memories of the biographer's 'two volumes;' to the shelleyan enthusiasts, quick to think evil of the personal historian, who, refusing to write the poet's life into harmony with the straight-nosed pictures, gave them a faulty instead of a faultless shelley; and to the free lovers, who, disliking hogg for his ridicule of their substitute for lawful marriage, see, in his alleged attempt on harriett's virtue, a way of accounting creditably for the instability of the poet's devotion to his first wife,--shelley's conviction is a sufficient proof of hogg's guilt. years since, it was enough for hogg's enemies to hint vaguely that his intimacy with harriett was in no slight degree accountable for the briefness of shelley's affection for her. of late, they have spoken of hogg's iniquity with greater freedom and boldness. no long while since, an _edinburgh_ reviewer declared roundly that hogg essayed to seduce harriett within a few weeks of her wedding. at the present time it is the fashion of the shelleyan specialists to speak of hogg's egregious and revolting turpitude, as a matter admitting of no doubt. to readers, however, who, whilst delighting in shelley's verse, are neither shelleyan zealots, nor free lovers, nor field place partisans, it may appear well to make some enquiries respecting the nature and quality of the evidence that hogg was so monstrous an example of perfidy and uncleanness. if hogg (who, from certain points of view, was a typical english gentleman) can be proved innocent of the flagrant iniquity, with which he has been charged, it is desirable for the credit of his nation and race, that his innocence should be established. even by his most vehement admirers it is admitted that, during his brief stay at keswick, shelley suffered from hallucination on another matter:--that he imagined he suffered from a violent assault, when no violence had been done him. according to one of his letters ( th january, ) shelley, only a day or so earlier, was assailed by a robber, from whose felonious hands he escaped by falling fortunately _into_ mr. calvert's house. no robbery had been attempted on the poet's person: no robber had assaulted him. he was the victim of hallucination, in thinking himself attacked by a robber under the very eaves of his dwelling-place, and in imagining he escaped his assailant, by dropping within the bounds of his own temporary home. the whole affair was the mere whimsey of his own freakish imagination. if the fancy originated in nervous derangement caused by opium, it was none the less a delusion. this affair happened closely upon the time when shelley came to think so ill of hogg. even by the most cautious readers it will be admitted that the young man, who experienced an imaginary attack on his person, was a likely young man to experience a no less imaginary attack on his honour. the evidence is superabundant that shelley suffered at times from grotesque delusions. this is admitted by his more discreet apologists, who use the mental infirmity to account for circumstances that, but for the infirmity, would prove him superlatively untruthful. to show, therefore, that shelley was deluded in thinking hogg an incomparable villain, is only to exhibit him as suffering from mental disorder, to which he was certainly liable. moreover, it is my purpose to show that my view of the circumstances, resulting in the transient severance of the two friends, is not more favourable to hogg's reputation, than needful for shelley's honour. what is the evidence that hogg made _the attempt_? at this distance from , the evidence must be sought for in mss. or printed pages, exhibiting,--( ), words written by shelley, or credibly reported to have been spoken by him; ( ), words written by hogg, or credibly reported to have been spoken by him; ( ), words written by harriett, or credibly reported to have been spoken by her; ( ), words written by persons, who (like southey at keswick, or miss hitchener at hurstpierpoint) derived their information directly or indirectly from shelley, hogg, or harriett, or from more than one of them, or credibly reported to have been spoken by persons, so informed directly or indirectly by shelley, hogg, or harriett; ( ), words proceeding from persons who, without being known, may be reasonably assumed to have derived their information from hogg, shelley, or harriett. of statements made by unreliable diarists, letter-writers, and other literary tattlers, who merely recorded gossip that came to them from uncertain sources, no account should be taken. there exists no small mass of matters (written or printed), to be placed in one or another of these five classes of evidential statements. it is in the nature of things that the information gained from such sources should be more or less unsatisfactory. no one of the givers of information can be cross-examined respecting his or her testimony; much need though there is for such cross-examination, in order to render the evidence fairly reliable. for the production of a credit-worthy account of the most puzzling business of shelley's perplexing story, all one can do is to pick out from a mass of matters the apparently credit-worthy statements, and deal cautiously, whilst dealing inferentially, with them. were evidence weighty in proportion to the number of the sources, from which it is gathered, the evidence of hogg's guilt would not be light. but the testimony of a single scrap of paper may countervail and even annihilate the testimony of a hundred different documents. one fact in this affair of manifold uncertainties is, however, indisputable:--that for several months from some date of his residence at keswick, shelley believed hogg to have made an attempt on harriett's honour. shelley spoke and wrote too freely of hogg's iniquity for there to be any room for doubt whether he really thought so ill of his friend. and it cannot be questioned, that, had shelley been constituted like most other young englishmen of his social degree,--had he been as discreet in judgment, as accurate in statement, as unlikely to be carried away from common-sense by the forces of a lawless imagination, as exempt from proneness to delusion, as most young english gentlemen,--his bare utterance of his deliberate conviction, that hogg had essayed to compass harriett's dishonour, would be strong _primâ facie_ evidence that the conviction was no less reasonable than dismal. but shelley was not constituted like other young men. instead of being evenly balanced, his mind was often swayed by delusive fancies. he was habitually inaccurate in his statements. at the very time of thinking so ill of his friend, he suffered from hallucination on another subject. instead of being an accurate observer of facts, he could believe himself assailed by a robber, when no one attacked him. the young man who thought hogg capable of trying to seduce his wife, was the young man who thought his father was set on locking him up in a lunatic asylum. to see how far shelley's conviction about hogg was reasonable or unreasonable, it is needful to know the facts that determined his judgment in the matter. my view of those facts will soon be given. but before it is submitted to readers of this chapter, it is well for them to be reminded that the original mere facts, pointing to hogg's infamy, can, in the first instance, have been known to no one but hogg, harriett, and shelley. it is inconceivable that hogg attempted to seduce harriett under the very eyes of her sister. whatever he _did_ to provoke the hideous charge must have been done at some time prior to miss eliza westbrook's arrival at york; and her knowledge of the criminatory facts must have been derived from one or more of the three. as hogg cannot be imagined to have given her any evidence against himself, she must have gained her knowledge of the criminatory facts from shelley or her sister, or from both. shelley's knowledge of _facts_, which he came to regard as evidential of his friend's guilt, may have resulted altogether from his own personal observation; but he may be presumed to have gathered the knowledge from his wife's words, no less than from personal observation. hogg certainly was not likely to tell his friend, or any other person, anything that could fairly be construed into evidence that he was a villain. as the criminatory _facts_ (_i.e._ of hogg's conduct) cannot have been known in the first instance to anyone but shelley, hogg, and harriett, all our knowledge of those facts (in whatever forms and through whatever channels it has reached us) must have proceeded originally from hogg, shelley, or harriett. it is not to be supposed that hogg either confessed having made the attempt, or admitted to anyone that he had done aught incompatible with his innocence of so serious an offence. it follows, therefore, that our knowledge of facts, in any degree evidential of hogg's guilt, is referable, in some way or other, to the _ex-parte_ statements of the husband or wife, or both of them. that shelley went from york to cumberland without thinking that hogg had made an attempt on harriett's virtue, appears,--( ), from the passionate affectionateness with which he wrote to hogg from keswick; ( ), from the fact that, for some time, hogg was permitted to write letters to harriett at keswick; ( ), from the fact that harriett was permitted and encouraged by her husband to answer the letters she received at keswick from hogg. it is inconceivable that shelley would have allowed his young bride to correspond with the man who, to his belief, had only a few weeks since tried to seduce her; that he would himself have continued to write letters, overflowing with protestations of friendship and love, to the man whom he regarded as having essayed to compass her ruin and her husband's dishonour. is it suggested that shelley's peculiar notions, touching the intercourse of the sexes, qualified him to live in amity with a man so lately desirous of seducing his wife? there is conclusive evidence that he was not a man to consent thus tamely to his own dishonour. on coming to the conviction that hogg had been guilty of _the attempt_, shelley broke with him promptly, and ceasing to correspond with him denounced him for a villain. it was thus shelley acted towards hogg, after he had been fully educated into thinking hogg had not only admired harriett with embarrassing and dangerous fervour, but had actually tried to seduce her. here, surely, is sufficient proof that, had he thought so ill of hogg on leaving york, he could not have written affectionately to him from keswick, and at the same time have encouraged harriett to correspond with him. whilst requiring hogg to keep away from harriett, till his admiration of her should have survived an enthusiasm too passionate for her ease and his safety, shelley wrote to him from keswick, 'think not i am otherwise than your friend:--a friend to you now more fervent, more devoted than ever, for misery endears to us those whom we love. you are, you shall be, my bosom friend:'--words to be found in the heart of the long and remarkable epistle, which hogg published in the second volume of the unfinished _life_ (_vide_ pp. - ), describing it as a 'fragment of a novel,' and saying of it lightly--'this epistle from albert to werter is forcibly written, with great power and energy; but it wants the warmth, the tenderness, of goethe and rousseau.' the more effectually to disguise the real nature of the composition from his ordinary readers, the biographer substituted 'charlotte' for 'harriett' in his printed copy of the epistle. what was the object of this mystification? why did hogg thus misdescribe the letter, and substitute charlotte for harriett? these questions are answered in two very different ways,--by the wildest of the shelleyan idolaters, who believe that the biographer (unquestionably guilty of declining to write shelley's story into harmony with the delusive portraits) must have been an unutterably wicked person; and by those of the poet's discreet admirers, who, whilst recognizing in hogg's _life_ many inaccuracies and a considerable element of untruthfulness, believe the book to have been written on the whole with a sincere design of giving the world a fair view of the poet's life and nature. by the wildest of the shelleyan idolaters it is maintained that hogg had scarcely set eyes on his friend's girlish bride, when he tried to lure her from the ways of wifely goodness; that entertaining this infamous design on the young lady, who but for him would not have been married at all, hogg set about seducing her either at edinburgh, or on the road from edinburgh to york, or in the dingy dwelling of the dingy milliners; that shelley withdrew her precipitately from york, in order to remove her from the baneful influence of his false friend; and that, after vainly combating hogg's wicked passion with affectionate expostulations, shelley broke with the man who had proved himself so unworthy of his regard, and ceasing to answer his letters, held no intercourse with him for a considerable period. to those, who take this view of hogg's character and of the incidents that unquestionably resulted in a temporary estrangement of the two friends, it appears obvious that the misdescription and misleading alterations of the letter proceeded from hogg's desire to conceal the shameful circumstances that caused it to be written. on the other hand, to those who can admire shelley's poetry without shutting their eyes to his various infirmities, and who on more than sufficient grounds hold a strong opinion that hogg never entertained evil designs on his friend's wife, and that shelley was under an equally absurd and monstrous hallucination in thinking his familiar comrade capable of such wickedness, it is no less obvious that the mystification hogg practised in his way of dealing with the epistle, instead of resulting from care for his own honour, proceeded altogether from delicate concern for the poet's reputation. in the absence of positive evidence to the point, i do not hesitate to assume, as a matter of course, that whilst writing his friend's history hogg was aware of the gravest and most revolting suspicions entertained of him by shelley. it may be just conceivable, but it is in the highest degree improbable, that hogg survived shelley without discovering the worst of the several evil things the poet thought, said, and wrote of him, towards the close of and in the earlier months of . but even if it could be proved that, whilst discharging the functions of his friend's biographer, hogg was in this most improbable ignorance, it would be none the less certain that he was aware shelley had deemed him an unsuitable companion for harriett; had, in consequence of the monstrous notion, ceased for several months to correspond with him; and had moreover been deplorably communicative to certain of his acquaintance respecting his reasons, for breaking in so singular a manner with so particular a friend. aware that he had for a time been the victim of shelley's marital jealousy, and that the disturbance of their friendship was known in the esoteric shelleyan coteries to have resulted from this jealousy, the biographer reasonably determined (for his honour's sake no less than for the sake of his friend's honour) to exhibit to those coteries a document, so largely and precisely eloquent of the feelings and considerations that occasioned the breach. at the same time it was no less natural for the personal historian to shrink from calling universal attention to a matter, so little calculated to win respect and sympathy for the poet in whose honour the history was being written. wishing to deal frankly with the coteries, and less than frankly with the multitude, hogg bethought himself how he could enlighten the coteries on a matter about which they had a claim to information, without offering shelley to the whole world's amusement in the equally ludicrous and ignoble character of an unreasonably jealous husband. hence the biographer's determination to misdescribe and manipulate the document, so that, whilst accepted in the coteries for what it was (viz. the poet's confidential letter on matters of the nicest indelicacy), it should be read by the multitude, as what it was not,--a mere scrap of romantic fiction. several years have now passed since the shelleyan enthusiasts, with much clucking over their own critical sagacity, discovered that the 'fragment of a novel' was a manipulated letter, and that mr. hogg was an inordinately deceitful person in dressing the letter so delusively. from every point of view the affair is one of the broadest comedy. the discoverers of the real letter under the false label were comically jubilant over their cleverness in discovering what was put under their noses,--jubilant like children, crying with delight at finding what was hidden from them only that they might have the pleasure of finding it. it was droll to see how, in their eagerness to expose the biographer's dishonesty, these discoverers revealed to the irreverent multitude what the biographer hoped the enthusiasts of the coteries would keep to themselves, out of tenderness for the poet's reputation. it was very droll to observe how hogg was denounced for tampering fraudulently with the document, which he published thus cautiously for the enlightenment of the initiated shelleyans,--could have safely withheld, as it was his own property; and would not have published even in so guarded a way, had he not desired to afford sufficient information, on a matter respecting which he had not the hardihood to be fully communicative. it being certain that sooner or later the world will be authoritatively assured of the sufficiency of shelley's reasons for thinking hogg designed and tried to seduce the girlish bride; and that the allegations to this effect will be made with the two-fold object of destroying the biographer's credit and raising suspicions of harriett's discretion and modesty, even from the very commencement of her association with the poet, it is right that readers should be forewarned and fore-armed against such preposterous assertions, by a further exhibition of the influences that caused shelley to think so ill of his heretofore closest friend, and by an adequate exposition of the superabundant reasons for declaring hogg wholly and absolutely innocent of the wickedness, which has long been charged against him. enough has been said in a previous chapter of the incidents and influences, that caused shelley to regard his wife's intimacy with his friend as an association which, already fruitful of embarrassment to the former, threatened to become no less fruitful of moral injury to the latter. there is no need to remind readers of the train of circumstances closing with the flight from york to keswick, or of the abundant documentary evidence that shelley arrived at keswick with undiminished confidence in his friend's loyalty and honour, though with a lower respect for his discretion, considerateness, and moral robustness. had he on entering keswick imagined that hogg had deliberately contemplated to lure harriett from the ways of wifely dutifulness, and even taken steps to compass her seduction, shelley could not have written to him from keswick with the passionate affectionateness, that animates each and all of the several extant letters he sent his friend at york during the earlier weeks of the residence at keswick. the _fragment of a novel_, which i regard as the last of the extant series of undated epistles from keswick, affords abundant evidence that, almost up to the moment of the cessation of his correspondence with hogg, shelley accused his friend of nothing worse than indiscretion, weakness, insincerity, imbecility:--_i.e._ _indiscretion_, in allowing so much of passionate fervour to qualify his admiration of harriett; _weakness_, in prolonging the intimacy that was causing him perilous excitement; _insincerity_, in trying to disguise from himself the nature of the feelings into which he had been betrayed; and _imbecility_, surpassing mere weakness, in declining to combat the feelings whose indulgence tended to wickedness. the force of some of the writer's expressions, no doubt, exceeds the force of anything in his earlier expostulations with harriett's too frank and impulsive admirer; the greater energy of the language showing that shelley was fast nearing the time, when he passed suddenly from the state of mind in which he accused hogg of nothing worse than indiscretion, weakness, insincerity, and imbecility, to the state of mind in which he charged him with villany. but even in this far more cogent and strenuous epistle one comes upon expressions that expressly acquit hogg of the wickedness of wishing to seduce a simple girl, who had been his friend's wife for only a few weeks. in answer to language, by which hogg appears to have repelled an ungenerous suspicion, shelley says in the letter, 'i admit the distinction which you make between mistake and crime. i acquit you heartily of the latter.' whilst penning them, the writer of these words could not have imagined hogg guilty of a design on harriett's virtue. in reply to other words, by which hogg seems to have attempted to disperse certain of his correspondent's absurd fancies, shelley says, 'i hope i have shown you that i do not regard you as a smooth-tongued traitor; could i choose such for a friend? could i still love him with affection unabated, perhaps increased?' curious and abnormal creature though he was, shelley could not have written thus, whilst believing his correspondent guilty of the darkest treason. after speaking of a letter harriett has received from hogg, shelley says, 'harriett will write to you to-morrow.' could shelley have in this manner sanctioned his wife's correspondence with a man whom he believed guilty of trying to seduce her? shelley's idolaters answer this question in the affirmative. they are welcome to their opinion; but they must not ask me to insult him by holding it. within a few days of writing thus strenuously to hogg, that he loved him as deeply and passionately as ever, and that his wife would write to him on the morrow, shelley assured miss hitchener of hurstpierpoint, that this same hogg had attempted to seduce mrs. shelley. taking possession of shelley's mind, at keswick, towards the close of , this morbid fancy held it for several months. the poet's correspondence with the hurstpierpoint schoolmistress affords conclusive testimony that, instead of being a quickly transient delusion, arising from an overdose of opium, and perishing with the nervous disturbance caused by the drug, this ghastly hallucination occupied the future poet's brain, at least, from the middle of his sojourn at keswick till the close of the ensuing spring. it is in the nature of things for platonic friendships to be mistaken by ordinary observers for less amiable and orderly attachments. when a young gentleman is seen sauntering about sylvan glades and rural lanes with a pretty milliner on his arm, or is known to be corresponding through the post with a publican's daughter, the world is slow to think the intimacy of the young people, wholly independent of the motives and considerations that are usually more or less operative, when a young man of gentle rank lavishes attention on a young woman of plebeian quality. on the contrary, judging from appearances, with no excessive care for exceptional idiosyncrasies, the world is apt to refer the unequal association to certain of the most familiar affections. though the avowal may move some readers to smile at my simplicity, i have little doubt shelley's liking for miss eliza hitchener was from first to last a purely platonic preference. it would, however, have been strange, had the people in and about cuckfield and hurstpierpoint taken this charitable view of an intimacy, that, causing no little gossip in and around those parishes, moved local tattlers to declare miss hitchener no better than she ought to be. readers may not suppose that this view of miss hitchener's character and relations with the poet was confined to the haunters of her father's tavern. having for some time regarded her nephew's civility to the schoolmistress with suspicion, mrs. pilfold held a strong opinion in the spring of , that the continuance of the intimacy, now he had married harriett westbrook, would be simply scandalous. whether the lady wrote to her nephew on the subject does not appear. anyhow, he learnt through some channel enough of his aunt's unfavourable opinion of the curious friendship, to hold her chiefly accountable for certain cuckfield gossip that, moving him to indignation in april, , caused him, on the th of that month, to write from nantgwilt to his friend at hurstpierpoint, 'i unfaithful to my harriett! you a female hogg! common sense would laugh such an idea to scorn, if indignation would wait till it could be looked upon!'--words of evidence that at least to the end of april in , the writer was held firmly by the fancy that caused him to break with hogg towards the close of the previous year. eliza westbrook was chiefly accountable for shelley's passage from the state of mind, in which he regarded hogg as nothing worse than harriett's inconveniently emotional but loyal admirer, to the state of mind, in which he regarded him as a treacherous libertine, set on seducing her. even as she had been at york the influence to carry shelley from a condition of unqualified confidence in his friend's discretion and moral robustness into a condition of feverish apprehension for the consequences of his tempestuous sentimentality, eliza westbrook became at keswick the baneful tutor, who educated him into thinking hogg an egregious villain. from the moment of her arrival at keswick, to the moment when she could congratulate herself on having effected her purpose, the woman whom hogg had hoped and tried to separate from her sister and brother-in-law, found her chief occupation in bringing shelley to the conviction that hogg was a black-hearted knave. in justice to the woman who accomplished this evil work, it should be remembered that she had received no ordinary provocation. she may have imagined she was rendering good service to her childish and inexperienced sister. though she was a person of some culture and more than average cleverness, it is not to be supposed that john westbrook's elder daughter had, together with the superficial refinement, acquired the delicate sensibility of a gentlewoman. whilst there is nothing to countenance an opinion that miss westbrook was remarkable for mental purity and elevation, there is abundant evidence that in feeling and temper she resembled the average womankind of the london _bourgeoisie_. born in a tavern, reared from infancy to girlhood's later term in a bar-parlour, and shaping her course in accordance with miss warne's canons of feminine propriety, she held on numerous questions the views and notions, generally favoured, by people of the decent but unrefined class, in which she had found her earliest teachers. it was natural for her to think no young man could approach her beautiful sister without regarding her passionately, and seizing the earliest occasion for the gratification of his desire. taking this view of hogg and his peculiar intimacy with harriett, it is conceivable that miss westbrook was at times less mindful of her strictly personal reasons for disliking the young gentleman, than of the dangers from which she desired to save her sister. it is not surprising that she resolved to put an end to an intimacy so likely to tarnish harriett's reputation, and even make her a faithless wife. nor is it surprising that miss westbrook accomplished at keswick the purpose she formed at york,--the purpose she could scarcely have accomplished at york, or anywhere else, so long as shelley was in daily personal intercourse with his incomparable friend. at york, with his radiant smiles and racy humour, his cordial looks and sympathetic hints, hogg was more than a match for the enemy who, so long as he was on the spot to answer precise charges of wickedness, could only hint that her dear harriett was embarrassed by his extravagant gallantry. but at keswick shelley was altogether at the mercy of the quick-witted spinster, who, recalling to his memory countless trivial incidents, knew well how to give them a suspicious colour, and manipulate them into evidence that, instead of being harriett's chivalric admirer, hogg had been her wicked pursuer. resembling byron in being easily governed by any woman with whom he was thrown, so long as he was pleased with her, shelley went to keswick in the best of humours with his wife's sister. grateful to her for favouring his pursuit of harriett, and cheering him in sisterly fashion at a moment of many troubles, he magnified her considerable cleverness into marvellous sagacity, and discovered angelic sweetness in her transient complaisance. at keswick, and for several weeks after leaving keswick, the youngster, who had found a tyrant in his kindly father and rebelled against his mother's mild control, surrendered himself to the government of his wife's sister with comical submissiveness. when a freakish and petulant man consents to petticoat rule, he usually reserves his freedom of action in regard to a few matters of minor importance. but for awhile no spirit of petty mannishness put a limit to miss westbrook's authority over her brother-in-law. pleased to be managed by her in great things, such as his attitude towards hogg, he was no less pleased to be governed by so wonderful a woman in the smallest things. so long as he delighted in his marvellous sister-in-law, shelley was content to go about with empty pockets, and take his sixpences from the diplomatic eliza as he wanted them. 'eliza,' he wrote meekly from dublin to miss hitchener, 'keeps our common stock of money for safety in some nook or corner of her dress, but we are not dependent on her, although she gives it out as we want it.' of course the lady, who gave money to her two children as they wanted it, was aware that, to control them for any considerable period, she must be mindful of their humours and govern them with gentleness; that to retain her power over them she must drive with a light rein and seldom crack the whip. having opened shelley's eyes to hogg's iniquity, she was clever enough to see and say what he saw and said on questions of poetry and social science. to reward her brother-in-law for banishing the perfidious hogg from his breast, she promised to receive miss hitchener to her heart in the ensuing summer, when the sussex schoolmistress should come to them in north wales. in his altercations with southey she was, of course, altogether on her brother-in-law's side. if she doubted whether _the address_ would do all the author hoped of it, for the good of the irish people, she kept the doubt to herself. it may also be assumed confidently that, on entering dublin with harriett's husband, she had never expressed in his hearing any misgiving of his ability to emancipate the catholics and cancel the act of union. miss westbrook did not govern her erratic brother-in-law for any long period; but her control over him would have been less enduring by several months, had she not known that to rule a freakish and wayward man on matters of moment a woman must agree with him on matters about which she is indifferent. how far in her measures for hogg's humiliation miss westbrook was aided by shelley's bride; how far the assistance harriett gave her sister to this end was given with a clear knowledge of the object for which the latter was working; and how far mrs. shelley was in her sister's confidence, are questions for differences of opinion. it cannot, however, be questioned that, either with malice aforethought, or in the heedlessness of girlish simplicity, harriett contributed to the matters of testimony which brought the future poet to the amazing conclusion that hogg, at some time or times before the flight from york, had wished and essayed to seduce her. it is conceivable that from first to last in this unsavoury business the sisters were in perfect mutual confidence; but i cannot believe that so young a girl as mrs. shelley deliberately conspired with her sister at york to trump up so monstrous a charge against her husband's closest friend. i can, however, imagine that in her amazement at the view taken by shelley of some of her admissions respecting hogg's demeanour to her, she may have lacked the courage to protest against the misconstruction put on innocent occurrences, and may have been betrayed by such weakness at keswick into acquiescing in a hideous story which she knew to be untrue. i can imagine that _after_ her arrival at keswick she was schooled and terrorized by her elder sister into conspiring with her to impose the vile romance on her husband. after practising alternately on harriett's imagination and shelley's imagination, miss westbrook may, by sheer force of will, have constrained harriett to think that, to preserve her husband's confidence, it was necessary for her to affect to think what he thought of hogg,--that by speaking in hogg's defence she would cause shelley to suspect her of having connived at his wicked design. miss westbrook may even have talked harriett at keswick into thinking hogg had tried to make her a faithless wife. it must be remembered how young and inexperienced harriett was,--and how greatly under her sister's influence. but i think it more probable that harriett was never admitted fully into her sister's confidence,--was never permitted either by miss westbrook or shelley to know all the evil they thought of hogg. perplexed by the conditions of her recent association with hogg, it was natural in the young wife at york to wish to escape for awhile from an intimacy that, during her husband's absence, had exposed her to the suspicion of the prying milliners. on miss westbrook's arrival at the lodging-house, it was natural for the girlish bride to speak to her sister of the uneasiness and the mingled feelings of irritation and shame she had experienced. on shelley's reappearance it was no less natural for her to speak to him on the same subjects. she may have felt that her position would have been less trying if mr. hogg had been something less attentive to her; that he would have shown greater delicacy in either withdrawing from the lodgings, or spending his evenings elsewhere so long as shelley was away. feeling this, she may have said so to shelley as well as to her sister. it cannot be questioned that she joined her sister in urging shelley to withdraw hurriedly from york; but in doing so harriett may not have been actuated, like her sister, by a desire to offer mr. hogg a great affront. she may have been told by miss westbrook that hogg was aware what would take place during his absence. anyhow it is certain that harriett left york without thinking hogg guilty of harbouring infamous designs on her honour, and also without conceiving her sister and shelley suspected him of such wickedness. had she thought either the one or the other, it is inconceivable that she would have written friendly letters to him from cumberland. at keswick, during the earlier weeks of november, shelley and harriett had several conversations about hogg and his behaviour to her; conversations in which they reviewed all the circumstances of his sojourn with them at edinburgh and at york; conversations in which shelley questioned and cross-questioned her respecting the incidents of her life in the dingy lodging-house, whilst he was absent from the cathedral town; conversations in which they examined critically the letters hogg had sent her from york since her arrival at keswick. whilst there is good reason to believe harriett spoke freely with her husband in these cumberland conferences, there is no reason to think she spoke otherwise than honestly. but it is in the nature of such conferences (where the memory of one speaker feeds the curiosity of another) to magnify words and deeds of no moment into matters of the highest moment, and to play strange tricks with the colour and quality of remembered circumstances. unconscious inventiveness is ever at hand to help the memory. if harriett's recollections were severely historic, and wholly free from the delusive effects of mental excitement, she was a strangely cold and unsympathetic young woman. instead of being offered to a listener of sober intellect and judicial temper, her recollections were offered to a young man of quick fancy, impetuous spirit, vehement emotionality. given to such a mind, the recollections were necessarily fruitful of false impressions. in these conversations harriett unquestionably played into the hands of miss westbrook, and greatly furthered her elder sister's machinations for hogg's chastisement; but i have a strong (though possibly erroneous) opinion that this aid was rendered by mrs. shelley in ignorance of all her sister's purpose. she certainly had no strong liking for hogg. she disliked him to the extent of wishing to be relieved of an embarrassing intimacy with him, and may even have desired her husband to regard him coldly. in proportion as she is young and foolish, a bride is apt to regard her husband's closest male friend with jealousy and antagonism. harriett was a mere girl, and no wiser than most girls of her age. of her own mere motion she would have been sure to think hogg was overvalued by her husband. living so much under eliza's influence she necessarily wished him to stand lower in her husband's favour. but i cannot think she did or said anything for the purpose of causing shelley to imagine hogg had made an attempt on her virtue. whilst these conversations (having for their avowed object the discovery of the degree in which hogg's admiration of mrs. shelley had exceeded the limits of conventional propriety and virtuous behaviour) gave an unhealthy direction to the thoughts of the girlish bride, they worked the nervous and emotional shelley into states of excitement favourable to miss westbrook's designs. each of his conversations with harriett may be presumed to have been followed by confidential talk with eliza, in which shelley gave her the particulars of harriett's latest admissions, and she (in harriett's absence) taught shelley what views to take of those admissions, what inferences he should draw from them. the preciseness with which shelley wrote to miss hitchener about hogg's iniquity justifies a strong suspicion that miss westbrook's operations on her brother-in-law's jealousy and credulity closed with some definite statement to hogg's infamy. it is difficult to imagine that even shelley could have been brought to the final conviction by mere hints and inferential suggestions. on the other hand, it is difficult to conceive any statement, likely to have been made by miss westbrook for her brother-in-law's conviction of hogg's guilt, that would not have rudely shaken his confidence in the virtue of his wife, who had herself written to hogg from keswick in friendly terms. it is enough that the moment came when shelley wrote of hogg to the hurstpierpoint schoolmistress, 'he attempted to seduce my wife.' chivalry being the last quality i should think of attributing to shelley, it is not for me to show how his action in writing thus grossly on so delicate a subject is compatible with the chivalric delicacy and generosity for which he is so extravagantly applauded by his idolaters. it is for them to explain how so chivalric a creature wrote thus coarsely to the sussex schoolmistress, whom he had known for only a few months. chivalry influences a man's demeanour to men as well as to women,--to his enemies and friends of the sterner sex as well as to the women whom he reverences, and the women whom he holds in disesteem. it is also a self-respecting quality, disposing a man to be thoughtful for his own honour. people's notions differ, of course, about chivalry, as well as everything else; but most readers will concur with the present writer in thinking that, on discovering in his familiar friend such guilt and baseness as shelley imagined himself to have discovered in hogg, a chivalric man would punish the traitor in accordance with prevailing laws of honour, or decide to leave him to the punishment of his own conscience, and then be silent for ever of him and his infamy. living in the days of duelling, it was open to shelley, if not incumbent on him, to do his best to slay the man, whom he believed to have meditated and essayed his wife's seduction. it was open to him to refrain from this vindictive course on conscientious grounds; but it was _not_ open to him, as a man of honour and chivalry, to tattle and gossip of such an affair to any sempstress of his acquaintance. whether he fought hogg, or left him to go his own way to perdition, he should, out of tragic regard for their former friendship, and sublime pity for the once-loved friend, have committed the ghastly business to _altum silentium_. had he been a chivalrous man, he could not have written about a matter, implicating his wife's honour and delicacy in so hideous a way, to a young woman of miss hitchener's social degree. writing to miss hitchener letters on this subject, about which he should have told her nothing, shelley, of course, wrote to other persons, on the same unsavoury business. as the monstrous story came to southey's ears from shelley's own lips, whilst 'the trio' were at keswick, it is not unfair to assume that harriett's husband was no less communicative on the revolting topic, by word of mouth, to divers persons, who, knowing little of him, had no personal knowledge whatever of hogg. there is rumour in the air that other letters by shelley, in addition to those he is known to have sent miss hitchener, will be produced, sooner or later, in evidence of hogg's criminality. but instead of being evidence that hogg felt and acted vilely, such letters will only be so much additional evidence that shelley thought unjustly and ignobly of his old college-friend, who at no point of his career was any more guilty of trying to seduce his friend's wife, than the squire of field place was guilty of wishing to lock his son up in a madhouse. at the most, such letters, even though numbering several hundreds, can only afford additional evidence respecting the strength of shelley's unreasonable conviction, and the number of the persons to whom he wrote about the unreasonable conviction. why is it so certain that in thinking thus ill of hogg, shelley was only labouring under an hallucination,--the wildest and most grotesque, though not the most obstinate, of the several hallucinations that possessed him at different times of his career? ( .) though the _primâ facie_ improbable often happens in this strange world, the charge against hogg is discredited by its egregious improbability. no one has ever questioned the force and sincerity of hogg's affection for shelley up to the time of the poet's first marriage. nothing has ever been proved against hogg to countenance even a suspicion that he had in early life any strong propensity for vicious ways,--unless freedom in philosophic speculation is to be designated a vice. a young gentleman by birth and culture, he had the tastes and habits of a gentleman. his moral influence over shelley had been in some particulars distinctly beneficial. it was due to him that, instead of making harriett a mere mistress, shelley made her his wife. there was a vein of poetry, a strong vein of romance, in hogg's comparatively cold nature. in , he and shelley were both at a time of life when well-born and well-bred youngsters are influenced most strongly by generous sentiments. they had been close friends at college; and it is no exaggeration to say, that the mutual affection of two such college friends surpasses the love of brothers. their romantic love of one another having continued without abatement until the september of , shelley married a charming girl,--marrying her lawfully (instead of taking her without a marriage-rite), only because hogg argued him into doing so. hastening to edinburgh to rejoice in his friend's happiness, hogg there sees his friend's wife for the first time, almost, if not actually, on the morrow of her marriage. he is charged with pursuing her wickedly from so early a date of their acquaintance; that he (_ætat._ ) tried to seduce her before he had known her more than eight weeks. is it probable that he did any such thing? ( .) only eight weeks elapsed between hogg's first introduction to harriett, at edinburgh, and her departure from york. it is curious that the persons who insist most strongly on the truth of the accusation are the persons who insist most strongly that, instead of passing all this short time in hogg's society, harriett spent some ten days of it in journeying with her husband fro and to, between york and sussex. the story, which southey heard, was that the attempt on mrs. shelley's virtue was made during the journey from scotland. but let no deduction be made from the eight weeks. is it conceivable that in so short a time hogg did that of which he is accused? ( .) certainly nothing took place either at edinburgh or york under shelley's observation, to induce him at either of those places to believe his friend so wicked. this is proved by the fact that he wrote to hogg from keswick a series of vehemently affectionate letters,--letters he could not have written whilst believing hogg guilty of the most revolting offence a man can commit against his friend. it is certain that before she left york nothing had occurred to make harriett imagine herself so injured and outraged as the accusation represents her to have been. for otherwise, it is inconceivable she would at keswick have corresponded with him through the post. no less certain is it that nothing occurred at york under her observation, which miss westbrook could venture to report to shelley, as certain evidence of the crime charged against hogg a few weeks later; for had any such thing occurred, she would not have failed to report it to shelley at once, and forthwith put his guilt beyond question. ( .) it follows that shelley's conviction of hogg's guilt cannot have resulted immediately from observations, made either by him or by harriett, before they left york. at best it was due to his recollections of matters which at keswick he imagined to have taken place several weeks since at edinburgh or york, or between the two places; to similar recollections by harriett; to miss westbrook's statements, and to shelley's inferences from those recollections and statements. hogg during his absence was, in fact, arraigned and tried at keswick for flagrant treason against his friend, and his friend's wife, in a court where shelley sat as judge and acted at the same time as witness; where miss westbrook acted in the threefold capacity of accuser, judicial-assessor, and witness; and where harriett was a witness,--perhaps, only a subordinate witness. shelley's evidence for the prosecution consisted of his recollections of matters that, at the time of their occurrence, cannot have made him think hogg seriously at fault. mrs. shelley's evidence consisted of her recollections of matters, that did not prevent her from corresponding with hogg after her arrival at keswick. miss westbrook's statements consisted in equal parts of recollection and invention, and of inference from her own recollections and inventions, and from the recollections of the other two witnesses. no defence was offered for the absent hogg. what was the evidential value of shelley's recollection,--the reminiscences of the man who could not at any time of his life be trusted to give an accurate account of any business in which he was strongly interested? what was the evidential value of mrs. shelley's recollections,--the recollections of the sixteen-years-old girl, who wrote friendly letters from keswick to the man, soon to be declared guilty of having attempted to seduce her before she left york? what evidential value may be assigned to miss westbrook's statements? how about the judicial faculty of the judge? what witnesses! what evidence! what a tribunal! ( .) but the strongest evidence that shelley's conviction of his friend's guilt was mere hallucination remains to be stated. in a few months, certainly less than twelve months, he had got the better of the morbid fancy that caused him to break for a while with hogg, and, having come out of the delusion and returned to his right mind, he at once declared in the most impressive manner that he had thought and spoken of hogg with injustice. and having so declared in the most impressive manner his own error and his friend's innocence, shelley held steadily to this declaration to his last hour. how was the declaration made? by deeds as well as by words. ( .) migrating from york to london, when he had passed twelve months in the chambers of his first legal instructor, hogg became a middle temple law-student in the late spring, or early summer, of . eating his dinners in the hall of his inn, and spending his days in the chambers of the special pleader with whom he was reading, the hard-working student usually passed his evenings in rooms he occupied in a lodging-house, at some distance from the inns of court. having recently returned from the country, at the close of the long vacation of , hogg was sitting in his quiet lodgings late one evening at the beginning of november, with a book under his eyes and a tea-pot near at hand, when he heard a violent knocking at the street-door. another minute and some one ran furiously upstairs. another instant, and percy bysshe shelley rushed into the student's room. certainly for more than nine months, possibly for eleven months, hogg had received no letter from his friend, had heard nothing of his movements. for so long a period--a long period in the life of the young--there had been a total severance of the two friends. how much hogg knew then of shelley's reasons for ceasing to write to him does not appear. but he knew shelley was deeply offended with him, and knew the displeasure was connected with his attentions to harriett. though, from concern for his friend's honour, he could not tell the ludicrous and painful story outright in pages designed to commemorate the poet's finer and nobler qualities, hogg indicates thus much in the _life_ with sufficient clearness to all readers capable of reading 'between the lines' of a printed record. for more than nine months, possibly for eleven months, the friends had lived asunder; and now they were together again, by the act of the one who had caused the severance. having got the better of his hallucination, and come to london in his right mind, shelley had hunted for hogg at lincoln's inn; hunted for him at the temple; discovered the chambers where he was a student; declined to wait till the morning for the much-desired interview with his old college chum; constrained 'the clerk at chambers' to give him hogg's address; and gone off impetuously in quest of the incomparable hogg at his lodgings, though it was already near the hour when quiet lodging-houses were usually closed for the night. thus it was that shelley returned to the friend whom he had charged with trying to seduce his wife. surely, this return to friendly relations with the man whom he had imagined capable of such iniquity should be regarded as a declaration of hogg's innocence, as an avowal by shelley that he had misjudged his friend, and in consequence of monstrous misconception had calumniated him. ( .) shelley's merciless, slanderous idolaters say otherwise. these 'friends' (may heaven preserve all future poets from such friends!) insist that, when he thus threw himself into his friend's arms, shelley still believed hogg had tried to seduce his wife; still believed him capable of trying to seduce her, and was only showing his superhuman generosity and his divine faculty of forgiving, when he thus _forgave_ the man who, twelve months since, had tried to perpetrate so foul and revolting a crime. not by the men who are mindful of his human infirmities, but by the men who declare his virtuous nature had no alloy of evil, is it asserted that shelley rushed into hogg's arms with these words on his lips: 'it is true you strove to corrupt my bride twelve months since; but i forgive you that little error; so let by-gones be by-gones, and once again let us be "friends for ever!"' superhuman generosity! divine faculty of forgiveness! if this is divine forgiveness, i can only say that, so far as i am concerned, divine beings are welcome to their monopoly of so vicious a virtue. it is a matter for congratulation that human nature is seldom capable of such generosity. i am alive to shelley's failings, but i decline to join with his idolaters in crediting him with so peculiar a generosity--a generosity only to be possessed by the meanest of mankind. ( .) having thus returned at a late hour of the evening to hogg's heart, shelley insisted the next day on taking him to an hotel near st. james' palace, in order that he should there be re-introduced to harriett, and once again brought into close and affectionate intimacy with her. can i be wrong in saying that, in thus re-introducing hogg to his wife, shelley declared his previous conviction of his friend's guilty purpose to have been pure misconception?--that shelley could not have been so careless of his wife's honour, her virtue, his own honour, as to have thus restored hogg in the november of to his previous intimacy with mrs. shelley, whilst still believing he tried to seduce her in the october of ? the shelleyan zealots declare me altogether wrong. they maintain that in the november of shelley still believed hogg made an attempt on harriett's virtue in october, , still believed him capable of so dark a crime. they admit it was strange and remarkable that, under these circumstances, shelley should have again invited hogg to live, and made him live, in close intimacy with harriett--still in her eighteenth year. but they insist that a sufficient explanation of conduct so strange and remarkable is afforded by shelley's superhuman generosity and divine faculty of forgiving. ( .) having thus returned to friendship with hogg, shelley lived in friendship with him to the last;--so living in friendship with him (the shelleyan zealots insist) whilst he all the while believed him to have tried to seduce harriett within eight weeks of her marriage. ( .) after breaking with harriett, and joining hands in free love with mary godwin, shelley took an early occasion for inviting hogg to live as intimately with mary, as he had in former time lived with harriett. is it conceivable that shelley would have invited to this intimacy with his second spouse the man whom he still believed guilty of trying to corrupt his first spouse? ( .) by his will (dated th february, , when he, hogg, and mary godwin were living in affectionate intimacy: and proved more than twenty-two years after his death, _i.e._ on st november, ), shelley left hogg a legacy of _l._--a substantial proof of the affectionate regard in which shelley to his last hour held his old college friend. it is unusual for a testator to bequeath _l._ to a man whom he believes to have tried to seduce his wife. ( .) declaring by acts, and by steady persistence in the friendship never again to be broken or shaken, that he had misjudged hogg and quarrelled with him through misconception, shelley by his pen put it upon record that he had wronged his early friend in thinking him vile and treacherous. of all the egotisms of _laon and cythna_, few are of greater biographic value than the stanzas in which the author, speaking of himself in the character of laon, records how in his youth he was so far misled by envious and deceitful tongues as to bewail the falsehood of his heart's dearest friend, and in due course discovered that, instead of having been really found false, his comrade had only seemed so. in the second canto of the poem it is written:-- 'yes, oft beside the ruined labyrinth which skirts the hoary caves of the green deep, did laon and his friend on one grey plinth, round whose worn base the wild waves hiss and leap, resting at eve, a lofty converse keep: and that his friend was false, may now be said calmly--that he like other men could weep tears which are lies, and could betray and spread snares for that guileless heart which for his own had bled.' it is not till he has been torn from cythna, confined on the column's dizzy height, freed from bondage, cured of madness, and despatched to lead the revolutionary patriots of the golden city, that laon encounters again the friend from whom he parted in grief and misconception, and discovers how wrong he was to think evil of him. recounting in the poem's fifth canto the incidents of his first night and morning in the patriots' camp, laon says:-- 'and now the power of good held victory, so, thro' the labyrinth of many a tent, among the silent millions who did lie in innocent sleep, exultingly i went; the moon had left heaven desert now, but lent from eastern morn the first faint lustre showed an armèd youth--over his spear he bent his downward face.--"a friend!" i cried aloud; and quickly common hopes made freemen understood. i sate beside him while the morning beam crept slowly over heaven, and talked with him of those immortal hopes, a glorious theme! which led us forth, until the stars grew dim: and all the while, methought, his voice did swim, as if it drownèd in remembrance were of thoughts which make the moist eyes overbrim: at last, when daylight 'gan to fill the air, he looked on me, and cried in wonder--"thou art here!" then, suddenly, i knew it was the youth in whom its earliest hopes my spirit found; but envious tongues had stained his spotless truth, and thoughtless pride his love in silence bound, and shame and sorrow mine in toils had wound, _whilst he was innocent, and i deluded_; the truth now came upon me, on the ground tears of repenting joy, which fast intruded, fell fast, and o'er its peace our mingled spirits brooded.' thus it was that, in the poem written during the six brightest months of (_i.e._ of the summer following the execution of his will), shelley gave a penitential account of his quarrel _with_, and transient severance _from_, his heart's best friend, taking all the error and shame of the miserable affair to himself; acknowledging he did his friend black injustice in thinking him false, confessing his weak submissiveness to the false and envious tongues that misled him; declaring himself altogether _deluded_, and hogg altogether innocent of the offences charged against him--altogether blameless in the whole wretched business, unless it was that he had been silent from a proud sense of injury, when by free and candid speech he might have utterly discredited the 'envious tongues,' and dispelled the misconceptions and delusions resulting from their slanderous activity. in the way of poetry, what fuller acquittal, what larger acknowledgment of the wrong done him, could hogg require than the single line: 'whilst _he_ was innocent and i deluded?' ( .) some readers may think the acknowledgment would have been more effective in simple prose,--may think the avowal suffers in force from the artificiality of its terms,--may think it a pity shelley did not say in less artful language what he put so gracefully in verse. one may be sure the impetuous shelley poured the same confession in half a hundred forms of vehement speech into hogg's private ear. moreover, he did not pass from the world without putting the same pathetic confession and prayer in less than forty words of strenuous prose. when hogg, some thirty-five long years after the poet's death, came for the first time on the ms. of _an essay on friendship_--the essay mentioned in a previous chapter of this work--he found these dedicatory words on the paper: 'i once had a friend, whom an inextricable multitude of circumstances has forced me to treat with apparent neglect. to him i dedicate this essay. if he finds my own words condemn me, will he not forgive?' in shelley's hand-writing, these words may well have affected hogg acutely and profoundly! penned for his eye, they penetrated his heart! no writer (that i am aware of) has ventured to deny boldly and honestly that this dedicatory note was meant for hogg, or even to question seriously whether it was not intended for some one else; but petty scribblers by the score have sneered at hogg's egotism and impudence in taking to himself the dedicatory note, that certainly was meant for no one else. what more can readers require in the way of evidence that, in respect to the morbid notion which caused his transient quarrel with hogg, shelley was the victim of monstrous hallucination? those who require more evidence on this point, are persons to whom the real shelley will never be known. in arguing this case, i have striven to argue evenly on both sides, as though i were retained by both plaintiff and defendant to discover the truth. i have kept cautiously within my evidences. possibly, evidences touching the matter have not come under my notice. but i do not think i have missed any writing likely to affect my arguments or conclusions materially. all reliable information respecting the affair must come to us in some way or other from shelley, harriett, or hogg. any additional statement from shelley to hogg's disadvantage would be the mere statement of a sufferer from delusion. possibly, papers exist, in which harriett, whilst stating precisely that hogg attempted to seduce her, gives minute particulars of the alleged attempt. let us assume that, in her correspondence with miss hitchener, and other persons, she was thus communicative, and that field place is in a position to produce a bundle of letters, in each of which she accuses hogg of trying to seduce her, and describes minutely the means by which he tried to achieve his purpose. such letters, however numerous and precise, would be the mere statements, in chief, of a witness, whom it is impossible to cross-examine,--a witness whose veracity is not unimpeachable; a witness who has been freely charged by shelleyan apologists with untruth, in respect to several of her numerous statements to her husband's discredit; a witness, moreover, who, to use mr. william rossetti's words, was, in her seventeenth year, philosophized by shelley himself out of the ordinary standard of feminine propriety. it is no uncommon thing for a young woman to imagine an attempt has been made on her honour, when no such attempt has been made. women have been known to imagine themselves the victims of seduction when no one has seduced them. a case occurred no long while since in one of our law courts, where evidence of a woman's criminal intercourse with her alleged seducer was afforded by notes, made in her own hand-writing, in her private diary, and yet it was proved conclusively that her own written confessions of guilt were romantic and purely imaginative records of incidents that had never really taken place. some women have a curious aptitude for suspecting men of wishing to seduce them; and it would not be unfair to suggest that the sixteen-years-old school-girl, to whose thoughts shelley had given an unwholesome direction, was capable of entertaining such a suspicion groundlessly. moreover, the discovery of such letters should neither occasion surprise, nor dispose the judicial reader to regard them as conclusively evidential of hogg's guilt; because, if she wrote about the matter at all in her letters, the girl who, from terror or motives of policy, or from imaginative influences, certainly acquiesced in the charge against hogg, even if she did not deliberately conspire with her sister to trump it up, would naturally write in accordance with the accusation, to which she was a party. how about hogg,--the third of the sources of information? he denied the charge. his way of dealing with the keswick letters was a denial of the charge,--as clear, precise, and strenuous a denial as he could give to the accusation, respecting which he could not, for shelley's honour's sake, speak precisely to the whole world. he denied the charge again by the way in which he took to himself the dedicatory note to the _essay on friendship_. he could not have denied the charge more precisely to the coteries, and every individual cognizant of the vile slander, without exhibiting the poet to the whole world's derision. what if evidence should even yet be produced that hogg actually made the attempt? for argument's sake, let us conceive what is in the highest degree improbable, and suppose that letters, written by hogg himself to shelley and harriett, are, even now, put before the world by field place, to the conclusive demonstration of the writer's guilt,--letters placing it beyond question that he really made the attempt. what then? the result would comprise the absolute destruction of shelley's right to be rated with men of honour, or even with men of common decency. such letters would prove that, within a few days of an attempt on his wife's virtue, and in sure cognizance of the attempt and the maker of it, shelley wrote in terms of passionate affectionateness to the culprit. they would prove that, knowing hogg had, only a few weeks since, tried to debauch his bride, shelley wrote to him, 'you are my bosom friend.' they would prove that in less than fourteen months from the attempt, shelley survived his faint annoyance at the affair so completely as to be capable of throwing himself into hogg's arms, saying to him, 'let us think no more of that unlucky business,' and forthwith inviting him to renew his intimacy with the girl, whom he had tried to seduce. what is the only construction to be put on the conduct of the husband, who brings again into familiar intercourse with his wife the very man whom he knows to have recently tried to seduce her? it cannot be urged that shelley acted thus on sufficient proof that hogg was an altered man; for there had been no intercourse between them, by letter or otherwise, since shelley left keswick. yet more,--such evidence of hogg's guilt would prove that, in introducing him to mary godwin, shelley brought into close intimacy with his second spouse, the man whom he knew to have tried to seduce his first wife within a few weeks of her wedding. such evidence would, of course, cover hogg with dark disgrace. but it would, at the same time, cover shelley with blackest infamy. the shelleyan enthusiasts would have been less eager to prove hogg guilty of _the attempt_, had not animosity against hogg blinded them to what would ensue to shelley's reputation, should they succeed in proving the charge. end of vol. i. london: printed by strangeways & sons, tower street, upper st. martin's lane. footnotes: [ ] this extract from charles grove's letter is taken from the printed copy of the epistle in hogg's second volume; and the reader should give his attention to the words between brackets which are no part of the letter, but one of the explanatory notes, which the biographer indiscreetly put into the body of his transcripts of original documents, instead of printing them as foot-notes. it was his rule to bracket such editorial notes, and insert his initials after the second bracket. but the careless scribe, and still more careless proof-corrector, sometimes forgot to insert his initials, sometimes forgetting also to insert the brackets. hence the so-called 'interpolations' of original evidences, for which he has been unfairly reproached by his detractors. [ ] the right name of this seat seems to have been hill place. in the _beauties of england and wales_ ( ), _sussex_, p. , it is written, 'in the same direction on the right of the road, is an old seat called hill place, formerly the property of the late viscountess irwin, but now belonging to the duke of norfolk.' 'lady irwen's hill place' would be naturally abbreviated after her death into 'irwen's hill,' which again would be corrupted into 'irving's hill,' the familiar designation of the place in shelley's boyhood. [ ] shelley, as we shall see, was in london, and in urgent need of more money, in october, . [ ] hogg describes shelley's rooms as 'being in the corner next the hall of the principal quadrangle of the university college.' 'they are,' he continues, 'on the first floor, and on the right of the entrance, but by reason of the turn in the stairs, when you reach them, they will be upon your left hand.'--hogg's _life_, v. , p. . [ ] the first reader in mineralogy of the university of oxford, with a grant from the crown, was william buckland, b.d., subsequently the famous dean of westminster. from the oxford university calendar, it appears that a crown grant was assigned to this famous professor for lecturing on mineralogy in . probably the same lecturer gave lectures in the same department of science before receiving the grant, and was the gentleman whose 'dullness' was so afflicting to mr. bysshe shelley. [ ] biographers differ in spelling harriett in the case of miss westbrook, and also in the case of miss grove. hogg says harriett westbrook signed herself 'harriet,' though shelley instructed mr. medwin the elder to give the name a second _t_. like mr. rossetti, i comply with shelley's wish. miss grove's christian name is spelt with a second _t_ in the grove genealogy of burke's _landed gentry_, a record corrected by the representative of the family. [ ] there has been uncertainty about this lady's name. styled 'emily' in at least one of shelley's letters, she is usually styled eliza in shelleyan biography. but her real christian name was elizabeth. in her affidavit of th january, , preserved at the record office, the name is so spelt. it has already been remarked in this work that, though usage has made the two several and different names, 'eliza,' 'elizabeth,' isabel, and isabella, are various forms of the same name, iza. the home university library of modern knowledge lxxvii shelley, godwin and their circle _editors of_ the home university library of modern knowledge professor gilbert murray, o.m., ll.d., f.b.a. julian s. huxley, d.sc., f.r.s. professor g. n. clark, ll.d., f.b.a. shelley, godwin and their circle _by_ h. n. brailsford m.a. oxford university press london new york toronto _first published in , and reprinted in , , , , and _ printed in great britain contents chapter page i the french revolution in england ii thomas paine iii william godwin and the revolution iv "political justice" v godwin and the reaction vi godwin and shelley vii mary wollstonecraft viii shelley bibliography index shelley, godwin, and their circle chapter i the french revolution in england the history of the french revolution in england begins with a sermon and ends with a poem. between that famous discourse by dr. richard price on the love of our country, delivered in the first excitement that followed the fall of the bastille, and the publication of shelley's _hellas_ there stretched a period of thirty-two years. it covered the dawn, the clouding and the unearthly sunset of a hope. it begins with the grave but enthusiastic prose of a divine justly respected by earnest men, who with a limited horizon fulfilled their daily duties in the city. it ends in the rapt vision, the magical music of a singer, who seemed as he sang to soar beyond the range of human ears. the hope passes from the confident expectation of instant change, through the sobrieties of disillusionment and the recantations of despair, to the iridescent dreams of a future which has taken wing and made its home in a fairy world. in when dr. price preached to his ardent congregation of nonconformist radicals in the meeting-house at the old jewry, the prospect was definite and the place of the millennium was merely the england over which george iii. ruled. the hope was a robust but pedestrian "mental traveller," and its limbs wore the precise garments of political formulæ. it looked for honest parliaments and manhood suffrage, for the triumph of democracy and the abolition of war. its scene as wordsworth put it, was not in utopia, subterraneous fields, or some secreted island, heaven knows where, but in the very world which is the world of all of us, the place where in the end we find our happiness, or not at all. the impetus of its own aspiration carried it swiftly beyond the prosaic demand for parliamentary reform. it evolved its programme for the reconstruction of all human institutions, and projected the amendment of human nature itself. america had made an end of kings and france was in the full tide of revolution. nothing was too mighty for this new-begotten hope, and the path to human perfectibility stretched as plain as the narrow road to bunyan's heavenly city. there followed the phase when persecution from alarmed defenders of things as they are, disgust at the failures of the revolution in france, and contempt for the futilities of the revolution at home, drove the new movement into as many refuges as its votaries had temperaments. for some there was cynicism, for others recantation. "the french revolution" as hazlitt put it, "was the only match that ever took place between philosophy and experience; and waking from the trance of theory we hear the words truth, reason, virtue, liberty, with the same indifference or contempt that a cynic who has married a jilt or a termagant listens to the rhapsodies of lovers." godwin found his own alluring by-way, and turning away at once from political repression and political agitation, became the pioneer of philosophic anarchism. to shelley at the end of this marvellous thirty years of ardour, speculation, and despair, the hope became winged. she had her place no longer in "the very world which is the world of all of us." she had moved to kingless continents, sinless as eden around mountains and islands inviolably prankt on the sapphire sea. it requires no inordinate effort for us who live in an equable political climate to realise the atmosphere of dr. price's old jewry sermon. the lapse of a century indeed has made him a more intelligible figure than he could have seemed to the generation which immediately followed him. he was temperate in his rationalism and thrifty in his philanthropy. he tended to unitarianism in his theology, but was a sturdy defender of free will. he had written a widely-read apology for the colonial side in the american civil war. a stout individualist in his political theory, inspired, as were nearly all the english progressive thinkers of his day, by an extreme jealousy of state action, he yet guarded himself carefully against anarchical conclusions, and followed saint paul in teaching obedience to magistrates. he had written a treatise on ethics which on some points anticipated kant. but his most characteristic pre-occupation was a study of finance in the interests of national thrift and social benevolence. this cold moralist, who despised the emotional aspects of human nature and found no place for the affections in his scheme of the virtues, lapsed into passion when he attacked the national debt, and developed an arithmetical enthusiasm when he explained his plan for providing through voluntary insurance for the old age of the worthy poor. he was not quite the first of the philosophers to dream of the abolition of war, and to plan an international tribunal for the settlement of disputes between nations. in that he followed leibnitz, as he anticipated kant. it was such an essentially cold and calculating intellect as this which in that age of ferment could launch the new doctrine of the infinite perfectibility of mankind. modern readers know the rev. dr. price only from the fulminations of burke, in whose pages he figures now as an incendiary and again as a fool. he was in point of fact the soul of sobriety and the mirror of all the respectabilities in his serious dissenting world. it is worth while to note that he was also, with his friend priestley, perhaps the only english nonconformist preacher who has ever enjoyed a european reputation. no less a man than condorcet refers to him as one of the formative minds of the century. dr. price's sermon is worth a glance, not merely because it was the goad which provoked burke to eloquent fury, but still more because it is a document which records for us the mood in which even the older and graver progressives of his generation greeted the french revolution. it was an official discourse delivered before the society for commemorating the revolution in great britain. this typically english club claimed to have met annually since for a dinner and a sermon. the centenary of our own revolution and the events in france gave it for a moment a central place on the political stage. it was an eminently respectable society, mainly composed of middle-class nonconformists, with four doctors of divinity on its committee, an entrance fee of half-a-guinea, and a radical peer, earl stanhope, for its chairman. at its annual meeting in november, , dr. price "disdaining national partialities and rejoicing in every triumph of liberty and justice over arbitrary power," had moved an address congratulating the french national assembly on "the revolution in that country and on the prospect it gives to the two first kingdoms in the world of a common participation in the blessings of civil and religious liberty." the sermon was an eloquent expansion of this address. it opens with a defence of the cosmopolitan attitude which could rejoice at an improvement in the prospects of our hereditary rival. christ taught not patriotism, but universal benevolence, as the parable of the good samaritan shows. "my neighbour" is he to whom i can do most good, whether foreigner or fellow-citizen. we should love our country "ardently but not exclusively," considering ourselves "citizens of the world," and taking care "to maintain a just regard to the rights of other countries." patriotism had been in history a scourge of mankind. it was among the romans no better than "a principle holding together a band of robbers in their attempts to crush all liberty but their own." the aim of those who love their kind can be only to spread truth, virtue and liberty. to make mankind happy and free, it should suffice to instruct them. "ignorance is the parent of bigotry, intolerance, persecution and slavery. inform and instruct mankind and these evils will be excluded." there follow some rambling remarks on the need for a revisal of the liturgy and the articles, a complaint of the servility shown in a recent address to king george, who ought to consider himself rather the servant than the sovereign of his people, and a prediction that france and england, each delivered from despotism by a happy revolution, will now "not merely refrain from engaging in wars with one another, but unite in preventing wars everywhere." as for our own revolution of , it was a great but not a perfect work. it had left religious toleration incomplete and the parliamentary franchise unequal. we must continue to enforce its principles, especially in the matter of removing the disabilities that still weigh upon dissenters. those principles are briefly ( ) liberty of conscience, ( ) the right to resist power when it is abused, and ( ) the right to choose our own governors, to cashier them for misconduct and to frame a government for ourselves. there follows a curious little moral exhortation which shows how far the good dr. price was from forgetting his duties as a preacher. he had been distressed by the lax morals of some of his colleagues in the agitation for reform, and he pauses to deplore that "not all who are zealous in this cause are as conspicuous for purity of morals as for ability." he cannot reconcile himself to the idea of an immoral patriot, and begs that they will at least hide their vices. the old man finds his peroration in simeon's prayer. he had seen the great salvation. "i have lived to see thirty millions of people indignant and resolute, spurning at slavery and demanding liberty with an irresistible voice, their king led in triumph and an arbitrary monarch surrendering himself to his subjects. and now methinks i see the ardour for liberty catching and spreading, a general amendment beginning in human affairs; the dominion of kings changed for the dominion of laws, and the dominion of priests giving way to the dominion of reason and conscience." the world remembers the scholar salmasius only because he provoked milton to a learned outbreak of bad manners. there is something immortal even in the ill-temper of great men, and dr. price lives in modern memory chiefly because he moved burke to declamatory rage. his _reflections on the french revolution_ was an answer to the old jewry sermon, which, eloquent itself, was to beget much eloquence in others. for four years the mighty debate went on, and it became as the disputants conversed across the echoes of the terror, rather a dialogue between the past and the future, than a discussion between human voices. burke answered dr. price, and to burke in turn replied tom paine with the brilliant, confident, hard-hitting logic of a pamphlet (_the rights of man_) which for all the efforts of pitt to suppress it, is still read and circulated to-day. two notable answers were ephemeral, one from mary wollstonecraft, and another (_vindiciae gallicae_) from mackintosh, who afterwards recanted his own opinions and lived to be known as sir james. to lift the discussion to the height of a philosophical argument was reserved for william godwin, a mind steeped in the french and english speculation of his century, gifted with rare powers of analysis, and inspired with a faith in human reason in general and his own logical capacity in particular, which no english mind before him or after him has approached. in spite of a lucid style and a certain cold eloquence which illumines if it does not warm, godwin's _political justice_ was dead before its author, while burke lives and was never more widely read than to-day. the ghosts of great men have an erratic habit in walking. it is passion rather than any mere intellectual momentum which drives them from the tomb. there is, moreover, in burke a variety and a humanity which appeals in some one of its phases and moods to all of us in turn. the great store-house of his emotions and his phrases has the catholicity of the bible. each man can find in it what he seeks. he is like the luminous phantom which walked in _faust_ through the witcheries of the brocken. each man saw in her his own first love. he has been hero and prophet to whigs and tories, and in our own generation we have seen him bequeath an equal inspiration to a cecil and a morley. it is no part of our task to attempt even the briefest exposition of his philosophy; we are concerned with him here chiefly as an influence which helped by its vehemence and its superb rhetorical exaggerations to drive the revolutionary thinkers who answered him to parallel exaggerations and opposite extremes. inspired himself with a distrust of generalisation, and a hatred of philosophers, he none the less evolved a philosophy as he talked. against his will he was forced into the upper air in his furious pursuit of the "political aeronauts." his was a volcanic intellect which flung up principles in its moments of eruption, and poured them forth pell-mell with the vituperations and the exaltations. no logical dissection can reach the inner truth of burke. every statement of a principle in an orator or a pamphleteer is coloured by the occasion, the emotion, and the mood of an audience to whom it is addressed. burke spoke amid the angers and alarms inspired first by the subversive energy, and then by the doctrinaire cruelty of the french revolution. it was in the process of "diffusing the terror" that most of his philosophical _obiter dicta_ were uttered. the real nerve of the thinking of a mind so vehement, so passionate, so essentially dramatic is to be sought not in some principle which was the major premise of his syllogisms, but in some pervading emotion. fanny burney said of him that when he spoke of the revolution his face immediately assumed "the expression of a man who is going to defend himself against murderers." that is exactly the tone of all his later utterances. his mission was to spread panic because he felt it. by no other reading can one explain or excuse the rage of his denunciation of the excellent dr. price. if his was philosophy it was philosophy seeing red. he predicted the terror before it occurred, and by his work in stirring europe to the coalition against france, he did much to realise his own forebodings. but, to do burke justice, his was a disinterested fear, and it would be fairer to call it a hatred of cruelty. burke was not a man to take fire because he thought a principle false. his was rather the practical logic which found a principle false because it led to evil; and the evil which caused his mind to blaze was nearly always cruelty. he hated the french philosophers because in the groves of their academy "at the end of every vista you see nothing but the gallows." he pursued rousseau and dr. price because their teaching, on his reading of cause and effect, had set the tumbrils rolling and weighted the guillotine for marie antoinette. it was precisely the same impulse which had caused him to pursue warren hastings for his cruelties towards the begums of oude. the spring of all this speculation was a nerve which twitched with a maddening sensitiveness at the sight of suffering. to rouse burke's genius to its noblest utterance, there must needs be a suffering which he could personify and dramatise. he saw nothing of the dull peasant misery which in truth explained the revolution. he ignored those catalogues of injustice and wrong that composed the mandates (the _cahiers_) which the deputies carried with them to the national assembly. he forgot the famines, the exactions, the oppressive privileges which made revolt, and saw only the pathos of the queen's helplessness before it. in paine's immortal epigram, he "pitied the plumage and forgot the dying bird." but it is paradoxically true that while he pursued the friends of humanity, his real impulse was the hatred of cruelty which modern men call humanitarian. to that hatred he was always true. no abstract principle, but always this dominating passion, covers his inconsistencies, and bridges the gulf between his earlier whiggery and his later toryism. in the french revolution he saw only cruelty, and he opposed it as he had opposed indian imperialism, negro slavery, the savage criminal justice of his day, and the penal laws against the irish catholics. of burke one must ask not so much what did he believe? as whom did he pity? it was the contrast of temperament and attitude which made the cleavage between burke and the friends of the french revolution deep and irreconcilable. in the fundamentals of political theory he often seems to agree with some of them, and they differ as often among themselves. burke seems often to retain the typical eighteenth century fiction that the state is based on some original pact or social contract. that was rousseau's starting point, and it was godwin's work (after hume) to shatter this heritage which french and english speculation had been content to accept from locke. there are passages in which burke appears to accept the notion, unintelligible to modern minds, of the natural, or as he put it, "primitive," rights of man. he reserved his contempt for those who sought to tabulate or codify these rights, and he would always brush aside any argument based upon them, by asking the prior question, what in the given emergency was best for the good of society, or the happiness of men. paine, when he was in his more _a priori_ moods, was capable of deducing his whole practical system from the abstract rights of man; godwin was a modern in virtually dismissing the whole notion. while burke was belabouring dr. price, he whittled away the whole theoretic significance of the english revolution of , but he remained its partisan. he tried to deny dr. price's claim to "choose our governors," but he could not relapse into the seventeenth-century tory doctrine of non-resistance, and would always allow in extreme cases the right of rebellion. here again there was no final opposition, for there are passages in godwin against rash rebellion and the anarchy of revolution more impressive, if less emotional, than anything in burke. modern criticism is disposed to base the greatness of burke on his inspired anticipation of the historical view of politics. quotation has made classical those noble passages which glorify the continuous life of mankind, link the present by a chain of pieties to the past, conjure up a glowing vision of the social organism, and celebrate the wisdom of our ancestors and the infallibility of the race. there was, indeed, a real opposition of temperament here; but burke had no monopoly of the historical vision. it is a travesty to suggest that the revolutionary school despised history. paine, indeed, was a self-taught man, who knew nothing of history and cared less. but godwin wrote history with success and even penned a remarkable essay (_on sepulchres_) in which he anticipated the comtist veneration for the great dead, and proposed a national scheme for covering the country with monuments to their memory. condorcet, perhaps the greatest intellect and certainly the noblest character among them, wrote the first attempt at a systematic evolutionary interpretation of history. but it makes some difference whether a man sees history from above or from below. burke saw it from the comfortable altitude of the whig aristocracy to which he had allied himself. the revolutionary school saw its inverse, from the standpoint of the "swinish multitude" (an angry indiscretion of burke's) for whom it had worked to less advantage. paine was a man of the people, and godwin belonged by birth to the dissenting community for whom history had been chiefly a record of persecution, illuminated by rebellion. for burke the product of history was the sacred constitution in which he saw an "entailed heritage," the social fabric "well cramped and bolted together in all its parts." for godwin it was mainly a chronicle of criminal wars, savage oppressions, and social misery. burke, in a moment of paradoxical exaltation, was capable of singing the praises of "prejudice," which "renders a man's virtue his habit." for condorcet, on the other hand, history was the orderly procession of the human mind, advancing through a series of well-marked epochs (he enumerated nine) from the pastoral state to the french revolution, each epoch marked primarily by the shedding of some moral, social, or theological "prejudice," which had hampered its advance. it is easy to criticise the naïve intellectualism of such a view as this, which ignores or thrusts into the background the economic causes of advance and retrogression. but it is certainly not an unhistorical view. burke dreaded fundamental discussions which "turn men's duties into doubts." the revolutionary school believed that all progress depended on the daring and thoroughness of these discussions. history for them was a continuous socratic dialogue, in which the philosophers of innovation were always arrayed against the sophists of authority. they hoped everything from the leadership of the illuminated few who gradually permeate the mass and raise it with them. burke held that "the individual is foolish, but the species is wise," and the "natural aristocracy" in whom he trusted was to keep the inert mass in a condition of stable equilibrium. we retain from burke to-day the sonorous generalisations, the epigrammatic maxims, which each of us applies in his own way. but to burke's contemporaries they meant only one thing--a defence of the unreformed franchise. all his reverence for the pre-ordained order of providence, the "divine tactic" which had made society what it was, meant for them in bald prose that old sarum should have two members. burke had not "a doubt that the house of commons represents perfectly the whole commons of great britain." they, with no mystical view of history to guide them, pointed out that its electors were a mere handful of , in the whole population, and that birmingham, manchester, leeds, sheffield and bradford had not a member among them. while burke perorated about the ways of providence, they pointed to that auctioneer who put up for sale to the highest bidder the fee simple of the borough of gatton with the power of nominating two members for ever. that auctioneer is worth quoting: "need i tell you, gentlemen, that this elegant contingency is the only infallible source of fortune, titles, and honours in this happy country? that it leads to the highest situations in the state? and that, meandering through the tempting sinuosities of ambition, the purchaser will find the margin strewed with roses, and his head quickly crowned with those precious garlands that flourish in full vigour round the fountain of honour? on this halcyon sea, if any gentleman who has made his fortune in either of the indies chooses once more to embark, he may repose in perfect quiet. no hurricanes to dread; no tormenting claims of insolent electors to evade; no tinkers' wives to kiss.... with this elegant contingency in his pocket, the honours of the state await his plucking, and with its emoluments his purse will overflow." a reference to the elegant contingency of gatton sufficed to deflate a good deal of eloquence. burke, indeed, believed in the pre-ordained order of the world, but he somehow omitted the rebels. when in his sublimest periods, he appealed to "the known march of the ordinary providence of god," and saw in revolution and change an assault on the divine order, one sees, rigid and forbidding, the limitations of his thinking. the man who sees in history a divine tactic must salute the regiment in its headlong charge no less than the regiment which stands with fixed bayonets around the ark of the covenant. said the hindoo saint, who saw all things in god and god in all things, to the soldier who was slaying him, "and thou also art he." the march of providence embraced as well as . paine and godwin, danton and robespierre might have answered burke with a reminder that they also were his children. the key to any understanding of the dialogue between burke and the revolutionists is that each side was moved by a passion which meant nothing to the other. burke was hoarse with anger and fear at the excesses in france. they were afire with an almost religious faith in human perfectibility. burke's is a great record of detailed reforms achieved or advocated, but for organic change there was no place in his system, and he indulged in no vision of human progress. "the only moral trust with any certainty in our hands," he wrote, "is the care of our own time." it was of to-morrow that the revolution thought, and even of the day after to-morrow. nothing could shake its faith. proscribed amid the terror for his moderation and independence, learning daily in the garret where he hid of the violent deaths of friends and comrades, witnessing, as it must have seemed to him, the ruin of his work and the frustration of his brightest hopes, condorcet, solitary and disguised, sat down to write that sketch of human destinies which is, perhaps, the most confident statement of a reasoned optimism in european literature. he finished his _sketch for an historical picture of the progress of the human mind_, left his garret, and went out to meet his death. a year later, as if to show that the great prodigal hope could survive the brain that conceived it, the representatives of the french people had it circulated as a national document. its thesis is that no limit can be set to the perfection of human faculties, that the progress and perfectibility of man are independent of any power which can arrest them, and have no term unless it be the duration of the globe itself. the progress might be swift or slow, but the ultimate end was sure. twenty years before, turgot projecting a system of universal education in france, had promised to transform the nation in ten years. condorcet was less sanguine, but his perspective was short. the indefinite advance of mankind presupposed, he argued, the elimination of inequality ( ) among peoples, and ( ) among classes, and lastly the perfection of the individual. for all this he believed that the revolution had already laid the foundation. negro slavery, for example, would end; africa would enter on a phase of culture dependent on settled agriculture, and the east adopt free institutions. the time was at hand when the sun would rise only on free men, and tyrants, slaves, and priests would live only in history. the revolution had proclaimed the equality of men, and the future would proceed to realise it. monopolies abolished, fortunes would tend to a level of equality, and a system of insurance (dr. price's specific) would mitigate or abolish poverty. universal education would reduce the natural inequality of talents, and break down the barriers of class, so that men, retaining still the desire to be instructed by others, would no longer need to be controlled by their superiors. science had made a dizzy progress in the past generation, but its advance must be still more rapid when general education enables it to be cultivated by still greater numbers, and by women as well as men. to the fear which malthus afterwards used as the most formidable argument against revolutionary optimism, that a denser population would leave the means of subsistence inadequate, he opposed intensive cultivation, synthetic chemistry, and the progress of mankind in self-control and virtue. human character itself will change with the amendment of human institutions. passion can be dominated by reflection, and by the deliberate encouragement of gentle and altruistic sentiments. the business of politics is to destroy the opposition between self-interest and altruism, and to make a world in which when a man seeks his own good, he need no longer infringe the good of others. a great share in this moral elevation would come from the destruction of the inequality of the sexes, which condorcet preached in france while mary wollstonecraft was its pioneer in england. that inequality has been ruinous even to the sex which it favoured, and rests in nothing but an abuse of force. to remove it is not merely to raise the status of women but to increase family happiness, and to reform morals. wars too will end, and with them a constant menace to liberty. the ultimate dream is a perpetual confederation of mankind. it would be a fascinating but too protracted study to follow this faith in the perfectibility of mankind to its final enthusiasms of prophecy, and to trace it to its origins in the speculations of helvétius and holbach, of priestley and price. it was a creative impulse which made for itself a psychology and a sociology; it rather led the thinking of men than followed from their reasonings. they seem at every turn to choose of two alternative views the one which would favour this sovereign hope. is it reason and opinion, or some innate character which governs the actions of men? the philosophers of hope answer "opinion," for opinion can be indefinitely changed and led from prejudice to science. is it climate (as montesquieu had urged) or political institutions which differentiate the races of men? clearly it is institutions, for if it were climate there would be nothing to hope from reform. burke opposed to all their schemes of construction and destruction, to their generalisations and philosophisings, the unchangeable fact of human nature. they answered (diving into helvétius) that human nature is itself the product of "education" or, as we should call it, "environment." circumstances and above all political institutions have made man what he is. princes, as holbach puts it, are gardeners who can by varying systems of cultivation alter the character of men as they would alter the form of trees. change the institutions and you will change human nature itself. there seemed no limit to the improvement which would follow if we could but discard the fetters of prejudice and despotism. wordsworth's "shades of the prison-house" which close upon the growing boy, were an echo of this thought. godwin's friend, holcroft, embodied it in a striking metaphor: "men do not become what by nature they are meant to be, but what society makes them. the generous feelings and higher propensities of the soul are, as it were shrunk up, scared, violently wrenched, and amputated, to fit us for our intercourse in the world, something in the manner that beggars maim and mutilate their children to make them fit for their future situation in life." the men of the revolution phrased that idea each in his own way, according as they had been influenced, primarily, by rousseau, helvétius, or condorcet. it gave to their controversy with burke the appearance, not so much of a dispute between rival schools, as of a dialogue between men who spoke to each other in unknown tongues. * * * * * burke condescended to reason with dr. price. but the main answer of authority to the friends of the french revolution, was the answer which burke prescribed for "infidels"--"a refutation by criminal justice." a curious parallel movement towards extremes went on simultaneously in the two camps. while burke separated himself from fox, split the whig party, and devoted his genius to the task of fanning the general english dislike of the revolution into a panic rage of anger and fear, the progressive camp in its turn was gradually captured by the "intellectuals," and passed from a humdrum demand for political reform into a ferment of moral and social speculation. societies grew up in all the chief centres of population, always with the same programme. "an honest parliament. an annual parliament. a parliament wherein each individual will have his representative." of these the most active, the most extreme, and the best organised was undoubtedly the london corresponding society. it was founded by a scottish boot-maker named thomas hardy. the sober, limited character of the man is plain to read in his records and pamphlets. the son of a sea-captain, who had had his education in a village school in perthshire where the scholars paid a penny a week, he was a leading member of the scots' kirk in covent garden, and had drawn his political education not at all from godless french philosophers, but from the protestant fanatic, lord george gordon, and from dr. price's book on the american war. he gathered his own friends together to found his society, and nine of them met for the first time in the "bell" tavern in exeter street in january, . "they had finished their daily labour and met there by appointment. after having their bread and cheese and porter for supper, as usual, and their pipes afterwards, with some conversation, on the hardness of the times and the dearness of all the necessaries of life, which they in common with their fellow-citizens felt to their sorrow, the business for which they had met was brought forward--parliamentary reform." the corresponding society drew the bulk of its members from tradesmen, mechanics and shopkeepers, who contributed their penny a week, and organised itself under hardy's methodical guidance into numerous branches each with twenty members. it is said to have counted in the end some , members in london alone. it was a focus of discontent and hope which soon attracted men of more conspicuous talents and wider experience. horne tooke, man about town, ex-clergyman, and philologist, who had been at first the friend and lieutenant and then the rival and enemy of wilkes, was there to bridge the years between the last great popular agitation and the new hopes of reform. he was a man cautious and even timid in action, but there was a vanity in him which led him to say "hanging matters" when he had an inflammable audience in front of him within the four walls of a room. there was tom paine, the man who had first dared to propose the independence of the united states, a veteran of revolution who had served on washington's staff, penned those brilliant exhortations which led the american rebels to victory, and acted as foreign secretary to the insurgent congress. on the fringes of the little inner circle of intellectuals one catches a glimpse of william blake the poet, and ritson, the first teacher and theorist of vegetarianism. not the least interesting member of the group was thomas holcroft, the inseparable friend and ally of william godwin. holcroft's vivid and masterful personality stands out indeed as the most attractive among the abler members of the circle. the son of a boot-maker, he had earned his bread as cobbler, ostler, village schoolmaster, strolling player and reporter. his insatiable passion for knowledge had given him a mastery of french and german. he went in to paris as correspondent of the _morning herald_, on the modest salary of a guinea-and-a-half a week. it was there that he acquired his familiarity with the writings of the french political philosophers, and performed the quaint achievement of pirating _figaro_ for the english stage. no printed copy was obtainable, and holcroft contrived to commit the whole play to memory by attending ten performances, much as mozart had pirated the ancient exclusive music of st. peter's in rome. he was at this period a thriving literary craftsman, and the author of a series of popular plays in which the critics of the time had just begun to note and resent an obtrusive democratic tendency. under the influence of these eager speculative spirits, the corresponding society must have travelled far from its original business of parliamentary reform. here is an extract from evidence given before the privy council, which relates the proceedings at one of its later meetings: "the most gentlemanlike person took the chair and talked about an equal representation of the people, and of putting an end to war. holcroft talked about the powers of the human mind.... mr. holcroft talked a great deal about peace, of his being against any violent or coercive means, that were usually resorted to against our fellow-creatures, urged the more powerful operation of philosophy and reason to convince man of his errors; that he would disarm his greatest enemy by these means and oppose his fury. he spoke also about truth being powerful, and gave advice to the above effect to the delegates present who all seemed to agree, as no person opposed his arguments." one may doubt, however, whether the whole society was composed of "natural quakers," who, like holcroft and godwin, preached non-resistance before tolstoy. the dour commonsense of hardy maintained the theory--he vowed that it was only theory--that every citizen should possess arms and know their use. as the revolution went forward in france, the agitation in england became increasingly reckless. when the society held its anniversary dinner after the terror, in may, , at the "crown and anchor" tavern, the band played "Ça ira," the "carmagnole" and the "marseillaise." the chief toasts were "the rights of man," and "the armies contending for liberty," which was a sufficiently clear phrase for describing the republican armies that were at war with england. there followed an ode composed by sir william jones, a translation of the athenian song which celebrated the deeds of the tyrannicides, harmodius and aristogeiton; verdant myrtle's branchy pride shall my thirsty blade entwine. one may doubt whether sir william jones ever felt the smallest inclination to satisfy the thirst of his blade, but there was provision enough for more commonplace appetites. two years before, hardy's worthy mechanics had supped on porter and cheese and talked of the hardness of the times. their movement had been captured by a group of eager, sophisticated, literary persons, who went much farther than parliamentary reform, and with the aid of claret and the subtler french intoxicants, "turned indignant" as another ode puts it: from kings who seek in gothic night to hide the blaze of moral light. fill high the animating glass and let the electric ruby pass. it was a cheerful indignation, a festive rage. that dinner must have marked the height of the revolutionary tide in england. the reaction was already rampant and vindictive, and before the year was out it had crushed the progressive movement and postponed for thirty-eight years the triumph of parliamentary reform. it requires a strenuous exercise of the imagination to conceive the panic which swept over england as the news of the french terror circulated. it fastened impartially on every class of the community, and destroyed the emotional balance no less of pitt and his colleagues than of the working men who formed the church and king mobs. proclamations were issued to quell insurrections which never had been planned, and the militia called out when not a hand had been raised against the king throughout great britain. so great was the fear, so deep the moral indignation that "even respectable and honest men," (the phrase is holcroft's) "turned spies and informers on their friends from a sense of public duty." a mob burned dr. priestley's house near birmingham for no better reason than because he was supposed to have attended a reform dinner, which in fact, he did not attend. hardy's bookshop in piccadilly was rushed by a mob, and his wife, about to be confined, was injured in her efforts to escape, and died a few hours afterwards. a hunt went on all over the kingdom for booksellers and printers to prosecute, and when thomas paine was prosecuted in his absence for publishing _the rights of man_, the jury was so determined to find him guilty that they would not trouble to hear the case for the crown. twenty years before, the french philosopher helvétius, after an experience of jesuit persecution and court disfavour in france, made a quaint proposal for re-organising the whole discussion of moral and political questions. the first step, he thought, was to compile a dictionary in which all the terms required in such debates would receive an authoritative definition. but this dictionary, he urged, must be composed in the english language, and published first in england, for only there was discussion free, and the press unfettered. in the reaction over which pitt and dundas presided, that envied liberty was totally eclipsed. the _habeas corpus_ act was suspended; the privy council sat as a sort of star chamber to question political suspects, and there was even talk of importing hessian and hanoverian mercenaries to check an insurrection which nowhere showed its head. the frailest of all human endowments is the sense of humour. the sense of proportion had been eclipsed in the panic, and most of the cases which may be studied to-day in the state trials impress the modern reader as tasteless and cruel farces. men were tried and sentenced never for deeds, but always for words. for a sermon closely resembling dr. price's, a dissenting minister named winterbotham was tried at exeter, and sentenced to four years' imprisonment and a fine of £ . the attorney, john frost, returning from france, admitted in a chance conversation in a coffee-house that he thought society could manage very well without kings; he was imprisoned, set in the pillory and struck off the rolls. one favourite expedient was to produce a spy who would swear that he had heard some suspect radical declare in a coach or a coffee-house, that he would "as soon have the king's head off as he would tear a bit of paper" (evidence against a group of manchester prisoners), or that he "would cut off the king's head as easily as he would shave himself" (case against thomas hardy). the climax of really entertaining absurdity was reached when two debtors imprisoned in the fleet were tried and sentenced for nailing a seditious libel to its doors. the libel was a notice that "this house is to let," that "infamous bastilles are no longer necessary in europe," and that "peaceable possession" would be secured "on or before the first day of january, , being the commencement of the first year of liberty in great britain." the farce of this panic became a tragedy when the reformers of scotland ventured to summon a convention at edinburgh to voice the demand for shorter parliaments and universal male suffrage. it met in october, , and was attended by delegates from the london corresponding society as well as from scottish branches. nothing was intended beyond the holding of what we should call to-day a conference or congress. but the word "convention" with its reminiscence of the french revolutionary assembly seems to have caused the government some particular alarm. the convention, after some days of orderly debate, was invaded by the magistrates and broken up. margarot and sinclair (the english delegates), skirving, palmer and thomas muir, were tried before that notorious hanging judge, whom stevenson portrayed as weir of hermiston, and sentenced to fourteen years' deportation at botany bay. of these five, all of them young men of brilliant promise and high courage, only one, margarot, lived to return to england. muir, daring, romantic and headstrong, contributed to the history of the movement a page of adventure which might invite the attention of a novelist. he escaped from botany bay on a whaler, was wrecked on the coast of south america, contrived to wander to the west indies, there shipped on a spanish vessel for europe, fell in with an english frigate, was wounded in the fight that followed, and had the good fortune to find among the officers who took him prisoner an old friend, who recognised him, and assisted him to conceal his identity. he was landed in spain, invited to paris and pensioned by the convention, but died shortly after his arrival. less romantic but even finer is sinclair's story. he obtained bail while his comrades were tried and sentenced. he might have broken his bail, and his friends urged him to do so, but with the certainty that botany bay lay before him he none the less returned to edinburgh, as horne tooke puts it "in discharge of his faith as a private man towards his bail, and in discharge of his duty towards an oppressed and insulted public; he has returned not to take a fair trial, but, as he is well persuaded, to a settled conviction and sentence." joseph gerrald, another member of the same group gave the same fine example of courage, surrendered to his bail, and was sent for fifteen years to botany bay. the ferment was more than an intellectual stirring. it brought with it a moral elevation and a great courage that did not shrink from venturing life and fortune for a disinterested end. the modern reader is apt to indulge a smile when he reads in the ardent declamation of this time professions of a love of virtue and praises of universal benevolence. we are impatient of abstractions and shy of capital letters. but it was no abstraction which carried a man with honour to the fevers and privations of botany bay, when he might have sought safety and fame in paris. the english reformers were resolved to brave the worst that pitt could do to them, and challenged the fate of their scottish comrades. they prepared in their turn to hold a "convention" for parliamentary reform, and showed a doubtful prudence in keeping its details secret while the intention was boldly avowed. the counter-stroke came promptly. twelve of the leading members of the corresponding society, including hardy, horne tooke and holcroft were arrested and sent, for the most part to the tower, on a charge of high treason. the records of their preliminary examination before the privy council go to show that pitt and dundas had allowed themselves to be persuaded by their spies that every species of treason and folly was in preparation, from an armed insurrection down to a plan to murder the king by blowing a poisoned arrow from an air-gun. the government had said that there was a treasonable conspiracy; it had to produce the traitors. there was some delay in arresting holcroft. his conduct is worth recording because it is so typical of the naïve courage, the doctrinaire hardihood of the group. these men whom the reaction accused of subverting morality, were in fact dervishes of principle, who rushed on the bayonets in the name of manhood and truth and sincerity. godwin when he came in his systematic treatise to describe how a free people would conduct a defensive war, declared that it would scorn to resort to a stratagem or an ambuscade. in the same spirit holcroft hearing that a warrant was out against him for high treason, walked boldly into the chief justice's court, and announced that he came to be put upon his trial "that if i am a guilty man, the whole extent of my guilt may become notorious, and if innocent that the rectitude of my principles and conduct may be no less public." when a messenger did, in fact, go to holcroft's house about the same hour to arrest him, his daughters, obedient to the same ideal of sincerity, actually invited him to take their father's papers. one may doubt whether english liberties have ever run a graver danger in modern times than at the trial of the twelve reformers. the government sought to overwhelm them with a mass of evidence which they lacked the means to sift and confute. but no definite act was charged against them, and the whole case turned on a monstrous attempt to give a wide constructive interpretation to the law of high treason. high treason in english law has the perfectly definite meaning of an attempt on the king's life, or the levying of war against him. chief justice eyre, in his charge to the grand jury, sought to stretch it until it assumed a russian latitude, and would include any effort by agitation to alter the form of government or the constitution of parliament. the issue, before a jury which probably had not escaped the general panic, seemed very doubtful, and it was the general opinion that the decisive blow for liberty was struck by william godwin. long years afterwards horne tooke, in a dramatic scene, called godwin to him in public, and kissed the hand which had saved his life. godwin contributed to the _morning chronicle_ a long letter, or more properly, a pamphlet, in which he analysed the chief justice's charge and brought to the light what really was latent in it, a claim to treat as high treason any effort, however peaceful and orderly, to bring about a fundamental change in our institutions. the letter shows none of godwin's speculative daring, and his gift of cold and dignified eloquence is severely repressed. he wrote to attain his immediate end, and from that standpoint his pleading was a masterpiece. a certain deadly courtesy, a tone of quiet reasonableness made it possible for the most prejudiced reader to follow it with assent. the argument was irresistible, and the single touch of emotion at the end was worthy of a great orator. a few lines depicted these men who, moved by public spirit, had acted in good faith within the law, as it had been universally understood in england, overwhelmed by a sudden extension of its most terrible articles, applied to them without precedent or warning. should the awful sentence be read over these men, that they should be hanged (but not until they were dead), and then, still living, suffer the loss of their members and see their bowels torn out? the ghastly barbarity of the whole procedure could not have been more effectively exposed. looking back upon this trial there is no reason to think that the reformers exaggerated its importance. had the government won its case, it must have succeeded in destroying the very possibility of opposition or agitation in england. it was believed that no less than three hundred signed warrants lay ready for issue on the day that hardy and his friends were convicted. but the stroke was too daring, the threat too impudent. when the trial began, the prosecution lightened its own task by dropping the charge against holcroft and three of his comrades. but for nine days the charge was pressed against thomas hardy, and when he was acquitted a further six days was spent in the effort to convict horne tooke, and four in a last vain attempt to succeed against thelwall. the popular victory checked the excesses of the reaction. as holcroft wrote: "the whole power of government was directed against thomas hardy: in his fate seemed involved the fate of the nation, and the verdict of not guilty appeared to burst its bonds, and to have released it from inconceivable miseries and ages of impending slavery." the reaction, indeed, was restrained; but so also was the movement of reform. the subsequent history of its leaders is one of unheroic failure, and of an unpopularity which was harder to endure than danger. windham referred to the twelve in debate as "acquitted felons," and holcroft was constrained first to produce his plays under a borrowed name, and then to seek a refuge in voluntary exile on the continent. the passions roused by the terror arrested the progress of the revolutionary movement in england. the alarms and glories of the struggle with napoleon buried it in oblivion. it is this complex experience which lies behind godwin's political writings. the french revolution produced its simple effects in burke and tom paine--revolt and disgust in the one, enthusiasm and hope in the other. in godwin the reaction is more complicated. he retained to the last his ardent faith in progress, and the perfectibility of mankind. no events could shake that, but it was the work of experience to reinforce all the native individualism of his confident and self-reliant temper, to harden into an extreme dogma that general belief in _laissez faire_ which was the common property of most of the english progressives of his day, and to beget in him not merely a doubt in the efficacy of violent revolutions, but a dislike of all concerted political effort and the whole collective work of political associations. he had felt the lash of repression, saved one friend from the hangman, and seen others depart for botany bay: he remained to the end, the uncompromising foe of every species of governmental coercion. he had listened to horne tooke perorating "hanging matters" at the corresponding society; he had seen the "electric ruby" circulating at its dinners; he had witnessed the collapse of thomas hardy's painstaking and methodical organisation. the fruit of all these experiences was the first statement in european literature of philosophic anarchism--a statement which hardly yields to tolstoy's in its trenchant and unflinching logic. "logic" is more often a habit of consecutive and reasoned writing than the source of a thinker's opinion. the logical writer is the man who can succeed in displaying plausible reasons for what he believes by instinct, or knows by experience. there is history and temperament behind the coldest logic. the history which set godwin against all state action, whether undertaken in defence of order or privilege, or on behalf of reform, is to be read in the excesses of pitt and the futilities of the corresponding society. the question of temperament involves a subtler psychological judgment. if you feel in yourself something less than the heroic temper which will make a militant agitation or a violent revolution against the monstrous ascendency of privilege and ordered force, you are lucky if you can convince yourself that agitation is commonly mischievous, and association but a means of combating one evil by creating another. godwin was certainly no coward. but he was fortunate in evolving a theory which excused him from attempting the more dangerous exploits of civic courage. his ideal was the stoic virtue, the isolated strength, which can stand firm in passive protest against oppression and wrong. he stood firm, and pitt was content to leave him standing. * * * * * we have seen the first bold statement of the hope which the french revolution kindled in dr. price's old jewry sermon. we have watched the brave incautious effort to realise it in the plans of the corresponding society. in these crowded years that began with the fall of the bastille and closed with the terror, it was to enter on yet another phase, and in this last incarnation the hope was very near despair. to men in the early prime of life, aware of their powers and their gift of influence, the revolution came as a call to action. to a group of still younger men, poets and thinkers, forming their first eager views of life in the leisure of the universities, it was above all a stimulus to fancy. godwin was their prophet, but they built upon his speculations the superstructure of a dream that was all their own. for some years, coleridge, southey, and wordsworth were caught and held in the close web of logic which godwin gave to the world in in the first edition of _political justice_. wordsworth read and studied and continually discussed it. southey confessed that he "read and studied and all but worshipped godwin." coleridge wrote a sonnet which he afterwards suppressed in which he blesses his "holy guidance" and hymns godwin "with an ardent lay." for that thy voice in passion's stormy day when wild i roamed the bleak heath of distress bade the bright form of justice meet my way, and told me that her name was happiness. to us who read godwin with many a later utopia in our memories, his most valuable chapters are those which give his penetrating criticisms of existing society. to these young men the excitement was in his picture of a free community from which laws and coercion had been eliminated, and in which property was in a continual flux actuated by the stream of universal benevolence. they resolved to found a community based on godwinian principles, and to free themselves from the cramping and dwarfing influences of a society ruined by laws and superstitions, they lit on the simple expedient of removing themselves beyond its reach. they lacked the manhood and the simplicity which had turned more prosaic natures into agitators and reformers. it is a tale which every student of literature has delighted to read, how coleridge and southey, bent on founding their pantisocracy, on the banks of the susquehana, came to bristol to charter a ship, and while they waited, dimly aware that they lacked funds for the adventure, anchored themselves in english homes by marrying the fricker sisters. as one of the comrades, robert lovell, quaintly puts it in a letter to holcroft, "principle, not plan, is our object." lovell had visited holcroft in gaol, and one can well understand how that near view of the fate which awaited the reformer under pitt, confirmed them in their idea of crossing the atlantic. "from the writings of william godwin and yourself," lovell went on, "our minds have been illuminated; we wish our actions to be guided by the same superior abilities." holcroft, older and more combative than his poet-disciples, advised the founding of a model colony in this country. but the lure of a distant scene was too attractive. cottle, the friend and publisher of the pantisocrats, has left his account of their aims. theirs was to be "a social colony in which there was to be a community of property and where all that was selfish was to be proscribed." it would realise "a state of society free from the evils and turmoils that then agitated the world, and present an example of the eminence to which men might arrive under the unrestrained influence of sound principles." it would "regenerate the whole complexion of society, and that not by establishing formal laws, but by excluding all the little deteriorating passions, injustice, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking, and thereby setting an example of human perfectibility." what is left of the dream to-day? some verses in coleridge's earlier poems, the address to chatterton for instance o chatterton! that thou wert yet alive, sure thou wouldst spread the canvas to the gale; and love with us the tinkling team to drive o'er peaceful freedom's undivided dale. and those lines, half comical, half pathetic, in which the "sweet harper" is assured as some requital for a hard life and a cruel death, that the pantisocrats will raise a "solemn cenotaph" to his memory "where susquehana pours his untamed stream." long afterwards, coleridge described pantisocracy in _the friend_ as "a plan as harmless as it was extravagant," which had served a purpose by saving him from more dangerous courses. "it was serviceable in securing myself and perhaps some others from the paths of sedition. we were kept free from the stains and impurities which might have remained upon us had we been travelling with the crowd of less imaginative malcontents through the dark lanes and foul by-roads of ordinary fanaticism." pantisocracy was indeed a happy episode for english literature. one may doubt whether the "ancient mariner" would have been written, had coleridge travelled with gerrald and sinclair along the "dark lane" that led to botany bay. nature can work strange miracles with the instinct of self-preservation, and even for poets she has a care. the prudence which teaches one man to be a whig, will make of another a utopian. chapter ii thomas paine "where liberty is, there is my country." the sentiment has a latin ring; one can imagine an early stoic as its author. it was spoken by benjamin franklin, and no saying better expresses the spirit of eighteenth century humanity. "where is not liberty, there is mine." the answer is thomas paine's. it is the watchword of the knight errant, the marching music that sent lafayette to america, and byron to greece, the motto of every man who prizes striving above enjoyment, honours comradeship above patriotism, and follows an idea that no frontier can arrest. paine was indeed of no century, and no formula of classification can confine him. his writing is of the age of enlightenment; his actions belong to romance. his clear, manly style, his sturdy commonsense, the rapier play of his epigrams, the formal, logical architecture of his thoughts, his complacent limitations, his horror of mystery and gothic half-lights, his harsh contempt for all the sacred muddle of priestly traditions and aristocratic politics, his assurance, his intellectual courage, his humanity--all that, in its best and its worst, belongs to the century of voltaire and the revolution. in his spirit of adventure, in his passion for movement and combat, there paine is romantic. paine thought in prose and acted epics. he drew horizons on paper and pursued the infinite in deeds. tom paine was born, the son of a quaker stay-maker, in , at thetford, in the county of norfolk. his parents were poor, but he owed much, he tells us, to a good moral education and picked up "a tolerable stock of useful learning," though he knew no language but his own. a "friend" he was to the end in his independence, his rationalism, and his humanity, though he laughed when he thought of what a sad-coloured world the quakers would have made of the creation, if they had been consulted. the boy craved adventure, and was prevented at seventeen from enlisting in the crew of the privateer _terrible_, captain death, only to sail somewhat later in the _king of prussia_, captain mendez. one cruise under a licensed pirate was enough for him, and he soon settled in london, making stays for a living and spending his leisure in the study of astronomy. he qualified as an exciseman, acquiring in this employment a grasp of finance and an interest in budgets of which he afterwards made good use in his writings. cashiered for negligence, he turned schoolmaster, and even aspired to ordination in the church of england. reinstated as a "gauger," he was eventually dismissed for writing a pamphlet in defence of the excisemen's agitation for higher wages. he was twice married, but his first wife died within a year of marriage, and the second, with whom he had started a "tobacco-mill," agreed on its failure, apparently for no definite fault on either side, to a mutual separation. at thirty-seven, penniless, lonely, and stamped with failure, yet conscious of powers which had found no scope in the old world, he emigrated in to america with a letter from benjamin franklin as his passport to fortune. opportunity came promptly, and paine was presently settled in philadelphia as the editor of the _pennsylvania magazine_. from the pages of this periodical, his admirable biographer, mr. moncure d. conway, has unearthed a series of articles which show that paine had somehow brought with him from england a mental equipment which ranked him already among the moral pioneers of his generation. he advocates international arbitration; he attacks duelling; he suggests more rational ideas of marriage and divorce; he pleads for mercy to animals; he demands justice for women. above all, he assails negro slavery, and with such mastery and fervour, that five weeks after the appearance of his article, the first american anti-slavery society was founded at philadelphia. the abolition of slavery was a cause for which he never ceased to struggle, and when in later life he became the target of religious persecutors, it was in their dual capacity of christians and slave-owners that men stoned him. the american colonies were now at the parting of the ways in the struggle with the mother country. the revolt had begun with a limited object, and few if any of its leaders realised whither they were tending. paine it was, who after the slaughter at lexington, abandoned all thoughts of reconciliation and was the first to preach independence and republicanism. his pamphlet, _common-sense_ ( ), achieved a circulation which was an event in the history of printing, and fixed in men's minds as firm resolves what were, before he wrote, no more than fluid ideas. it spoke to rebels and made a nation. poor though paine was, he poured the whole of the immense profits which he received from the sale of his little book into the colonial war-chest, shouldered a musket, joined washington's army as a private, and was soon promoted to be aide-de-camp to general greene. paine's most valuable weapon, however, was still his pen. writing at night, after endless marches, by the light of camp fires at a moment of general depression, when even washington thought that the game was "pretty well up," paine began to write the series of pamphlets afterwards collected under the title of _the american crisis_. they did for the american volunteers what rouget de lisle's immortal song did for the french levies in the revolutionary wars, what körner's martial ballads did for the german patriots in the napoleonic wars. these superb pages of exhortation were read in every camp to the disheartened men; their courage commanded victory. burke himself wrote nothing finer than the opening sentences of the first "crisis," a trumpet call indeed, but phrased by an artist who knew the science of compelling music from brass:-- "these are the times that try men's souls. the summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now, deserves the thanks of man and woman. tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict the more glorious the triumph. what we obtain too cheap we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value. heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated." "common-sense" paine was now the chief of the moral forces behind the fighting republic, and his power of thinking boldly and stating clearly drove it forward to its destiny under the leadership of men whom nature had gifted with less trenchant minds. he was in succession foreign secretary to congress and clerk to the pennsylvania assembly, and we find him converting despair into triumph by the magic of self-sacrifice. he it was who in saved the finances of the war in a moment of despair, by starting the patriotic subscription with the gift of his own salary, and in proved his diplomatic gift in a journey to paris by obtaining money-aid from the french court. paine might have settled down to enjoy his fame, after the war, on the little property which the state of new york gave him. he loathed inaction and escaped middle age. in he returned to england, partly to carry his pen where the work of liberation called for it, partly to forward his mechanical inventions. paine, self-educated though he was, was a capable mathematician, and he followed the progress of the applied sciences with passion. his inventions include a long list of things partly useful, partly whimsical, a planing machine, a crane, a smokeless candle and a gunpowder motor. but his fame as an inventor rests on his construction of the first iron bridge, made after his models and plans at wearmouth. he was received as a leader and teacher in the ardent circle of reformers grouped round the revolution society and the corresponding society. others were the dreamers and theorists of liberty. he had been at the making of a republic, and his american experience gave the stimulus to english radicalism which events in france were presently to repeat. his fame was already european, and at the fall of the bastille, it was to paine that lafayette confided its key, when a free france sent that symbol of defeated despotism as a present to a free america. he seemed the natural link between three revolutions, the one which had succeeded in the new world, the other which was transforming france, and the third which was yet to come in england. burke's _reflections_ rang in his ears like a challenge, and he sat promptly down in his inn to write his reply. _the rights of man_ is an answer to burke, but it is much more. the vivid pages of history in which he explains and defends the french revolution which burke had attacked and misunderstood, are only an illustration to his main argument. he expounds the right of revolution, and blows away the cobweb argument of legality by which his antagonist had sought to confine posterity within the settlement of . every age and generation must be free to act for itself. man has no property in man, and the claim of one generation to govern beyond the grave is of all tyrannies the most insolent. burke had contended for the right of the dead to govern the living, but that which a whole nation chooses to do, it has a right to do. the men of , who surrendered their own rights and bound themselves to obey king william and his heirs, might indeed choose to be slaves; but that could not lessen the right of their children to be free. wrongs cannot have a legal descent. here was a bold and triumphant answer to a sophistical argument; but it served paine only as a preface to his exposition of the american constitution, which was "to liberty what a grammar is to language," and to his plea for the adoption in england of the french charter of the rights of man. paine felt that he had made one republic with a pamphlet, why not another? he had the unlimited faith of his generation in the efficacy of argument, and experience had proved his power. as carlyle, in his whimsical dramatic fashion, said of him, "he can and will free all this world; perhaps even the other." godwin, as became the philosopher of the movement, set his hopes on the slower working of education: to make men wise was to make them free. paine was the pamphleteer of the human camp. he saw mankind as an embattled legion and believed, true man of action that he was, that freedom could be won like victory by the impetus of a resolute charge. he quotes the epigram of his fellow-soldier, lafayette, "for a nation to love liberty, it is sufficient that she knows it; and to be free it is sufficient that she wills it." godwin would have sent men to school to liberty; paine called them to her unfurled standard. it is easy to understand the success of paine's book, which appeared in march, . it was theory and practice in one; it was the armed logic which had driven king george's regiments from america, the edged argument which had razed the bastille. it was bold reasoning, and it was also inspired writing. holcroft and godwin helped to bring out _the rights of man_, threatened with suppression or mutilation by the publishers, and a panting incoherent shout of joy in a note from holcroft to godwin is typical of the excitement which it caused:-- "i have got it--if this do not cure my cough it is a damned perverse mule of a cough. the pamphlet--from the row--but mum--we don't sell it--oh, no--ears and eggs--verbatim, except the addition of a short preface, which as you have not seen, i send you my copy.--not a single castration (laud be unto god and j. s. jordan!) can i discover--hey, for the new jerusalem! the millennium! and peace and eternal beatitude be unto the soul of thomas paine." the usual prosecutions of booksellers followed; but everywhere the new societies of reform were circulating the book, and if it helped to send some good men to botany bay, copies enough were sold to earn a sum of a thousand pounds for the author, which, with his usual disinterestedness, he promptly gave to the corresponding society. a second part appeared in ; and at length pitt adopted burke's opinion that criminal justice was the proper argument with which to refute tom paine. acting on a hint from william blake, who, in a vision more prosaic and veridical than was usual with him, had seen the constables searching for his friend, paine escaped to france, and was convicted in his absence of high treason. paine landed at calais an outlaw, to find himself already elected its deputy to the convention. as in america, so in france, his was the first voice to urge the uncompromising solution. he advocated the abolition of the monarchy; but his was a courage that always served humanity. the work which he did as a member, with sieyès, danton, condorcet, and five others, of the little committee named to draft the constitution, was ephemeral. his brave pleading for the king's life was a deed that deserves to live. he loved to think of himself as a woodman swinging an axe against rotten institutions and dying beliefs; but he weighted no guillotines. paine argued against the command that we should "love our enemies," but he would not persecute them. this knight-errant would fling his shield over the very spies who tracked his steps. in paris he saved the life of one of pitt's agents who had vilified him, and procured the liberation of a bullying english officer who had struck him in public. the terror made mercy a traitor, and paine found himself overwhelmed in the vengeance which overtook all that was noblest in the revolution. he spent ten months in prison, racked with fever, and an anecdote which seems to be authentic, tells how he escaped death by the negligence of a jailor. this overworked official hastily chalked the sign which meant that a prisoner was marked for next batch of the guillotine's victims, on the inside instead of the outside of paine's cell-door. condorcet, in hiding and awaiting death, wrote in these months his _sketch_ of human progress. paine, meditating on the end that seemed near, composed the first part of his _age of reason_. paine was, like franklin, jefferson and washington, a deist; and he differed from them only in the courage which prompted him to declare his belief. he came from gaol a broken man, hardly able to stand, while the convention, returned to its sound senses, welcomed him back to his place of honour on its benches. the record of his last years in america, whither he returned in , belongs rather to the history of persecution than to the biography of a soldier of liberty. his work was done; and, though his pen was still active and influential, slave-owners, ex-royalists, and the fanatics of orthodoxy combined to embitter the end of the man who had dared to deny the inspiration of the bible. his book was burned in england by the hangman. bishops in their answers mingled grudging concessions with personal abuse. an agent of pitt's was hired to write a scurrilous biography of the government's most dreaded foe. in america, the grandsons of the puritan colonists who had flogged quaker women as witches, denied him a place on the stage-coach, lest an offended god should strike it with lightning. paine died, a lonely old man, in . his personal character stands written in his career; and it is unnecessary to-day even to mention the libels which his biographer has finally refuted. in a generation of brave men he was the boldest. he could rouse the passions of men, and he could brave them. if the royalist burke was eloquent for a queen, republican paine risked his life for a king. no wrong found him indifferent; and he used his pen not only for the democracy which might reward him, but for animals, slaves and women. poverty never left him, yet he made fortunes with his pen, and gave them to the cause he served. a naïve vanity was his only fault as a man. it was his fate to escape the gallows in england and the guillotine in france. he deserved them both; in that age there was no higher praise. a better democrat never wore the armour of the knight-errant; a better christian never assailed orthodoxy. neither by training nor by temperament was paine a speculative thinker; but his political writing has none the less an immense significance. godwin was a writer removed by his profoundly individual genius from the average thought of his day. paine agreed more nearly with the advanced minds of his generation, and he taught the rest to agree with him. no one since him or before him has stated the plain democratic case against monarchy and aristocracy with half his spirit and force. earlier writers on these themes were timid; the moderns are bored. paine is writing of what he understands, and feels to be of the first importance. he cares as much about abolishing titles as a modern reformer may feel about nationalising land. his main theory in politics has a lucid simplicity. men are born as god created them, free and equal; that is the assumption alike of natural and revealed religion. burke, who "fears god," looks with "awe to kings," with "duty to magistrates," and with "respect to nobility," is but erecting a wilderness of turnpike gates between man and his maker. natural rights inhere in man by reason of his existence; civil rights are founded in natural rights and are designed to secure and guarantee them. he gives an individual twist to the doctrine of the social compact. some governments arise out of the people, others over the people. the latter are based on conquest or priestcraft, and the former on reason. government will be firmly based on the social compact only when nations deliberately sit down as the americans have done, and the french are doing, to frame a constitution on the basis of the rights of man. as for the english government, it clearly arose in conquest; and to speak of a british constitution is playing with words. parliament, imperfectly and capriciously elected, is supposed to hold the common purse in trust; but the men who vote the supplies are also those who receive them. the national purse is the common hack on which each party mounts in turn, in the countryman's fashion of "ride and tie." they order these things better in france. as for our system of conducting wars, it is all done over the heads of the people. war is with us the art of conquering at home. taxes are not raised to carry on wars, but wars raised to carry on taxes. the shrewd hard-hitting blows range over the whole surface of existing institutions. godwin from his intellectual eminence saw in all the follies and crimes of mankind nothing worse than the effects of "prejudice" and the consequences of fallacious reasoning. paine saw more self-interest in the world than prejudice. when he came to preach the abolition of war, first through an alliance of britain, america and france, and then through "a confederation of nations" and a european congress, he saw the obstacle in the egoism of courts and courtiers which appear to quarrel but agree to plunder. another seven years, he wrote in , would see the end of monarchy and aristocracy in europe. while they continue, with war as their trade, peace has not the security of a day. paine's writing gains rather than loses in theoretic interest, because the warmth of his sympathies melts, as he proceeds, the icy logic of his eighteenth century individualism. he starts where all his school started, with a sharp antithesis between society and government. "society is produced by our wants and government by our wickedness; the former promotes our happiness positively by uniting our affections; the latter negatively by restraining our vices. the one encourages intercourse, the other creates distinctions. the first is a patron, the last a punisher. society in every state is a blessing; but government even in its best state is a necessary evil.... government, like dress, is the badge of our lost innocence; the palaces of kings are built on the ruins of the bowers of paradise." that was the familiar pessimism which led in practical politics to _laissez faire_, and in speculation to godwin's philosophic anarchism. paine himself seems for a moment to take that road. he enjoys telling us how well the american colonies managed in the early stages of the war without any regular form of government. he assures us that "the more perfect civilisation is, the less occasion has it for government." but he had served an apprenticeship to life; looking around him at the streets filled with beggars and the jails crowded with poor men, he suddenly forgets that the whole purpose of government is to secure the individual against the invasion of his rights, and straightway bursts into a new definition:--"civil government does not consist in executions; but in making such provision for the instruction of youth and the support of age as to exclude as much as possible profligacy from the one and despair from the other. instead of this the resources of a country are lavished upon kings ... and the poor themselves are compelled to support the fraud that oppresses them." it is amazing how much good paine can extract from a necessary evil. he has suddenly conceived of government as the instrument of the social conscience. he means to use it as a means of securing a better organisation of society. paine was a man of action, and no mere logic could hold him. he proceeds in a breathless chapter to evolve a programme of social reform which, after the slumbers of a century, his radical successors have just begun to realise. some hints came to him from condorcet, but most of these daringly novel ideas sprang from paine's own inventive brain, and all of them are presented by the whilom exciseman, with a wealth of financial detail, as if he were a chancellor of the exchequer addressing the first republican parliament in the year one of liberty. he would break up the poor laws, "these instruments of civil torture." he has saved the major part of the cost of defence by a naval alliance with the other sea powers, and the abolition of capture at sea. instead of poor relief he would give a subsidy to the children of the very poor, and pensions to the aged. four pounds a year for every child under fourteen in every necessitous family will ensure the health and instruction of the next generation. it will cost two millions and a half, but it will banish ignorance. he would pay the costs of compulsory education. pensions are to be granted not of grace but of right, as an aid to the infirm after fifty years, and a subsidy to the aged after sixty. maternity benefit is anticipated in a donation of twenty shillings to every poor mother at the birth of a child. casual labour is to be cared for in some sort of workhouse-factories in london. these reforms are to be financed partly by economies and partly by a graduated income-tax, for which paine presents an elaborate schedule. when the poor are happy and the jails empty, then at last may a nation boast of its constitution. in this pregnant chapter paine not only sketched the work of the future; he exploded his own premises. the odium that still clings to paine's theological writings comes mainly from those who have not read them. when mr. roosevelt the other day called him "a dirty little atheist," he exposed nothing but his own ignorance. paine was a deist, and he wrote _the age of reason_ on the threshold of a french prison, primarily to counteract the atheism which he thought he saw at work among the jacobins--an odd diagnosis, for robespierre was at least as ardent in his deism as paine himself. he believed in a god, whose bounty he saw in nature; he taught the doctrine of conditional immortality, and his quarrel with revealed religion was chiefly that it set up for worship a god of cruelty and injustice. from the stories of the jewish massacres ordained by divine command, down to the orthodox doctrine of the scheme of redemption, he saw nothing but a history derogatory to the wisdom and goodness of the almighty. to believe the old testament we must unbelieve our faith in the moral justice of god. it might "hurt the stubbornness of a priest" to destroy this fiction, but it would tranquilise the consciences of millions. from this starting-point he proceeds in the later second and third parts to a detailed criticism designed to show that the books of the bible were not written by their reputed authors, that the miracles are incredible, that the passages claimed as prophecy have been wrested from their contexts, and that many inconsistencies are to be found in the narrative portions of the gospels. acute and fearless though it is, this detailed argument has only an historical interest to-day. when the violence of his persecutors had goaded paine into anger, he lost all sense of tact in controversy, and lapsed occasionally into harsh vulgarities. but the anger was just, and the zeal for mental honesty has had its reward. paine had no sense for the mystery and poetry of traditional religion. but what he attacked was not presented to him as poetry. he was assailing a dogmatic orthodoxy which had itself converted poetry into literal fact. as literal fact it was incredible; and paine, taking it all at the valuation of its own professors, assailed it with a disbelief as prosaic as their belief, but intellectually more honest. his interpretation of the bible is unscientific, if you will, but it is nearer to the truth of history than the conventional belief of his day. if his polemics seem rough and superfluous to us, it is only because his direct frontal attacks forced on the work of biblical criticism, and long ago compelled the abandonment of most of the positions which he assailed. in spite of its grave faults of taste and temper and manner, _the age of reason_ performed an indispensable service to honesty and morals. it was the bravest thing he did, for it threatened his name with an immortality of libel. his place in history is secure at last. the neglected pioneer of one revolution, the honoured victim of another, brave to the point of folly, and as humane as he was brave, no man in his generation preached republican virtue in better english, nor lived it with a finer disregard of self. chapter iii william godwin and the revolution tom paine is still reviled and still admired. the name of mary wollstonecraft is honoured by the growing army of free women. both may be read in cheap editions. william godwin, a more powerful intellect, and in his day a greater influence than either, is now forgotten, or remembered only because he was the father of shelley's wife. yet he blazed in the last decade of the eighteenth century, as hazlitt has told us, "as a sun in the firmament of reputation." "no one was more talked of, more looked up to, more sought after, and wherever liberty, truth, justice was the theme, his name was not far off.... no work in our time gave such a blow to the philosophical mind of the country as the celebrated _enquiry concerning political justice_. tom paine was considered for the time as a tom fool to him; paley an old woman; edmund burke a flashy sophist." william godwin came into the world in , at wisbech, in the fen country, with the moral atmosphere of a dissenting home for inheritance. his father and grandfather were independent ministers, who taught the metaphysical dissent of the extreme calvinistic tradition. the quaint ill-spelled letters of his mother reveal a strong character, a meagre education and rigid beliefs. william was unwholesomely precocious as a boy, pious, studious and greedy for distinction and praise. he was brought up on the _account of the pious deaths of many godly children_, and would move his school-fellows to tears by his early sermons on the last judgment. at seventeen we find him, destined for the hereditary profession, a student in the theological college at hoxton. his mental development was by no means headlong, but he was a laborious reader and an eager disputant, endowed with all the virtues save modesty. he emerged from college as he had entered it, a tory in politics and a sandemanian in religion. the sandemanians were super-calvinists, and their tenets may be summarily defined. a calvinist held that of ten souls nine will be damned. a sandemanian hoped that of ten calvinists one may with difficulty be saved. in the calvinist mould godwin's mind was formed, and if the doctrine was soon discarded, the habit of thought characteristic of calvinism remained with him to the end. it is a french and not a british creed, latin in its systematic completeness, latin in the logical courage with which it pursues its assumptions to their last conclusion, latin in its faith in deductive reasoning and its disdain alike of experience and of sentiment. had godwin been bred a methodist or a churchman, he could not have written _political justice_. to him in these early years religion presented itself as a supernatural despotism based on terror and coercion. its central doctrine was eternal punishment, and when in mature life, godwin became a free-thinker, his revolt was not so much the readjustment of a speculative thinker who has reconsidered untenable dogmas, as the rebellion of a humane and liberal mind against a system of terrorism. to some agnostics god is an unnecessary hypothesis. to godwin he was rather a tyrant to be deposed. it was a view which shelley with less provocation adopted with even greater heat. godwin's firm dogmatic creed began to crumble away during his early experiences as a dissenting minister in country towns. he published a forgotten volume of sermons, and his development both in politics and theology was evidently slow. at twenty-seven, as a young pastor at beaconsfield, we find him a whig and a unitarian, who looked up to dr. priestley as his master. he had now begun to study the french philosophers, whom hoxton had doubtless refuted, but did not read. he was not a successful pastor, and it was as much his relative failure in the pulpit as his slowly broadening beliefs which caused him to take to letters for a livelihood. his long literary career begins in with some years of prentice work in grub street. he wrote a successful pamphlet in defence of the coalition, which brought him to the notice of the whig chiefs, worked with enthusiasm at a _life of chatham_ which has the merit of a rather heavy eloquence, contributed for seven years to the _annual register_ and wrote three novels which evidently enjoyed an ephemeral success. he lived the usual nomadic life of the young man of letters, and differed from most of his kind chiefly by his industry, his abstinence, and his methodical habits of study, which he never relaxed even when he was writing busily for bread. we find him rising early, and reading some portion of a greek or latin classic before breakfast. he acquired by this practice a literary knowledge of the classics and used it in his later essays with an ease and intimacy which many a scholar would envy. he wrote for three or four hours in the morning, composing slowly and frequently recasting his drafts. the afternoon and evening were devoted to eager converse and hot debate with friends, and to the reading of modern books in english, french and italian, with not infrequent visits to the theatre. a brief diary carefully kept with a system of signs and abbreviations in a queer mixed jargon of english, french and latin records his anxious use of his time, and shows to the end of his eighty years few wasted days. if industry was his most conspicuous virtue, he gave proof at the outset of his life of an independence rare among poor men who have their career to make. sheridan, who acted as the literary agent of the whigs, wished to engage him as a professional pamphleteer and offered him a regular salary. he refused to tie himself to a party, though his views at this time were those of an orthodox and enthusiastic admirer of fox. godwin was to become the apostle of universal benevolence. it was a virtue for which in later life he gave many an opportunity to his richer friends, but if he stimulated it in others he never refused to practise it himself. while he was still a struggling and underpaid journeyman author, wandering from one cheap lodging to another, he burdened himself with the care and maintenance of a distant relative, an orphaned second-cousin, named thomas cooper. cooper came to him at the age of twelve and remained with him till he became an actor at seventeen. godwin had read rousseau's _emile_, not seldom with dissent, and all through his life was deeply interested in the problems of education. they furnished him with the themes of some of the best essays in his _enquirer_ and his _thoughts on man_, and young cooper was evidently the subject on whom he experimented. he was a difficult, proud, high-spirited lad, and the process of tuition was clearly not as smooth as it was conscientious. godwin's leading thought was that the utmost reverence is due to boys. he cared little how much he imparted of scholastic knowledge. he aimed at arousing the intellectual curiosity of his charge and fostering independence and self-respect. sincerity and plain-speaking were to govern the relation of tutor and pupil. corporal punishment was of course a prohibited barbarity, but it must be admitted that in godwin's case a violent tongue and an impatient temper more than supplied its place. the diary shows how pathetically the tutor exhorted himself to avoid sternness, "which can only embitter the temper," and not to impute dulness, stupidity or intentional error. some letters show how he failed. cooper complains that godwin had called him "a foolish wretch," "a viper" and a "tiger." godwin replies by complimenting him on his "sensibility," and his "independence," asks for his "confidence" in return, and assures him that he does not expect "gratitude" (a virtue banned in the godwinian ethics). this essay in education can have been only relatively successful, for cooper seems to have felt a quite commonplace gratitude to godwin, and for many a year afterwards sent him vivacious letters, which testify to the real friendship which united them. imperious and hot-tempered though he was, godwin made friends and kept them. thomas holcroft came into godwin's life in . thanks to hazlitt's spirited memoir, based as it was on ample autobiographical notes, no personality of this group stands before us so clearly limned, and there is none more attractive. mrs. shelley describes him as a "man of stern and irascible character," but he was also lovable and affectionate. there was in his mind and will some powerful initial force of resolve and mental independence. he thought for himself, and yet he could assimilate the ideas of other men. he was a reasoner and a doctrinaire; and yet he must have had in himself those untamed volcanic emotions which we associate with the heroes of the romantic novels of the age. he believed in the almost unlimited powers of the human mind, and his own career, which saw his rise from stable-boy and cobbler to dramatist, was itself a monument to the human will. looking in their mirrors, the progressives of that generation were tempted to think that perfection might have been within their reach had not their youth been stunted by the influence of calvin and the british constitution. rectitude, courage and unflinching truth were holcroft's ideal. he firmly believed (an idea which lay in germ in condorcet and was for a time adopted by godwin) that the will guided by reason might transform not only the human mind but the human body. like the christian scientists of to-day he asserted, as mrs. shelley tells us, that "death and disease existed only through the feebleness of man's mind, that pain also had no reality." he was a man of fifty when he met godwin at thirty, and he had packed into his half century a more various experience of men and things than the studious and sedentary godwin could have acquired if he had lived the life of the wandering jew. theirs was a friendship of mutual stimulation and intimate exchange which is commoner between a man and a woman than between two men. they met almost daily, and in spite of some violent lovers' quarrels, their affection lasted till holcroft's death in . it is not hard to understand their quarrels. neither of them had natural tact, and godwin's sensibility was morbid. unflinching truthfulness, even in literary criticism, must have tried their tempers, and the single word "démêlé," best translated "row," occurs often in godwin's diary as his note on one of their meetings. it is not easy to decide which influenced the other more. godwin's was the trained, systematic, academical mind, but holcroft added to a rich and curious experience of life and a vein of native originality, wide reading and something more than a mere amateur's taste for music and art. it was holcroft who drove godwin out of his compromising unitarianism into a view which for some years he boldly described as atheism. his religious opinions were afterwards modified (or so he supposed) by s. t. coleridge; but that influence is not conspicuous in his posthumous essay on religion, and the best label for his attitude is perhaps huxley's word, "agnostic." as the french revolution approached, the two friends fell under the prevailing excitement. godwin attended the revolution society's dinners, and holcroft was, as we have seen, a leading member of the corresponding society. there is no difficulty in accounting for most of the opinions which the two friends held in common, and which godwin was soon to embody in _political justice_. some were common to all the group; others lie in germ at least in the writings of the encyclopædists. even communism was anticipated by mably, and was held in some tentative form by many of the leading men of the revolution. (see kropotkin: _the great french revolution_.) the puzzle is rather to account for the anarchist tendency which seems to be wholly original in godwin. it was a revolt not merely against all coercive action by the state, but also against collective action by the citizens. the root of it was probably the extreme individualism which felt that a man surrendered too much of himself, too much of truth and manhood in any political association. the beginnings of this line of thought may be detected in a vivid contemptuous account of the riotous westminster election of , in which holcroft had worked with the foxites: "scandal, pitiful, mean, mutual scandal, never was more plentifully dispersed. electioneering is a trade so despicably degrading, so eternally incompatible with moral and mental dignity that i can scarcely believe a truly great mind capable of the dirty drudgery of such vice. i am at least certain no mind is great while thus employed. it is the periodical reign of the evil nature or demon." this, to be sure, is no more than a hint of a tendency, but it shows that experience was already fermenting in the brain of one member at least of the pair, and it took these alchemists no great while to distil from it their theoretic spirit. the doings of the corresponding society were destined to enlarge and confirm this experience. in the hopes, the indignations, and the perils of the years of revolutionary excitement godwin had his intimate share. he was one of a small committee which undertook the publication of paine's _rights of man_, and when the repression began, those who were struck down were his associates and in some cases his intimates. holcroft, as we have seen, was tried for high treason, and joseph gerrald, who was sent to botany bay, was a friend for whom he felt both admiration and affection. if the fate of these men was a haunting pain to their friends, their high courage and idealistic faith was a noble stimulus. "human perfectibility" had its martyrs, and the words of gerrald as he stood in the dock awaiting the sentence that was to send him to his death among thieves and forgers, deserve a respectful record: "moral light is as irresistible by the mind as physical by the eye. all attempts to impede its progress are vain. it will roll rapidly along, and as well may tyrants imagine that by placing their feet upon the earth they can stop its diurnal motion, as that they shall be able by efforts the most virulent and pertinacious to extinguish the light of reason and philosophy, which happily for mankind is everywhere spreading around us." it was in this atmosphere of enthusiasm and devotion that _political justice_ was written. the main work of godwin's life was begun in july, . he was fortunate in securing a contract from the publisher robinson, on generous terms which ultimately brought him in one thousand guineas. _political justice_ has been generally classed among the answers to burke, but godwin's aim was in fact something more ambitious. a note in his diary deserves to be quoted: "my original conception proceeded on a feeling of the imperfections and errors of montesquieu, and a desire of supplying a less faulty work. in the just fervour of my enthusiasm i entertained the vain imagination of "hewing a stone from the rock," which by its inherent energy and weight, should overbear and annihilate all opposition and place the principles of politics on an immoveable basis." when he came to answer his critics, he apologised for extravagances on the plea of haste and excitement; but in fact the work was slowly and deliberately written, and was not completed until january, . its doctrines, since the book is not now readily accessible, will be summarised fully and in godwin's own phraseology in the next chapter, but it seems proper to draw attention here to the cool yet unprovocative courage of its writer. it is filled with "hanging matters." pitt was, perhaps, no more disposed to punish a man for expounding the fundamental principles of philosophic anarchism than was the russian autocracy in our own day when it tolerated tolstoy. it was not for writing _utopia_ that sir thomas more lost his head. but the book is quite unflinching in its application of principle, and its attacks on monarchy are as uncompromising as those for which paine was outlawed. the preface calmly discusses the possibility of prosecution, issues what is in effect a quiet challenge, and concludes with the consolation that "it is the property of truth to be fearless and to prove victorious over every adversary." the fact was that godwin watched the dangers of his friends "almost with envy" (letter to gerrald). but he held that a man who deliberately provokes martyrdom acts immorally, since he confuses the progress of reason by exciting destructive passions, and drives his adversaries into evil courses. "for myself," he wrote, "i will never adopt any conduct for the express purpose of being put upon my trial, but if i be ever so put, i will consider that day as a day of triumph." godwin escaped punishment for his activity on behalf of holcroft and the twelve reformers, because his activity was successful. he escaped prosecution for _political justice_ because it was a learned book, addressed to educated readers, and issued at the astonishing price of three guineas. the propriety of prosecuting him was considered by the privy council; and pitt is said to have dismissed the suggestion with the remark that "a three guinea book could never do much harm among those who had not three shillings to spare." that this three-guinea book was bought and read to the extent of no less than four thousand copies is a tribute not merely to its vitality, but to the eagerness of the middle-classes during the revolutionary ferment to drink in the last words of the new philosophy. a new edition was soon called for, and was issued early in . much of the book was recast and many chapters entirely rewritten, as the consequence not so much of any material change in godwin's views, as of the profit he had derived from private controversies. condorcet (though he is never mentioned) is, if one may make a guess, the chief of the new influences apparent in the second edition. it is more cautious, more visibly the product of a varied experience than the first draft, but it abandons none of his leading ideas. a third edition appeared in , toned down still further by a growing caution. these revisions undoubtedly made the book less interesting, less vivid, less readable. no modern edition has ever appeared, and its direct influence had become negligible even before godwin's death. it is harder to account for the oblivion into which the book has fallen, than to explain its early popularity. it is not a difficult book to read. "the young and the fair," godwin tells us, "did not feel deterred from consulting my pages." his style is always clear and often eloquent. his vocabulary seems to a modern taste overloaded with latin words, but the architecture of his sentences is skilful in the classical manner. he can vary his elaborate periods with a terse, strong statement which comes with the force of an unexpected blow. he has a knack of happy illustration, and a way of enforcing his points by putting problems in casuistry which have an alluring human interest. the book moved his own generation profoundly, and even to-day his more enthusiastic passages convey an irresistible impression of sincerity and conviction. chapter iv "political justice" the controversy which produced _political justice_ was a dialogue between the future and the past. the task of speculation in england had been, through a stagnant century, to define the conditions of political stability, and to admire the elaborate checks and balances of the british constitution as though change were the only evil that threatened mankind. for burke, change itself was but an incident in the triumph of continuity and conservation. for godwin the whole life of mankind is a race through innovation to perfection, and his main concern is to exhort the athlete to fling aside the garments of prejudice, tradition, and constraint, until one asks at the end how much of flesh and blood has been torn away with the garments. if one were to attempt in a phrase to sum up his work, the best title which one could invent for it would be prolegomena to all future progress. what in a word are the conditions of progress? his attitude to mankind is by turns a pedagogue's disapprobation and a patron's encouragement. the worst enemy of progress was the systematic optimism of leibnitz and pope, which voltaire had overthrown. there is indeed enough of progress in the past to fire our courage and our hopes. in moments of depression, he would admire the beautiful invention of writing and the power of mind displayed in human speech. but the general panorama of history exhorts us to fundamental change. in bold sweeping rhetoric he assures us that history is little else than the record of crime. war has diminished neither its horror nor its frequency, and man is still the most formidable enemy to man. despotism is still the fate of the greatest part of mankind. penal laws by the terror of punishment hold a numerous class in abject penury. robbery and fraud are none the less continual, and the poor are tempted for ever to violence against the more fortunate. one person in seven comes in england on the poor rates. can the poor conceive of society as a combination to protect every man in his rights and secure him the means of existence? is it not rather for them a conspiracy to engross its advantages for the favoured few? luxury insults them; admiration is the exclusive property of the rich, and contempt the constant lacquey of poverty. nowhere is a man valued for what he is. legislation aggravates the natural inequality of man. a house of landlords sets to work to deprive the poor of the little commonage of nature which remained to them, and its bias stands revealed when we recollect that in england (as paine had pointed out) while taxes on land produce half a million less than they did a century ago, taxes on articles of general consumption produce thirteen millions more. robbery is a capital offence because the poor alone are tempted to it. among the poor alone is all combination forbidden. godwin was often an incautious rhetorician. he painted the present in colours of such unrelieved gloom, that it is hard to see in it the possibility of a brighter future. mankind seems hopeless, and he has to prove it perfectible. are these evils then the necessary condition of society? godwin answers that question as the french school, and in particular helvétius, had done, by a preliminary assault on the assumptions of a reactionary philosophy. he proposes to exhort the human will to embark with a conscious and social resolve on the adventure of perfection. he must first demonstrate that the will is sovereign. man is the creature of necessity, and the nexus of cause and effect governs the moral world like the physical. we are the product of our conditions. but among conditions some are within the power of the will to change and others are not. montesquieu had insisted that it is climate which ultimately differentiates the races of mankind. climate is clearly a despotism which we can never hope to reform away. another school has taught that men come into the world with innate ideas and a predetermined character. others again would dispute that man is in his actions a reasonable being, and would represent him as the toy of passion, a creature to whom it is useless to present an argument drawn from his own advantage. the first task of the progressive philosopher is to clear away these preliminary obstacles. man is the creature of conditions, but primarily of those conditions which he may hope to modify--education, religion, social prejudice and above all government. he is also in the last resort a being whose conduct is governed by his opinions. admit these premises and the way is clear towards perfection. it is a problem which in some form and in some dialect confronts every generation of reformers. we are the creatures of our own environment, but in some degree we are ourselves a force which can modify that environment. we inherit a past which weighs upon us and obsesses us, but in some degree each generation is born anew. godwin used the new psychology against the old superstition of innate ideas. a modern thinker in his place would advance weissmann's biological theory that the acquired modifications of an organism are not inherited, as an answer to the pessimism which bases itself upon heredity. godwin starts boldly with the thesis that "the characters of men originate in their external circumstances." he brushes aside innate ideas or instincts or even ante-natal impressions. accidents in the womb may have a certain effect, and every man has a certain disposition at birth. but the multiplicity of later experiences wears out these early impressions. godwin, in all this, reproduces the current fallacy of his generation. impressions and experiences were for them something external, flung upon the surface of the mind. they were just beginning to realise that the mind works when it perceives. change a nobleman's child at birth with a ploughman's, and each will grow up quite naturally in his new circumstances. exercise makes the muscles; education, argument, and the exchange of opinion the mind. "it is impression that makes the man, and compared with the empire of impression, the mere differences of animal structure are inexpressibly unimportant and powerless." change continues through life; everything mental and physical is in flux; why suppose that only in the propensities of the new-born infant is there something permanent and inflexible? helvétius had been godwin's chief precursor in this opinion. he had gone so far as to declare that men are at birth equal, some raw human stuff which "education," in the broad sense of the word, proceeds to modify in the long schooling from the cradle to the grave. men differ in genius, he would assert, by education and experience, not by natural organisation. the original acuteness of the senses has little to do with the development of talent. the new psychology had swept "faculties" away. interest is the main factor in the development of perception and attention. the scarcity of attention is the true cause of the scarcity of genius, and the chief means of promoting it are emulation and the love of glory. godwin is too cautious to accept this ultra-revolutionary statement of the potential equality of men without some reserves. but the idea inspires him as it inspired all the vital thought of his day. it set humane physicians at the height of the terror to work on discovering a method by which even defective and idiot children might be raised by "education" to the normal stature of the human mind. it fired godwin himself with a zeal for education. "folly," said helvétius, "is factitious." "nature," said godwin, "never made a dunce." the failures of education are due primarily to the teacher's error in substituting compulsion for persuasion and despotism for encouragement. the excellences and defects of the human character are not due to occult causes beyond the reach of ingenuity to modify or correct, nor are false views the offspring of an irresistible destiny. our conventional schools are the slaughterhouses of mind; but of all the external influences which build up character and opinion, the chief are political. it is godwin's favourite theme, and he carries it even further than holbach and helvétius had done. from this influence there is no escape, for it infects the teacher no less than the taught. equality will make men frank, ingenuous and intrepid, but a great disparity of ranks renders men cold, irresolute, timid and cautious. however lofty the morality of the teacher, the mind of the child is continually corrupted by seeing, in the society around him, wealth honoured, poverty contemned, intrepid virtue proscribed and servility encouraged. from the influence of social and political institutions there is no escape: "they poison our minds before we can resist or so much as suspect their malignity. like the barbarous directors of eastern seraglios they deprive us of our virility, and fit us for their despicable employment from the cradle. so false is the opinion that has too generally prevailed that politics is an affair with which ordinary men have little concern." here godwin is introducing into english thinking an idea originally french. english writers from locke to paine had spoken of government as something purely negative, so little important that only when a man saw his property threatened or his shores invaded, was he forced to recollect that he had a country. godwin saw its influence everywhere, insinuating itself into our personal dispositions and insensibly communicating its spirit to our private transactions. the idea in his hands made for hope. reform, or better still, abolish governments, and to what heights of virtue might not men aspire? we need not say with rousseau that men are naturally virtuous. the child, as helvétius delighted to point out, will do that for a coral or a doll which he will do at a mature age for a title or a sceptre. men are rather the infinitely malleable, variable stuff on which education and persuasion can play. the first essential dogma of perfectibility, the first presupposition of progress is, then, that men's characters depend on external circumstances. the second dogma, the second condition of hope is that the voluntary actions of men originate in their opinions. it is an orthodox socratic position, but godwin was not a student of plato. he laid down this dogma as the necessary basis of any reform by persuasion. there is much virtue in the word "voluntary." in so far as actions are voluntary, the doctrine is self-evident. a voluntary action is accompanied by foresight, and the idea of certain consequences is its motive. a judgment "this is good" or "this is desirable," has preceded the action, and it originates therefore in an opinion however fugitive. in moments of passion my attention is so engrossed by a particular view of the subject that i forget considerations by which i am commonly guided. even in battles between reason and sense, he holds, the contending forces assume a rational form. it is opinion contending with opinion and judgment with judgment. at this point the modern reader will become sceptical. these internal struggles assume a rational form only when self-consciousness reviews them--that is to say when they are over. in point of fact, godwin argues, sheer sensuality has a smaller empire over us than we commonly suppose. strip the feast of its social pleasures, and the commerce of the sexes of all its intellectual and emotional allurements, and who would be overcome? one need not follow godwin minutely in his handling of what is after all a commonplace of academic philosophy. he was concerned to insist that men's voluntary actions originate in opinion, that he might secure a fulcrum for the leverage of argument and persuasion. vice is error, and error can always be corrected. "show me in the clearest and most unambiguous manner that a certain mode of proceeding is most reasonable in itself, or most conducive to my interest, and i shall infallibly pursue that mode, so long as the views you suggested to me continue present to my mind." the practical problem is therefore to make ourselves and our fellows perfectly conscious of our motives, and always prepared to render a reason for our actions. the perfection of human character is to approach as nearly as possible to the absolutely voluntary state, to act always, in other words, from a clear and comprehensive survey of the consequences which we desire to produce. the incautious reader may be invited to pause at this point, for in this premise lies already the whole of philosophic anarchism. you have admitted that voluntary action is rational. you have conceded that all action _ought_ to be voluntary. the silent assumption is that by education and effort it _can_ be made so. one may doubt whether in the sense required by godwin's argument any human action ever is or can be absolutely "voluntary," rational or self-conscious. to attain it, we should have to reason naked in a desert with algebraic symbols. to use words is to think in step, and to beg our question. but godwin is well aware that most men rarely reason. he is here framing an ideal, without realising its remoteness. the mischief of his faith in logic as a force, was that it led him to ignore the æsthetic and emotional influences, by which the mass of men can best be led to a virtuous ideal. shelley, who was a thorough platonist, supplements, as we shall see (p. ), this characteristic defect in his master's teaching. the main conclusions follow rapidly. sound reasoning and truth when adequately communicated must always be victorious over error. truth, then, is omnipotent, and the vices and moral weaknesses of man are not invincible. man, in short, is perfectible, or in other words, susceptible of perpetual improvement. these sentiments have to the modern ear a platitudinous ring. so far from being platitudes, they are explosives capable of destroying the whole fabric of government. for if truth is omnipotent, why trust to laws? if men will obey argument, why use constraint? but let us move slowly towards this extreme conclusion. if reason appears to-day to play but a feeble part in society, and exerts only a limited empire over the actions of men, it is because unlettered ignorance, social habits and the positive institutions of government stand in the way. where the masses of mankind are sunk in brutal ignorance, one need not wonder that argument and persuasion have but a small influence with them. truth indeed is rarely recondite or difficult to communicate. godwin might have quoted helvétius: "it is with genius as with an astronomer; he sees a new star and forthwith all can see it." nor need we fear the objection that by introducing an intellectual element into virtue, we have removed it beyond the reach of simple men. a virtuous action, indeed, must be good both in intention and in tendency. godwin was like helvétius and priestley, a utilitarian in ethics, and defined duty as that mode of action on the part of the individual which constitutes the best possible application of his capacity to the general benefit, in every situation that presents itself. one may be mistaken as to what will contribute to the general benefit, as sir everard digby was, for example, when he thought it his duty to blow up king james and the parliament. but the simple man need be at no loss. an earnest desire will in some degree generate capacity. there godwin opened a profoundly interesting and stimulating line of thought. the mind is formed not by its innate powers, but by its governing desires. as love brings eloquence to the suitor, so if i do but ardently desire to serve my kind, i shall find out a way, and while i study a plan shall find that my faculties have been exercised and increased. moreover, in the struggle after virtue i am not alone. burke made the first of the virtues prudence. godwin would have given sincerity that place. to him and his circle the chief business of social converse was by argument and exhortation to strengthen the habit of virtue. there was something to be said for the practice of auricular confession; but how much better would it be if every man were to make the world his confessional and the human species the keeper of his conscience. the practice of sincerity would give to our conversation a roman boldness and fervour. the frank distribution of praise and blame is the most potent incentive to virtue. were we but bold and impartial in our judgments, vice would be universally deserted and virtue everywhere practised. our cowardice in censure and correction is the chief reason of the perpetuation of abuses. if every man would tell all the truth he knew, it is impossible to predict how short would be the reign of usurpation and folly. let our motive be philanthropy, and we need not fear ruggedness or brutality, disdain or superiority, since we aim at the interest of him we correct, and not at the triumph of the corrector. in an aside godwin demands the abolition of social conventions which offend sincerity. if i must deny myself to a visitor, i should scorn the polite lie that i am "not at home." it is a consequence also of this doctrine, that there should be no prosecutions for libel, even in private matters. truth depends on the free shock of opinions, and the unrestrained discussion of private character is almost as important as freedom in speculative enquiry. "if the truth were universally told of men's dispositions and actions, gibbets and wheels might be dismissed from the face of the earth. the knave unmasked would be obliged to turn honest in his own defence. nay, no man would have time to turn a knave. truth would follow him in his first irresolute essays, and public disapprobation arrest him in the commencement of his career." it is shameful for a good man to retort on a slander, "i will have recourse to the only means that are congenial to guilt: i will compel you to be silent." freedom in this matter, as in all others, will engender activity and fortitude; positive institution (godwin's term for law and constraint) makes the mind torpid and lethargic. it is hardly necessary to reproduce godwin's vigorous arguments for unfettered freedom in political and speculative discussion, against censorships and prosecutions for religious and political opinions. even were we secure from the possibility of mistake, mischief and not good would accrue from the attempt to impose our infallible opinions upon our neighbours. men deserve approbation only in so far as they are independent in their opinions and free in their actions. equally clear is it that the establishment of religion and all systems of tests must be abolished. they make for hypocrisy, check advance in speculation, and teach us to estimate a disinterested sincerity at a cheap rate. we need not fear disorder as a consequence of complete liberty of speech. "arguments alone will not have the power, unassisted by the sense or the recollection of oppression or treachery to hurry the people into excesses. excesses are never the offspring of speculative reason, are never the offspring of misrepresentation only, but of power endeavouring to stifle reason, and to traverse the commonsense of mankind." a more original deduction from godwin's demand for the unlimited freedom of opinion, was that he objected vehemently to any system of national education. condorcet had drawn up a marvellously complete project for universal compulsory education, with full liberty indeed for the teachers, whose technical competence alone the state would guarantee, and with a scheme of free scholarships, an educational "ladder" more generous than anything which has yet been realised in fact. godwin objects that state-regulated institutions will stereotype knowledge and make for an undesirable permanence and uniformity in opinion. they diffuse what is known and forget what remains to be known. they erect a system of authority and separate a tenet from the evidence on which it rests, so that beliefs cease to be perceptions and become prejudices. no government is to be trusted with the dangerous power to create and regulate opinions through its schools. such a power is, indeed, more dangerous than that of an established church, and would be used to strengthen tyranny and perpetuate faulty institutions. godwin, needless to say, takes, as did condorcet, the side of frankness in the controversy which was a test of democratic faith in this generation--whether "political imposture" is allowable, and whether a statesman should encourage the diffusion of "salutary prejudices" among the unlearned, the poor and women. this was indeed the main eighteenth century defence for monarchy and aristocracy. kings and governors are not wiser than other men, but it is useful that they should be thought so. such imposture, godwin argued, is as futile as the parallel use by religion of the pains and penalties of the afterworld. it is the sober who are demoralised by it, and not the lawless who are deterred. to terrify men is a strange way of rendering them judicious, fearless and happy. it is to leave men indolent and unbraced by truth. he objects even to the trappings and ceremonies which are used to render magistrates outwardly venerable and awe-inspiring, so that they may impress the irrational imagination. these means may be used as easily to support injustice as to render justice acceptable. they divide men into two classes; those who may reason, and those who must take everything on trust. this is to degrade them both. the masses are kept in perpetual vibration between rebellious discontent and infatuated credulity. and can we suppose that the practice of concealment and hypocrisy will make no breaches in the character of the governing class? the general effect of any meddling of authority with opinion is that the mind is robbed of its genuine employment. such a system produces beings wanting in independence, and in that intrepid perseverance and calm self-approbation which grow from independence. such beings are the mere dwarfs and mockeries of men. godwin was at issue here as much with rousseau as with burke, but his trust in the people, it should be explained, was based rather on faith in what they might become, than on admiration for what they were. that all government is an evil, though doubtless a necessary evil, was the typical opinion of the individualistic eighteenth century. it would not long have survived such proposals as paine's scheme of old age pensions and condorcet's project of national education. when men have perceived that an evil can be turned to good account, they are already on the road which will lead them to discard their premises. but godwin was quite unaffected by this new liberalism. no positive good was to be hoped from government, and much positive evil would flow from it at the best. in his absolute individualism he went further. the whole idea of government was radically wrong. for him the individual was tightly enclosed in his own skin, and any constraint was an infringement of his personality. he would have poured scorn on the half-mystical conception of a social organism. nor did it occur to him that a man might voluntarily subject himself to government, losing none of his own autonomy in the act, from a persuasion that government is on the whole a benefit, and that submission, even when his own views are thwarted, is a free man's duty within certain limits, accepted gladly for the sake of preserving an institution which commonly works well. he did not see the institution working well; he did not believe in the benefits; he was convinced that more than all the advantages of the best of governments could be obtained from the free operation of opinion in an unorganised community. his main point is lucidly simple. it was an application of the whig and protestant doctrine of the right of private judgment. "if in any instance i am made the mechanical instrument of absolute violence, in that instance i fall under a pure state of external slavery." nor is the case much better, if instead of waiting for the actual application of coercion, i act in obedience to authority from the hope and fear of the state's rewards and punishments. for virtue has ceased, and i am acting from self-interest. it is a triviality to distinguish, as whig thinkers do, between matters of conscience (in which the state should not meddle) and my conduct in the civil concerns of daily life (which the state should regulate). what sort of moralist can he be, who makes no conscience of what he does in his daily intercourse with other men? "i have deeply reflected upon the nature of virtue, and am convinced that a certain proceeding is incumbent on me. but the hangman supported by an act of parliament assures me that i am mistaken. if i yield my opinion to his dictum, my action becomes modified, and my character also.... countries exposed to the perpetual interference of decrees instead of arguments, exhibit within their boundaries the mere phantoms of men." the root of the whole matter is that brute force is an offence against reason, and an unnecessary offence, if in fact men are guided by opinion and will yield to argument. "the case of punishment is the case of you and me differing in opinion, and your telling me that you must be right since you have a more brawny arm." if i must obey, it is better and less demoralising to yield an external submission so as to escape penalty or constraint, than to yield to authority from a general confidence which enslaves the mind. comply but criticise. obey but beware of reverence. if i surrender my conscience to another man's keeping, i annihilate my individuality as a man, and become the ready tool of him among my neighbours who shall excel in imposture and artifice. i put an end moreover to the happy collision of understandings upon which the hopes of human improvement depend. governments depend upon the unlimited confidence of their subjects, and confidence rests upon ignorance. government (has not burke said so?) is the perpetual enemy of change, and prompts us to seek the public welfare not in alteration and improvement, but in a timid reverence for the decisions of our ancestors, as if it were the nature of the human mind always to degenerate and never to advance. godwin thought with john bright, "we stand on the shoulders of our forefathers--and see further." in proportion as weakness and ignorance shall diminish, the basis of government will also decay. that will be its true euthanasia. there is indeed nothing to be said for government save that for a time, and within jealously drawn limits, it may be a fatal and indispensable necessity. a just government cannot be founded on force: for force has no affinity with justice. it cannot be based upon the will of god; we have no revelation that recommends one form of government rather than another. as little can it be based upon contract. who were the parties to the pretended social contract? for whom did they consent, for themselves or for their descendants, and to how great a variety of propositions? have i assented or my ancestors for me, to the laws of england in fifty volumes folio, and to all that shall hereafter be added to them? in a few contemptuous pages godwin buries the social contract. men when they digest the articles of a contract are not empowered to create rights, but only to declare what was previously right. but the doctrine of the natural rights of man fares no better at his hands. there is no such thing as a positive right to do as we list. one way of acting in every emergency is reasonable, and the other is not. one way will benefit mankind, and the other will not. it is a pestilent doctrine and a denial of all virtue, to say that we have a right to do what we will with our own. everything we possess has a destination prescribed to it by the immutable voice of reason and justice. duties and rights are correlative. as it cannot be the duty of men or societies to do anything to the detriment of human happiness, so it appears with equal evidence that they cannot have the right to do so. there cannot be a more absurd proposition than that which affirms the right of doing wrong. the voice of the people is not the voice of god, nor does universal consent or a majority vote convert wrong into right. it is absurd to say that any set of people has a right to set up any form of government it chooses, or any sect to establish any superstition however detestable. all this would have delighted burke, but godwin stands firmly in his path by asserting what he calls the one negative right of man. it is in a word, the right to exercise virtue, the right to a region of choice, a sphere of discretion, which his neighbours must not infringe save by censure and remonstrance. when i am constrained, i cease to be a person, and become a thing. "i ought to exercise my talents for the benefit of others, but the exercise must be the fruit of my own conviction; no man must attempt to press me into the service." government is an evil, and the business of human advancement is to dispense with it as rapidly as may be. in the period of transition godwin had but a secondary interest, and his sketch of it is slight. he dismisses in turn despotism, aristocracy, the "mixed monarchy" of the whigs, and the president with kingly powers of some american thinkers. his pages on these subjects are vigorous, well-reasoned, and pointed in their satire. it required much courage to write them, but they do not contain his original contribution to political theory. what is most characteristic in his line of argument is his insistence on the moral corruption that monarchy and aristocracy involve. the whole standard of moral values is subverted. to achieve ostentation becomes the first object of desire. disinterested virtue is first suspected and then viewed with incredulity. luxury meanwhile distorts our whole attitude to our fellows, and in every effort to excel and shine we wrong the labouring millions. aristocracy involves general degradation, and can survive only amid general ignorance. "to make men serfs and villeins it is indispensably necessary to make them brutes.... a servant who has been taught to write and read, ceases to be any longer a passive machine." from the abolition of monarchy and aristocracy godwin, and indeed the whole revolutionary school, expected the cessation of war. war and conquest elevate the few at the expense of the rest, and cannot benefit the whole community. democracies have no business with war save to repel an invasion of their territory. he thought of patriotism and love of country much as did dr. price. they are (as hervé has argued in our own day) specious illusions invented to render the multitude the blind instruments of crooked designs. we must not be lured into pursuing the general wealth, prosperity or glory of the society to which we belong. society is an abstraction, an "ideal existence," and is not on its own account entitled to the smallest regard. let us not be led away into rendering services to society for which no individual man is the better. godwin is scornful of wars to maintain the balance of power, or to protect our fellow-countrymen abroad. some proportion must be observed between the evil of which we complain and the evil which the proposed remedy inevitably includes. war may be defensible in support of the liberty of an oppressed people, but let us wait (here he is clearly censuring the practice of the french republic) until the oppressed people rises. do not interfere to force it to be free, and do not forget the resources of pacific persuasion. as to foreign possessions there is little to be said. do without them. let colonies attend to their own defence; no state would wish to have colonies if free trade were universal. liberty is equally good for every race of men, and democracy, since it is founded on reason, a universal form of government. there follow some naïve prescriptions for conducting democratic wars. sincerity forbids ambuscades and secresy. never invade, nor assume the offensive. a citizen militia must replace standing armies. training and discipline are of little value; the ardour of a free people will supply their place. godwin's leading idea when he comes to sketch a shadowy constitution is an extreme dislike of overgrown national states. political speculation in his day idealised the city republic of antiquity. helvétius, hoping to get rid as far as possible of government, had advocated a system of federated commonwealths, each so small that public opinion and the fear of shame would act powerfully within it. he would have divided france into thirty republics, each returning four deputies to a federal council. the girondins cherished the same idea, and lost their heads for it. tolstoy, going back to the village community as the only possible scene of a natural and virtuous life, exhibits the same tendency. for godwin the true unit of society is the parish. neighbours best understand each others' concerns, and in a limited area there is no room for ambition to unfold itself. great talents will have their sphere outside this little circle in the work of moulding opinion. within the parish public opinion is supreme, and acts through juries, which may at first be obliged to exert some degree of violence in dealing with offenders:--"but this necessity does not arise out of the nature of man, but out of the institutions by which he has already been corrupted. man is not originally vicious. he would not ... refuse to be convinced by the expostulations that are addressed to him, had he not been accustomed to regard them as hypocritical, and to conceive that while his neighbour, his parent and his political governor pretended to be actuated by a pure regard to his interest or pleasure, they were in reality, at the expense of his, promoting their own.... render the plain dictates of justice level to every capacity ... and the whole species will become reasonable and virtuous. it will then be sufficient for juries to recommend a certain mode of adjusting controversies, without assuming the prerogative of dictating that adjustment. it will then be sufficient for them to invite offenders to forsake their errors.... where the empire of reason was so universally acknowledged, the offender would either readily yield to the expostulations of authority, or if he resisted, though suffering no personal molestation, he would feel so weary under the unequivocal disapprobation and the observant eye of public judgment as willingly to remove to a society more congenial to his errors." the picture is not so utopian as it sounds. it is a very fair sketch of the social structure of a macedonian village community under turkish rule, with the massacres left out. for the rest godwin was reluctantly prepared to admit the wisdom of instituting a single chamber national assembly, to manage the common affairs of the parishes, to arrange their disputes and to provide for national defence. but it should suffice for it to meet for one day annually or thereabouts. like the juries it would at first issue commands, but would in time find it sufficient to publish invitations backed by arguments. godwin, who is quite prepared to idealise his district juries, pours forth an unstinted contempt upon parliaments and their procedure. they make a show of unanimity where none exists. the prospect of a vote destroys the intellectual value of debate; the will of one man really dominates, and the existence of party frustrates persuasion. the whole is based upon "that intolerable insult upon all reason and justice, the deciding upon truth by the casting up of numbers." he omits to tell us whether he would allow his juries to vote. fortunately legislation is unnecessary: "the inhabitants of a small parish living with some degree of that simplicity which best corresponds with the real nature and wants of a human being, would soon be led to suspect that general laws were unnecessary and would adjudge the causes that came before them not according to certain axioms previously written, but according to the circumstances and demand of each particular cause." godwin had a clear mental picture of the gradual decay of authority towards the close of the period of transition; his vision of the earlier stages is less definite. he set his faith on the rapid working of enquiry and persuasion, but he does not explain in detail how, for example, we are to rid ourselves of kings. he once met the prince regent, but it is not recorded that he talked to him of virtue and equality, as the early quakers talked to the man charles stuart. he is chiefly concerned to warn his revolutionary friends against abrupt changes. there must be a general desire for change, a conviction of the understanding among the masses, before any change is wise. when a whole nation, or even an unquestionable majority of a nation, is resolved on change, no government, even with a standing army behind it, can stand against it. every reformer imagines that the country is with him. what folly! even when the majority seems resolved, what is the quality of their resolution? they do, perhaps, sincerely dislike some specific tax. but do they dislike the vice and meanness that grow out of tyranny, and pant for the liberal and ingenuous virtue that would be fostered in their own minds by better conditions? it is a disaster when the unillumined masses are instigated to violent revolution. revolutions are always crude, bloody, uncertain and inimical to tolerance, independence, and intellectual inquiry. they are a detestable persecution when a minority promotes them. if they must occur, at least postpone them as long as possible. external freedom is worthless without the magnanimity, firmness and energy that should attend it. but if a man have these things, there is little left for him to desire. he cannot be degraded, nor become useless and unhappy. let us not be in haste to overthrow the usurped powers of the world. make men wise, and by that very operation you make them free. it is unfortunate that men are so eager to strike and have so little constancy to reason. we should desire neither violent change nor the stagnation that inflames and produces revolutions. our prayer to governments should be, "do not give us too soon; do not give us too much; but act under the incessant influence of a disposition to give us something." these are the reflections of a man who wrote amid the terror. he had seen the corresponding society at work, and the experience made him more than sceptical of any form of association in politics, and led him into a curiously biassed argument, rhetorical in form, forensic in substance. temporary combinations may be necessary in a time of turmoil, or to secure some single limited end, such as the redress of a wrong done to an individual. where their scope is general and their duration long continued, they foster declamation, cabal, party spirit and tumult. they are frequented by the artful, the intemperate, the acrimonious, and avoided by the sober, the sceptical, the contemplative citizen. they foster a fallacious uniformity of opinion and render the mind quiescent and stationary. truth disclaims the alliance of marshalled numbers. the conditions most favourable to reasoned enquiry and calm persuasion are to be found in small and friendly circles. the moral beauty of the spectacle offered by these groups of friends united to pursue truth and foster virtue, will render it contagious. so the craggy steep of science will be levelled and knowledge rendered accessible to all. the conception of the state which godwin sought to supplant was itself limited and negative. government was little else in his day than a means for internal defence against criminals and for external defence against aggression. for the rest, it helped landlords to enclose commons, kept down wages by poor relief and in a muddle-headed way interfered with the freedom of trade. but its central activity was the repression of crime, and for godwin's system the test question was his handling of the problem of crime and punishment. he was no platonist, but not for the first time we discover him in a familiar socratic position. "do you punish a man," asked socrates, "to make him better or to make him worse?" godwin starts by rejecting the traditional conception of punishment. the word means the infliction of evil upon a vicious being, not merely because the public advantage demands it, but because there is a certain fitness and propriety in making suffering the accompaniment of vice, quite apart from any benefit that may be in the result. no adherent of the doctrine of necessity in morals can justify that attitude. the assassin could no more avoid the murder he committed than could the dagger. justice opposes any suffering, which is not attended by benefit. resentment against vice will not excuse useless torture. we must banish the conception of desert. to punish for what is past and irrecoverable must be ranked among the most baleful conceptions of barbarism. xerxes was not more unreasonable when he lashed the waves of the sea, than that man would be who inflicted suffering on his fellow from a view to the past and not from a view to the future. excluding all idea of punishment in the proper sense of the word, it remains only to consider such coercion as is used against persons convicted of injurious action in the past, for the purpose of preventing future mischief. godwin now invites us to consider the futility of coercion as a means of reforming, or as he would say, "enlightening the understanding" of a man who has erred. our aim is to bring him to the acceptance of our conception of duty. assuming that we possess more of eternal justice than he, do we shrink from setting our wit against his? instead of acting as his preceptor we become his tyrant. coercion first annihilates the understanding of its victim, and then of him who adopts it. dressed in the supine prerogatives of a master, he is excused from cultivating the faculties of a man. coercion begins by producing pain, by violently alienating the mind from the truth with which we wish it to be impressed. it includes a tacit confession of imbecility. with some hesitation godwin allows the use of force to restrain a man found in actual violence. we may not have time to reason with him. but even for self-defence there are other resources. "the powers of the mind are yet unfathomed." he tells the story of marius, who overawed the soldier sent into his cell to execute him, with the words, "wretch, have you the temerity to kill marius?" were we all accustomed to place an intrepid confidence in the unaided energy of the intellect, to despise force in others and to refuse to employ it ourselves, who shall say how far the species might be improved? but punitive coercion deals only with a man whose violence is over. the only rational excuse for it is to restrain a man from further violence which he will presumably commit. godwin condemns capital punishment as excessive, since restraint can be attained without it, and corporal chastisement as an offence against the dignity of the human mind. let there be nothing in the state of transition worse than simple imprisonment. godwin, however, dissents vehemently from howard's invention of solitary confinement, designed to shield the prisoner from the contamination of his fellow criminals. man is a social animal and virtue depends on social relations. as a preliminary to acquiring it is he to be shut out from the society of his fellows? how shall he exercise benevolence or justice in his cell? will his heart become softened or expand who breathes the atmosphere of a dungeon? solitary confinement is the bitterest torment that human ingenuity can inflict. the least objectionable method of depriving a criminal of the power to harm society is banishment or transportation. expose him to the stimulus of necessity in an unsettled country. new conditions make new minds. but the whole attempt to apply law breaks down. you must heap edict on edict, and to make your laws fit your cases, must either for ever wrest them or make new ones. law does not end uncertainty, and it debilitates the mind. so long as men are habituated to look to foreign guidance and external rules for direction, so long the vigour of their minds will sleep. if fénelon, saint and philosopher, with an incompleted masterpiece in his pocket, and fénelon's chambermaid, were both in danger of burning to death in the archiepiscopal palace at cambrai, and if i could save only one of them, which ought i to save? it is a fascinating problem in casuistry, and godwin with his usual decision of mind, has no doubt about the solution. he would save fénelon as the more valuable life, and above all fénelon's manuscript, and the maid, he is quite sure, would wish to give her life for his. something (the modern reader will object) might be urged on the other side. just because he was a saint, it might be argued that he was the fitter of the two to face the great adventure, and one may be sure that he himself would have thought so. a philosopher who gives his life for a kitten will have advanced the kingdom of heaven. the chambermaid, moreover, may have in her a potentiality of love and happiness which are worth many a masterpiece of french prose. but godwin has not yet exhausted his moral problem. how, if the maid were my mother, wife or benefactress? once more he gives his unflinching answer. justice still requires of me in the interests of mankind to save the more valuable life. "what magic is there in the pronoun 'my' to overturn the decisions of everlasting truth?" my mother may be a fool, a liar, or a thief. of what consequence then, is it that she is "mine"? gratitude ought not to blind me to my duty, though she have suckled me and nursed me. the benevolence of a benefactor ought indeed to be esteemed, but not because it benefited me. a benefactor ought to be esteemed as much by another as by me, solely because he benefited a human being. gratitude, in short, has no place in justice or virtue, and reason declines to recognise the private affections. such, crudely stated, is godwin's famous doctrine of "universal benevolence." the virtuous man is like swift's houyhnhnms, noble quadrupeds, wholly governed by reason, who cared for strangers as well as for the nearest neighbour, and showed the same affection for their neighbour's offspring as for their own. the centre of godwin's moral teaching was yet another socratic thought. politics are "the proper vehicle of a liberal morality," and morals concern our relation to the whole body of mankind. to realise justice is our prime concern as rational beings, and society is nothing but embodied justice. justice deals with beings capable of pleasure and pain. here we are partakers of a common nature with like faculties for suffering or enjoyment. "justice," then, "is that impartial treatment of every man in matters that relate to his happiness, which is measured solely by a consideration of the properties of the receiver and the capacity of him who gives." every man with whom i am in contact is a sentient being, and one should be as much to me as another, save indeed where equity corrects equality, by suggesting to me that one individual may be of more value than another, because of his greater power to benefit mankind. justice exacts from us the application of our talents, time, and resources with the single object of producing the greatest sum of benefit to sentient beings. there is no limit to what i am bound to do for the general weal. i hold my person and property both in trust on behalf of mankind. a man who needs £ has an absolute claim on me, if i have it, unless it can be shown that the money could be more beneficially applied. every shilling i possess is irrevocably assigned by some claim of eternal justice. every article of property, it follows, should belong to him in whose hands it will be of most benefit, and the instrument of the greatest happiness. it is the love of distinction which attends wealth in corrupt societies that explains the desire for luxury. we desire not the direct pleasure to be derived from excessive possessions, but the consideration which is attached to it. our very clothes are an appeal to the goodwill of our neighbours, and a refuge from their contempt. society would be transformed if the distinction were reversed, if admiration were no longer rendered to the luxurious and avaricious and were accorded only to talent and virtue. let not the necessity of rewarding virtue be suggested as a justification for the inequalities of fortune. shall we say, to a virtuous man: "if you show yourself deserving, you shall have the essence of a hundred times more food than you can eat, and a hundred times more clothes than you can wear. you shall have a patent for taking away from others the means of a happy and respectable existence, and for consuming them in riotous and unmeaning extravagance." is this the reward that ought to be offered to virtue, or that virtue should stoop to take? godwin is at his best on this theme of luxury: "every man may calculate in every glass of wine he drinks, and every ornament he annexes to his person, how many individuals have been condemned to slavery and sweat, incessant drudgery, unwholesome food, continual hardships, deplorable ignorance and brutal insensibility, that he may be supplied with these luxuries. it is a gross imposition that men are accustomed to put upon themselves, when they talk of the property bequeathed to them by their ancestors. the property is produced by the daily labour of men who are now in existence. all that the ancestors bequeathed to them was a mouldy patent which they show as a title to extort from their neighbours what the labour of those neighbours has produced." it is a flagrant immorality that one man should have the power to dispose of the produce of another man's toil, yet to maintain this power is the main concern of police and legislation. morality recognises two degrees of property, ( ) things which will produce the greatest benefit, if attributed to me, in brief the necessities of life, my food, clothes, furniture and apartment; ( ) the empire which every man may claim over the produce of his own industry, even over that part of it which ought not to be used and appropriated by himself. every man is a steward. but subject to censure and remonstrance, he must be free to dispose of his property as his own understanding shall dictate. the ideal is equality, and all society should be what coleridge called a pantisocracy. it is wrong for any one to enjoy anything, unless something similar is accessible to all, and wrong to produce luxuries until the elementary wants of all are satisfied. but it would be futile and wrong to attempt to equalise property by positive enactment. it would be useless until men are virtuous, and unnecessary when they are so. the moment accumulation and monopoly are regarded by any society as dishonourable and mischievous, the revolution in opinion will ensure that comforts shall tend to a level. godwin objects to the plans put forward in france during the revolution for interfering with bequests and inheritance. he would, however, check the incentives to accumulation by abolishing the feudal system, primogeniture, titles and entail. property is sacred--that good men may be free to give it away. reform public opinion, and a man engaged in amassing wealth would soon hide his treasures as carefully as he now displays them. the first step is to rob wealth of its distinction. wealth is acquired to-day in over-reaching our neighbours, and spent in insulting them. establish equality on a firm basis of rational opinion, and you cut off for ever the great occasion of crime, remove the constant spectacle of injustice with all its attendant demoralisation, and liberate genius now immersed in sordid cares. "in a state of society where men lived in the midst of plenty, and where all shared alike the bounties of nature, the sentiments of oppression, servility and fraud would inevitably expire. the narrow principle of selfishness would vanish. no man being obliged to guard his little store, or provide with anxiety and pain for his restless wants, each would lose his individual existence in the thought of the general good. no man would be an enemy to his neighbour, for they would have no subject of contention, and of consequence philanthropy would resume the empire which reason assigns her. mind would be delivered from her perpetual anxiety about corporal support, and freed to expatiate in the field of thought, which is congenial to her. each would assist the enquiries of all." unnecessary tasks absorb most of our labour to-day. in the ideal community, godwin reckons that half an hour's toil from every man daily will suffice to produce the necessities of life. he modified this sanguine estimate in a later essay (_the enquirer_) to two hours. he dismisses all objections based on the sloth or selfishness of human nature, by the simple answer that this happy state of things will not be realised until human nature has been reformed. need individuality suffer? it need fear only the restraint imposed by candid public opinion. that will not be irksome, because it will be frank. we shrink from it to-day, only because it takes the form of clandestine scandal and backbiting. godwin contemplates no spartan plan of common labour or common meals. "everything understood by the term co-operation is in some sense an evil." to be sure, it may be indispensable in order to cut a canal or navigate a ship. but mechanical invention will gradually make it unnecessary. the spartans used slaves. we shall make machines our helots. indeed, so odious is co-operation to a free mind, that godwin marvels that men can consent to play music in concert, or can demean themselves to execute another man's compositions, while to act a part in a play amounts almost to an offence against sincerity. such extravagances as this passage are amongst the most precious things in _political justice_. godwin was a fanatic of logic who warns us against his individualist premises by pressing them to a fantastic conclusion. the sketch of the ideal community concludes with a demolition of the family. cohabitation, he argued, is in itself an evil. it melts opinions to a common mould, and destroys the fortitude of the individual. the wishes of two people who live together can never wholly coincide. hence follow thwartings of the will, bickering and misery. no man is always cheerful and kind. we manage to correct a stranger with urbanity and good humour. only when the intercourse is too close and unremitted do we degenerate into surliness and invective. in an earlier chapter godwin had formulated a general objection to all promises, which reminds us of tolstoy's sermons from the same individualistic standpoint on the text, "swear not at all." every conceivable mode of action has its tendency to benefit or injure mankind. i am bound in duty to one course of action in every emergency--the course most conducive to the general welfare. why, then, should i bind myself by a promise? if my promise contradicts my duty it is immoral, if it agrees with it, it teaches me to do that from a precarious and temporary motive which ought to be done from its intrinsic recommendations. by promising we bind ourselves to learn nothing from time, to make no use of knowledge to be acquired. promises depose us from a full use of our understanding, and are to be tolerated only in the trivial engagements of our day-to-day existence. it follows that marriage is an evil, for it is at once the closest form of cohabitation, and the rashest of all promises. two thoughtless and romantic people, met in youth under circumstances full of delusion, have bound themselves, not by reason but by contract, to make the best, when they discover their deception, of an irretrievable mistake. its maxim is, "if you have made a mistake, cherish it." so long as this institution survives, "philanthropy will be crossed in a thousand ways, and the still augmenting stream of abuse continue to flow." godwin has little fear of lust or license. men will, on the whole, continue to prefer one partner, and friendship will refine the grossness of sense. there are worse evils than open and avowed inconstancy--the loathsome combination of deceitful intrigue with the selfish monopoly of property. that a child should know its father is no great matter, for i ought not in reason to prefer one human being to another because he is "mine." the mother will care for the child with the spontaneous help of her neighbours. as to the business of supplying children with food and clothing, "these would easily find their true level and spontaneously flow from the quarter in which they abounded to the quarter that was deficient." there must be no barter or exchange, but only giving from pure benevolence without the prospect of reciprocal advantage. the picture of this easy-going utopia, in which something will always turn up for nobody's child, concludes with two sections which exhibit in nice juxtaposition the extravagance and the prudence of godwin. we may look forward to great physical changes. we shall acquire an empire over our bodies, and may succeed in making even our reflex notions conscious. we must get rid of sleep, one of the most conspicuous infirmities of the human frame. life can be prolonged by intellect. we are sick and we die because in a certain sense we consent to suffer these accidents. when the limit of population is reached, men will refuse to propagate themselves further. society will be a people of men, and not of children, adult, veteran, experienced; and truth will no longer have to recommence her career at the end of thirty years. meanwhile let the friends of justice avoid violence, eschew massacres, and remember that prudent handling will win even rich men for the cause of human perfection. so ends _political justice_, the strangest amalgam in our literature of caution with enthusiasm, of visions with experience, of french logic with english tactlessness, a book which only genius could have made so foolish and so wise. chapter v godwin and the reaction _political justice_ brought its author instant fame. society was for a moment intimidated by the boldness of the attack. the world was in a generous mood, and men did not yet resent godwin's flattering suggestion that they were demigods who disguised their own greatness. he had assailed all the accepted dogmas and venerable institutions of contemporary civilisation, from monarchy to marriage, but it was only after several years that society recovered its breath, and turned to rend him. he became an oracle in an ever-widening circle of friends, and was naïvely pleased to find, when he went into the country, that even in remote villages his name was known. he was everywhere received as a sage, and some years passed before he discovered how much of this deference was a polite disguise for the vulgar curiosity that attends a sudden celebrity. prosperity was a wholesome stimulus. he was "exalted in spirits," and became for a time (he tells us) "more of a talker than i was before, or have been since." in this mood he wrote the one book which has lived as a popular possession, and held its place among the classics which are frequently reprinted. _caleb williams_ (published in ) is incomparably the best of his novels, and the one great work of fiction in our language which owes its existence to the fruitful union of the revolutionary and romantic movements. it spoke to its own day as hugo's _les misérables_ and tolstoy's _resurrection_ spoke to later generations. it is as its preface tells us, "a general review of the modes of domestic and unrecorded despotism by which man becomes the destroyer of man." it conveys in the form of an eventful personal history the essence of the criticism against society, which had inspired _political justice_. godwin's imagination was haunted by a persistent nightmare, in which a lonely individual finds arrayed against him all the prejudices of society, all the forms of convention, all the forces of law. they hurl themselves upon him in a pitiless pursuit, and wherever he flees, the pervading corruptions, the ingrained cowardices of over-governed mankind beset his feet like gins and pitfalls. it was a hereditary nightmare, and with a less pedestrian imagination, his daughter, mary shelley, used the same theme of a remorseless pursuit in _frankenstein_. caleb williams, a promising lad of humble birth but good parts, is broken at the outset of his career, in the tremendous clash between two formidable characters, who represent, each in his own way, the corruptions of aristocracy. mr. tyrrel is a brutal english squire, a coarse and domineering bully, whom birth and wealth arm with the power to crush his dependents. mr. falkland personifies the spirit of chivalry at its best and its worst. all his native humanity and acquired polish is in the end turned to cruelty by the influence of a worship of honour and reputation which make him "the fool of fame." as the absorbing story unfolds itself, we realise (if indeed we are not too much enthralled by the plot to notice the moral) that all the institutions of society and law are nicely adjusted to give the moral errors of the great their utmost scope. society is a vast sounding-board which echoes the first whispers of their private folly, until it swells into a deafening chorus of cruelty and wrong. there are vivid scenes in a prison which give life to godwin's reasoned criticisms of our penal methods. there is a band of outlaws whose rude natural virtues remind us, by contrast with the corruption of all the officers of the law, how much less demoralising it is to revolt against a crazy system of coercion than to become its tool. to describe the book in greater detail would be to destroy the pleasure of the reader. it is a forensic novel. it sets out to frame an indictment of society, and a novelist who imposes this task on himself must in the end create an impression of improbability by the partiality with which he selects his material. but there is fire enough in the telling, and interest enough in the plot to silence our criticisms while we read. _caleb williams_ is a capital story; it is also a living and humane book, which conveys with rare power and reasoned emotion the revolt of a generous mind against the oppressions of feudalism and the stupidities of the criminal law. three years later ( ) godwin once more restated the main positions of _political justice_. _the enquirer_ is a volume of essays, which range easily over a great variety of subjects from education to english style. his opinions have neither advanced nor receded, and the mood is still one of assurance, enthusiasm, and hope. the only noteworthy change is in the style. _political justice_ belongs to the generation of gibbon, eloquent, elaborate and periodic at its best; heavy and slightly verbose at its worst. with _the enquirer_ we are just entering the generation of hazlitt and leigh hunt. the language is simpler and more flexible, the construction of the sentences more varied, the mood more vivacious, and the tone more conversational. the best things in the book belong to that social psychology, the observation of men in classes and professions, in which this age excelled. there is an outspoken attack on the clergy, as a class of men who have vowed themselves to study without enquiry, who must reason for ever towards a conclusion fixed by authority, whose very survival depends on the perennial stationariness of their understanding. another essay attempts a vivacious criticism of "common honesty," the moral standard of the average decent citizen, a code of negative virtues and moral mediocrity which is content to avoid the obvious unsocial sins and concerns itself but little to enforce positive benevolence. the reader who would meet godwin at his best should turn to the essay _on servants_. starting from the universal reluctance of the upper and middle classes to allow their children to associate closely with servants, he enlarges the confession of the systematic degradation of a class which this separation involves, into a condemnation of our whole social structure. * * * * * the year marks the culmination of godwin's career, and it would have been well for his fame if it had been its end. he had just passed his fortieth year; he had made the most notable contribution to english political thought since the appearance of the _wealth of nations_; he had won the gratitude and respect of his friends by his intervention in the trial of the twelve reformers. he was famous, prosperous, popular, and his good fortune brought to his calm temperament the stimulus of excitement and high spirits which it needed. there came to him in this year the crown of a noble love. it was in the winter of that he first met mary wollstonecraft, the one woman of genius who belonged to the english revolutionary circle. he was not impressed, thought that she talked too much, and in his diary spelled her name incorrectly. in the interval between and mary wollstonecraft was to write one of the books which belong to the spiritual foundations of the next century, to taste fame and detraction, to know the joys of love and maternity, and to experience a misery and wrong which made life itself an unendurable shame. a later chapter will attempt an estimate of the ideas and personality of this brilliant and courageous woman. a few sentences must suffice here to recall the bare facts of her life history. born in , the child of a drunken and disreputable father, she had struggled with indomitable energy, first as a teacher and then as a translator and literary "hack," to keep herself and help her still more unfortunate sisters. in she published _a vindication of the rights of woman_, a plea for the human dignity of her sex and for its claim to education. at the end of this year she went to paris as much to see the revolution as to perfect herself in french. she there met a clever and interesting american, one gilbert imlay, a traveller of some little note, a soldier in the war of independence, and now a speculative merchant. he lived with her, and in documents acknowledged her as his wife, though neither felt the need of a binding ceremony. a baby, fanny, was born, but imlay's business imposed long separations. he gradually tired of the woman who had honoured him too highly, and entered on more than one intrigue. mary wollstonecraft attempted in despair to drown herself in the thames, was saved and nursed back to life and courage by devoted friends. she again took up her pen to gain a livelihood, and for the sake of her child's future, gradually returned to the literary circle which valued her, not merely for her genius and originality, but also for her beauty, her vivacity, and her charm, for her daring and independence, and her warm, impulsive, affectionate heart. godwin met her again while she was bruised and lonely and disillusionised with mankind. her charming volume of travel sketches (_letters from norway, _) had made, as it well might, a deep impression on his taste. he was, what imlay was not, her intellectual equal, and his character deserved her respect. he has left in the little book which he published to vindicate her memory, a delicate sketch of their mutual 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 grew with equal advances in the mind of each. 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 conscious that either party can assume to have been 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." the two lovers, in strict obedience to the principles of _political justice_, made their home, at first with no legal union, in a little house in the polygon, somers town, then the extreme limit of london, separated from the suburban village of camden town by open fields and green pastures. a few doors away godwin had his study, where he spent most of his industrious day, often breakfasted and sometimes slept. both partners of this daringly unconventional union had their own particular friends and retained their separate places in society. some quaint notes have survived, which passed between them, borrowing books or making appointments. "did i not see you, friend godwin," runs one of these, "at the theatre last night? i thought i met a smile, but you went out without looking round. we expect you at half-past four." it was the coming of a child which induced them to waive their theories and face for its sake a repugnant compliance with custom. they were married in old st. pancras church on march , , and the insignificant fact was communicated only gradually, and with laboured apologies for the inconsistency, to their friends. southey, who met them in this month, has left a lively portrait: "of all the lions or literati i have seen here, mary imlay's countenance is the best, infinitely the best: the only fault in it is an expression somewhat similar to what the prints of horne tooke display--an expression indicating superiority; not haughtiness, not sarcasm in mary imlay, but still it is unpleasant. her eyes are light brown, and ... they are the most meaning i ever saw.... as for godwin himself he has large noble eyes and a _nose_--oh, most abominable nose. language is not vituperatious enough to describe the effect of its downward elongation." godwin, if one may trust the portrait by northcote, had impressive if not exactly handsome features. the head is shapely, the brow ample, the nose decidedly too long, the shaven lips and chin finely chiselled. the whole suggestion is of a character self-absorbed and contemplative. he was short and sturdy in build, and in his sober dress and grave deportments, suggested rather the dissenting preacher than the prophet of philosophic anarchism. he was not a ready debater or a fluent talker. his genius was not spontaneous or intuitive. it was rather an elaborate effort of the will, which deliberately used the fruits of his accumulative study and incessant activity of mind. he resembled, says hazlitt, who admired and liked him, "an eight-day clock that must be wound up long before it can strike. he is ready only on reflection: dangerous only at the rebound. he gathers himself up, and strains every nerve and faculty with deliberate aim to some heroic and dazzling achievement of intellect; but he must make a career before he flings himself armed upon the enemy, or he is sure to be unhorsed." no two minds could have presented a greater contrast. had mary wollstonecraft lived they must have moulded each other into something finer than nature had made of either. the year of married life was ideally happy, and the strange experiment in reconciling individualism with love apparently succeeded. mrs. godwin, for all her revolutionary independence, leaned affectionately on her husband, and he, in spite of his rather overgrown self-esteem, regarded her with reverence and pride. she was quick in her affections and resentments, but looking back many years later godwin declares that they were "as happy as is permitted to human beings." "it must be remembered, however, that i honoured her intellectual powers and the nobleness and generosity of her propensities; mere tenderness would not have been adequate to produce the happiness we experienced." godwin's novels suggest that, on the whole, he shared her views about women, though in a later essay (on "friendship," in _thoughts on man_), there are some passages which suggest a less perfect understanding. but he never used his pen to carry on her work, and the emancipation of women had to await its philosopher in john stuart mill. the happy marriage ended abruptly and tragically. on august , , was born the child mary, who was to become shelley's wife, and carry on in a second generation her parents' tradition of fearless love and revolutionary hope. ten days after the birth, the mother died in spite of all that the devotion of her husband and the skill of his medical friends could do to save her. a few broken-hearted letters are left to record godwin's agony of mind. * * * * * with the death of mary wollstonecraft in , ended all that was happy and stimulating in godwin's career. it was for him the year of private disaster, and from it he dated also the triumph of the reaction in england. the stimulus of the revolutionary period was withdrawn. he lived no longer among ardent spirits who would brave everything and do anything for human perfectibility. some were in botany bay, and others, like the indomitable holcroft, were absorbed in the struggle to live, with the handicap of political persecution against them. godwin, indeed, never fell into despair over the ruin of his political hopes. like beethoven he revered napoleon, at all events until he assumed the title of emperor, and would console himself with the conviction that this "auspicious and beneficent genius" had "without violence to the principles of the french revolution ... suspended their morbid activity," while preserving "all the great points" of its doctrine. but while all england hung on the event of the titanic struggle against this "beneficent genius," what was a philanthropist to do? the world was rattling back into barbarism, and the generation which emerged from the long nightmare of war, famine, and repression, was incomparably less advanced in its thinking, narrower and timider in its whole habit of mind than the men who were young in . there was nothing to do, and a philosopher whose only weapon was argument, kept silence when none would listen. of what use to talk of "peace and the powers of the human mind," while all england was gloating over the brutal cartoons of gillray, and trying on the volunteer uniforms, in which it hoped to repel napoleon's invasion? we need not wonder that godwin's output of philosophic writing practically ceased with the eighteenth century. he was henceforth a man without a purpose, who wrote for bread and renounced the exercise of his greater powers. the end of godwin's active apostolic life is clearly marked in a pamphlet which he issued in ("thoughts occasioned by the perusal of dr. parr's spital sermon, preached at christ church, april , , being a reply to the attacks of dr. parr, mr. mackintosh, the author [malthus] of the _essay on population_ and others"). it is a masterly piece of writing. coleridge scribbled in the copy that now lies on the shelves of the british museum this tribute to its author: "i remember few passages in ancient or modern authors that contain more just philosophy in appropriate, chaste or beautiful diction than the fine following pages. they reflect equal honour on godwin's head and heart. though i did it in the zenith of his reputation, yet i feel remorse even to have only spoken unkindly of such a man.--s. t. c." godwin tells how the reaction burst over him, and he dates it from : "after having for four years heard little else than the voice of commendation, i was at length attacked from every side, and in a style which defied all moderation and decency.... the cry spread like a general infection, and i have been told that not even a petty novel for boarding-school misses now ventures to aspire to favour unless it contains some expression of dislike or abhorrence to the new philosophy." some of the attacks were scurrilous and all of them proceeded on the common assumption of the defenders of authority in all ages and nations, that the man who would innovate in morals is himself immoral. he goes on to sketch the present case of the revolutionary party: "the societies have perished, or where they have not, have shrunk to a skeleton; the days of democratical declamation are no more; even the starving labourer in the alehouse is become the champion of aristocracy.... jacobinism was destroyed; its party as a party was extinguished; its tenets were involved in almost universal unpopularity and odium; they were deserted by almost every man high or low in the island of great britain." even the young pantisocrats had gone over to the enemy, and wordsworth, grave and disillusionised, tried to forget that he had ever exhorted his fellow-students to burn their books and "read godwin on necessity." the defection of dr. parr and mackintosh was symptomatic. both had been godwin's personal friends, and both of them had hailed the new philosophy. no one remembers them to-day, but they were in their time intellectual oracles. the scholar parr was called by flatterers the whig johnson, and mackintosh enjoyed in whig society a reputation as a brilliant talker, and an encyclopædic mind which reminds us of macaulay's later fame. they had both to make their peace with the world and to bury their compromised past; the easiest way was to fall upon godwin. malthus was a more worthy antagonist, though godwin did not yet perceive how formidable his attack in reality was. to the picture of human perfection he opposed the nightmare of an over-populated planet, and combated universal benevolence by teaching that even charity is an economic sin. english society cares little either for utopias or for science. but it welcomes science with rapture when it destroys utopias. if godwin had pricked men's consciences, malthus brought the balm. altruism was exposed at length for the thing it was, an error in the last degree unscientific and uneconomic. the rickety arithmetic of malthusianism was used against the revolutionary hope, exactly as a travestied version of darwinianism was used in our own day against socialism. godwin preserved his dignity in this controversy and made concessions to his critics with a rare candour. but while he abandons none of his fundamental doctrines, one feels that he will never fight again. only once in later years did godwin the philosopher break his silence, and then it was to attempt in an elaborate but far from impressive answer to malthus. the history of that controversy has been brilliantly told by hazlitt. it seems to-day too distant to be worth reviving. our modern pessimists write their jeremiads not about the future over-population of the planet, but about the declining birth-rate. that elaborate civilisations shows a decline in fertility is a fact now so well recognised, that we feel no difficulty in conceding to godwin that the reasonable beings of his ideal community might be trusted to show some degree of self-control. godwin possessed two of the cardinal virtues of a thinker, courage and candour. no fear of ridicule deterred him from pushing his premises to their last conclusion; no false shame restrained him in a controversy from recanting an error. he discarded the wilder developments of his theory of "universal benevolence," and gave it in the end a form which has ceased to be paradoxical. when he wrote _political justice_ he was a celibate student who had escaped much of the formative experience of a normal life. as a husband and a father he revised his creed, and devoted no small part of his later literary activity to the work of preaching the claims of those "private affections" which he had scouted as an elderly youth of forty. the re-adjustment in his theory was so simple, that only a great philosopher could have failed to make it sooner. justice requires me to use all my powers to contribute to the sum of human benefit. but as regards opportunity, i am not equally situated towards all my fellows. by devoting myself more particularly to wife or child with an exclusive affection which is not in the abstract altogether reasonable, i may do more for the general good than i could achieve by a severely impartial benevolence. he developed this view first in his _memoir of mary wollstonecraft_, then in the preface to _st. leon_, and finally in the pamphlet which answered mackintosh and dr. parr. the man who would be "the best moral economist of his time" will use much of it to seek "the advantage and content of those with whom he has most frequent intercourse," and this not merely from calculation, but from affection. "i ought not only in ordinary cases to provide for my wife and children, my brothers and relations before i provide for strangers, but it would be well that my doing so should arise from the operation of those private and domestic affections by which through all ages of the world the conduct of mankind has been excited and directed." the recantation is sufficiently frank. the family, dissipated in _political justice_ by the explosive charities of "universal benevolence," is now happily re-united. godwin maintains, however, that his moral theory and his political superstructure stands intact, and the claim is not unreasonable. he retains his criterion of justice and utility, though he has seen better how to apply it. the duty of universal benevolence is still paramount; the end of contributing to the general good still sovereign, and a reasoned virtue is still to be recommended in preference to instinctive goodness, even where their results are commonly the same. "the crown of a virtuous character consists in a very frequent and very energetic recollection of the criterion by which all his actions are to be tried.... the person who has been well instructed and accomplished in the great schools of human experience has passions and affections like other men. but he is aware that all these affections tend to excess, and must be taught each to know its order and its sphere. he therefore continually holds in mind the principles by which their boundaries are fixed." what godwin means is something elementary, and for that reason of the first importance. let a man love his wife above other women, but "universal benevolence" will forbid him to exploit other women in order to surround her with luxury. let him love his sons, but virtue will forbid him to accumulate a fortune for them by the sweated labour of poor men's children. let him love his fellow-countrymen, but reason forbids him to seek their good by enslaving other races and waging aggressive wars. godwin, in short, no longer denies the beauty and duty (to use burke's phrase) of loving "the little platoon to which i belong," but he urges that these domestic affections are in little danger of neglect. men learned to love kith and kin, neighbours and comrades, while still in the savage state. the characteristic of a civilised morality, the necessary accompaniment of all the varied and extended relationships which modern existence has brought with it, must be a new and emphatic stress on my duty to the stranger, to the unknown producer with whom i stand in an economic relationship, and to the foreigner beyond my shores. "let us endeavour to elevate philanthropy into a passion, secure that occasions enough will arise to drag us down from an enthusiastic eminence. a virtuous man will teach himself to recollect the principle of universal benevolence as often as pious men repeat their prayers." if the central tendencies of godwin's teaching survive these later modifications, it is none the less true that some of his theoretic foundations have been shaken in the work of reconstruction. the isolated individual shut up in his own animal skin and communicating with his fellows through the antennæ of his logical processes, has vanished away. allow him to extend his personality through the private affections, and he has ceased to be the abstract unit of individualism. godwin should have revised not only his doctrine of the family, but his hatred of co-operation. there is still something to be learned from the view of his school that the human mind, as it begins to absorb the collective experience of the race, is an infinitely variable spiritual stuff, an intellectual protoplasm. they stated the view with a rash emphasis, until one is forced to ask whether a mind which is originally nothing at all, can absorb, or as psychologists say, "apperceive" anything whatever. nothing comes out of nothing, and nothing can be added to nothing. godwin and his school set out to show that the human mind is not necessarily fettered for all time by the prejudices and institutions in which it has clothed itself. when he had done stripping us, it was a nice question whether even our nakedness remained. he treated our prejudices and our effete institutions as though they were something external to us, which had come out of nowhere and could be flung into the void from whence they came. when you have called opinion a prejudice, or traced an institution to false reasoning, you have, after all, only exhibited an interesting zoological fact about human beings. we are exactly the sort of creature which evolves such prejudices. godwin in unwary moments would talk as though aristocracy and positive law had come to us from without, by a sort of diabolic revelation. this, however, is not a criticism which destroys the value of his thinking. his positions required restatement in terms of the idea of development. if he did not anticipate the notion of evolution, he was the apostle of the idea of progress. we may still retain from his reasonings the hopeful conclusion that the human mind is a raw material capable of almost unlimited variation, and, therefore, of some advance towards "perfection." we owe an inestimable debt to the school which proclaimed this belief in enthusiastic paradoxes. godwin's influence as a thinker permeated the older generation of "philosophic radicals" in england. the oddest fact about it is that it had apparently no part in founding the later philosophic anarchism of the continent. none of its leaders seem to have read him; and _political justice_ was not translated into german until long after it had ceased to be read in england. its really astonishing blindness to the importance of the economic factor in social changes must have hastened its decline. godwin writes as though he had never seen a factory nor heard of capital. in all his writing about crime and punishment, full as it is of insight, sympathy and good sense, it is odd that a mind so fertile nowhere anticipated the modern doctrine of the connection between moral and physical degeneracy. he saw in crime only error, where we see anæmia: he would have cured it with syllogisms, where we should administer proteids. his entire psychology, both social and individual, is vitiated by a naïve and headstrong intellectualism. life is rather a battle between narrow interests and the social affections than a debate between sound and fallacious reasoning. he saw among mankind only sophists and philosophers, where we see predatory egoists and their starved and stunted victims. but we have advanced far enough on our own lines of thinking to derive a new stimulus from godwin's one-sided intellectualism. our danger to-day is that we may succumb to an economic and physiological determinism. we are obsessed by financiers and bacilli; it is salutary that our attention should be directed from time to time to the older bogeys of the revolution, to kings and priests, authority and superstition, to prejudice and political subjection. "the greatest part of the people of europe," wrote helvétius, "honour virtue in speculation; this is an effect of their education. they despise it in practice; that is an effect of the form of their governments." we think that we have got beyond that epigram to-day. but have we quite exhausted its meaning? precisely because of its revolutionary _naïveté_, its unscientific innocence, there is in godwin's democratic anarchism a stimulus peculiarly tonic to the modern mind. no man has developed more firmly the ideal of universal enlightenment, which has escaped feudalism, only to be threatened by the sociological expert. no writer is better fitted to remind us that society and government are not the same thing, and that the state must not be confounded with the social organism. no moralist has written a more eloquent page on the evil of coercion and the unreason of force. _political justice_ is often an imposing system. it is sometimes an instructive fallacy. it is always an inspiring sermon. godwin hoped to "make it a work from the perusal of which no man should rise without being strengthened in habits of sincerity, fortitude and justice." there he succeeded. chapter vi godwin and shelley in a letter written in shelley records how he suddenly heard with "inconceivable emotion" that godwin was still alive. he "had enrolled his name on the list of the honourable dead." godwin, to quote hazlitt's rather cruel phrase, had "sunk below the horizon," in his later years, and enjoyed "the serene twilight of a doubtful immortality." serene unfortunately it was not. with a lonely home and two little girls to care for, godwin thought once more of marriage. twice his wooing was unsuccessful, and the philosopher who believed that reason was omnipotent, tried in vain in long, elaborate letters to argue two ladies into love. his second wife came unsought. as he sat one day at his window in the polygon, a handsome widow spoke to him from the neighbouring balcony, with these arresting words, "is it possible that i behold the immortal godwin?" they were married before the close of the year ( ). mrs. clairmont was a strange successor to mary wollstonecraft. she was a vulgar and worldly woman, thoroughly feminine, and rather inclined to boast of her total ignorance of philosophy. a kindly and loyal wife she may have been, but she was jealous of godwin's friends, and would tell petty lies to keep them apart from him. she brought with her two children of a former marriage--charles (who was unhappy in this strange home and went early abroad) and jane. on this clever, pretty and mercurial daughter all her partiality was lavished; and the unhappy girl, pampered by a philistine mother in a revolutionary atmosphere, was at the age of seventeen seduced by byron, and became the mother of the fairy child, allegra. the second mrs. godwin was the stepmother of convention, and treated both fanny imlay and mary godwin with consistent unkindness. it was the fate of the gentle, melancholy and lovable fanny to take her own life at the age of twenty-two ( ). the destiny of these children, all gifted with what the age called sensibility, has served as the text of many a sermon against "the new philosophy." no one, however, can read the documents which this strange household left behind, without feeling that the parent of the disaster in their lives was not their philosophic father, but this commonplace "womanly woman," who flattered, intrigued, and lied. in , there was born of this second marriage, a son, william, who inherited something of his father's ability. he became a journalist, and died at the early age of twenty-nine, after publishing a novel of some promise, _transfusion_, steeped in the same romantic fancies which colour mary shelley's more famous _frankenstein_. with the cares of this family on his shoulders godwin began to form the habit of applying to his wealthy friends for aid. in judging this part of his conduct, one must bear in mind both his own doctrine about property, and the practice of the age. godwin was a communist, and so, in some degree, were most of his friends. when he applied to wedgwood, the philosophic potter of etruria, or to ritson, the vegetarian, or in later years to shelley for money, he was simply giving virtue its occasion, and assisting property to find its level. he practised what he preached, and he would himself give with a generosity which seemed prodigal, to his own relatives, to promising young men, and even to total strangers. he supported one disciple at cambridge, as he had educated cooper in his younger days. it was the prevailing theory of the age that men of genius have the right to call on society in the persons of its wealthier members for support. helvétius, himself a rich man, had maintained this view. southey and coleridge acted on it. dr. priestley, universally respected both for his character and his talents, received large gifts from friends, admirers, members of his congregation and aristocratic patrons. to godwin, profoundly individualistic as he was, a post in the civil service, or even a professorship, would have seemed a more degrading form of charity than this private benevolence. partly to mend his fortunes, partly to furnish himself with an occupation when his mind refused original work, godwin in turned publisher. it was a disastrous inspiration, due apparently to his wife, who believed herself to possess a talent for business. the firm was established in skinner street, holborn, and specialised in school books and children's tales. they were well-printed, and well-illustrated, and godwin, writing under the pseudonym of edward baldwin, to avoid the odium which had now overtaken his own name, compiled a series of histories with his usual industry and conscientious finish. through years darkened with misfortune and clouded by failing health, he worked hard at the business of publishing. his capital was never adequate, though his friends and admirers twice came to his aid with public subscriptions. in he was evicted for arrears of rent, and in the unlucky venture came to an end. these years were crowded with literary work, for neither "baldwin" nor godwin allowed their common pen to idle. two elaborate historical works enjoyed and deserved a great reputation in their day, though subsequent research has rendered them obsolete--a _life of geoffrey chaucer_ ( ) and a _history of the commonwealth of england from its commencement to the restoration of charles ii._ ( - ). it is not easy for modern taste to do justice to godwin's novels; but on them his contemporary fame chiefly rested, and publishers paid for them high though diminishing prices. they all belong to the romantic movement; some have a supernatural basis, and most of them discover a too obvious didactic purpose. _st. leon_ ( ), almost as popular in its day as _caleb williams_, mingles a romance of the elixir of life and the philosopher's stone with an ardent recommendation of those family affections which _political justice_ had depreciated. _fleetwood_ ( ) makes war on debauchery with sincere and impressive dulness. _mandeville_ ( ), _cloudesley_ ( ) and _deloraine_ ( ) are dead beyond the reach of curiosity, yet the radical critics of his day, including hazlitt, tried hard to convince themselves that godwin was a greater novelist than the tory, scott. it remains to mention godwin's two attempts to conquer the theatre with _antonio_ ( ) and _faulkener_ ( ). neither play lived, and _antonio_, written in a sort of journalese, cut up into blank verse lines, was too frigid to survive the first night. godwin's disappointment would be comical if it were not painful. he regarded these deplorable tragedies as the flower of his genius. through these years of misfortune and eclipse, the friendships which godwin could still retain were his chief consolation. the published letters of coleridge and lamb make a charming record of their intimacy. whimsical and affectionate in their tone, they are an unconscious tribute as much to the man who received them as to the men who wrote them. conservative critics have talked of godwin's "coldness" because he could reason. but the abiding and generous regard of such a nature as charles lamb's is answer enough to these summary valuations. but godwin's most characteristic relationship was with the young men who sought him out as an inspiration. he would write them long letters of advice, encouragement, and criticism, and despite his own poverty, would often relieve their distresses. the most interesting of them was an adventurous young scot named arnot who travelled on foot through the greater part of europe during the napoleonic wars. the tragedy which seemed always to pursue godwin's intimates drove another of them, patrickson, to suicide while an undergraduate at cambridge. bulwer lytton, the last of these admiring young men, left a note on godwin's conversational powers in his extreme old age, which assures us that he was "well worth hearing," even amid the brilliance of lamb, hunt, and hazlitt, and could display "a grim jocularity of sarcasm." one of these relationships has become historical, and has coloured the whole modern judgment of godwin. it would be no exaggeration to say that godwin formed shelley's mind, and that _prometheus unbound_ and _hellas_ were the greatest of godwin's works. that debt is too often forgotten, while literary gossip loves to remind us that it was repaid in cheques and _post-obits_. the intellectual relationship will be discussed in a later chapter; the bare facts of the personal connection must be told here. _political justice_ took shelley's mind captive while he was still at eton, much as it had obsessed coleridge, southey, and wordsworth. the influence with him was permanent; and _queen mab_ is nothing but godwin in verse, with prose notes which quote or summarise him. a correspondence began in , and the pupil met the master late in , and again in . they talked as usual of virtue and human perfectibility; and as the intimacy grew, shelley, whose chief employment at this time was to discover and relieve genius in distress, began to place his present resources and future prospects at godwin's disposal. it was not an unnatural relationship to arise between a grateful disciple, heir to a great fortune, and a philosopher, aged, neglected, and sinking under the burden of debt. shelley's romantic runaway match with harriet westbrook had meanwhile entered on the period of misery and disillusion. she had lost her early love of books and ideas, had taken to hats and ostentation, and had become so harsh to him that he welcomed absence. it is certain that he believed her to be also in the vulgar sense of the word unfaithful. at this crisis, when the separation seemed already morally complete, he met mary godwin, who had been absent from home during most of his earlier visits. she was a young girl of seventeen, eager for knowledge and experience, and as her father described her, "singularly bold, somewhat imperious and active of mind," and "very pretty." they rapidly fell in love. godwin's conduct was all that the most conventional morality could have required of him. his theoretical views of marriage were still unorthodox; he held at least that "the institution might with advantage admit of certain modifications." but nine years before in the preface to _fleetwood_ he had protested that he was "the last man to recommend a pitiful attempt by scattered examples to renovate the face of society." he seems, indeed, to have forgotten his own happy experiment with mary wollstonecraft, and protests with a vigour hardly to be expected from so stout an individualist against the idea, that "each man for himself should supersede and trample upon the institutions of the country in which he lives. a thousand things might be found excellent and salutary if brought into general practice, which would in some cases appear ridiculous and in others attended with tragical consequences if prematurely acted upon by a solitary individual." on this view he acted. he forbade shelley his house, and tried to make a reconciliation between him and harriet. on july , , mary secretly left her father's house, joined her lover, and began with him her life of ideal intimacy and devotion. godwin felt and expressed the utmost disapproval, and for two years refused to meet shelley, until at the close of , after the suicide of the unhappy harriet, he stood at his daughter's side as a witness to her marriage. his public conduct was correct. in private he continued to accept money from the erring disciple whom he refused to meet, and salved his elderly conscience by insisting that the cheques should be drawn in another name. there godwin touched the lowest depths of his moral degeneration. let us remember, however, that even shelley, who saw the worst of godwin, would never speak of him with total condemnation. "added years," he wrote near the end of his life, "only add to my admiration of his intellectual powers, and even the moral resources of his character." in the poetical epistle to maria gisborne, he wrote of "that which was godwin--greater none than he though fallen, and fallen on evil times, to stand among the spirits of our age and land before the dread tribunal of to-come the foremost, while rebuke cowers pale and dumb." the end came to the old man amid comparative peace and serenity. he accepted a sinecure from the whigs, and became a yeoman usher of the exchequer, with a small stipend and chambers in new palace yard. it was a tribute as much to his harmlessness as to his merit. the work of his last years shows little decay in his intellectual powers. _his thoughts on man_ ( ) collects his fugitive essays. they are varied in subject, suave, easy and conversational in manner, more polished in style than those of the _enquirer_, if a good deal thinner in matter. they avoid political themes, but the idea of human perfectibility none the less pervades the book with an unaggressive presence, a cold and wintry sun. one curious trait of his more cautious and conservative later mind is worth noting. when he wrote _political justice_, the horizons of science were unlimited, the vistas of discovery endless. now he questions even the mathematical data of astronomy, talks of the limitations of our faculties, and applauds a positive attitude that refrains from conjecture. his last years were spent in writing a book in which he ventured at length to state his views upon religion. like helvétius he perceived the advantages which an unpopular philosopher may derive from posthumous publication. freed at last from the vulgar worries of debt and the tragical burden of personal ties, the fighting ended which had never brought him the joy of combat, the material struggle over which had issued in defeat, he became again the thing that was himself, a luminous intelligence, a humane thinker. with eighty years of life behind him, and doubting whether the curtain of death concealed a secret, godwin tranquilly faced extinction in april, . * * * * * "to do my part to free the human mind from slavery," that in his own words was the main object of godwin's life. the task was not fully discharged with the writing of _political justice_. he could never forget the terror and gloom of his own early years, and, like all the thinkers of the revolution, he coupled superstition with despotism and priests with kings as the arch-enemies of human liberty. the terrors of eternal punishment, the firmly riveted chains of calvinistic logic, had fettered his own growing mind in youth; and to the end he thought of traditional religion as the chief of those factitious things which prevent mankind from reaching the full stature to which nature destined it. paine had attempted this work from a similar standpoint, but godwin, with his trained speculative mind, and his ideal of courtesy and persuasiveness in argument, thought meanly (as a private letter shows) of his friend's polemics. it was an unlucky timidity which caused mrs. shelley to suppress her father's religious essays when the manuscript was bequeathed to her for publication on his death. when, at length, they appeared in (_essays never before published_), the work which they sought to accomplish had been done by other pens. they possess none the less an historical interest; some fine pages will always be worth reading for their humane impulse and their manly eloquence; they help us to understand the influence which godwin's ideas, conveyed in personal intercourse, exerted on the author of _prometheus unbound_. there is little in them which a candid believer would resent to-day. most of the dogmas which godwin assailed have long since crumbled away through the sapping of a humaner morality and a more historical interpretation of the bible. the book opens with a protest against the theory and practice of salutary delusions; and godwin once more pours his scorn upon those who would cherish their own private freedom, while preserving popular superstitions, "that the lower ranks may be kept in order." the foundation of all improvement is that "the whole community should run the generous race for intellectual and moral superiority." godwin would preserve some portion of the religious sense, for we can reach sobriety and humility only by realising "how frail and insignificant a part we constitute of the great whole." but the fundamental tenets of dogmatic christianity are far, he argues, from being salutary delusions. at the basis alike of protestantism and catholicism, he sees the doctrine of eternal punishment; and with an iteration that was not superfluous in his own day, he denounces its cruel and demoralising effects. it saps the character where it is really believed, and renders the mind which receives it servile and pusillanimous. the case is no better when it is neither sincerely believed nor boldly rejected. such an attitude, which is, he thinks, that of most professing believers, makes for insincerity, and for an indifference to all honest thought and speculation. the man who dare neither believe nor disbelieve is debarred from thinking at all. worst of all, this doctrine of endless torment and arbitrary election involves a blasphemous denial of the goodness of god. "to say all, then, in a word, since it must finally be told, the god of the christians is a tyrant." he quotes the delightfully naïve reflection of plutarch, who held that it was better to deny god than to calumniate him, "for i had rather it should be said of me, that there was never such a man as plutarch, than that it should be said that plutarch was ill-natured, arbitrary, capricious, cruel, and inexorable." a survey of church history brings out what godwin calls "the mixed character of christianity, its horrors and its graces." in much of what has come down to us from the old testament he sees the inevitable effects of anthropomorphism, when the religion of a barbarous age is reduced to writing, and handed down as the effect of inspiration. he cannot sufficiently admire the beauty of christ's teaching of a perfect disinterestedness and self-denial--a doctrine in his own terminology of "universal benevolence." but the disciples lived in a preternatural atmosphere, continually busied with the four last things, death, judgment, heaven, and hell; and they distorted the beauty of the christian morality by introducing an other-worldliness, to which the ancients had been strangers. from this came the despotism of the church based on the everlasting burnings and the keys, and something of the spirit of st. dominic and the inquisition can be traced, he thinks, even to the earliest period of christianity. the gospel sermons do not always realise the godwinian ideal of rational persuasion. godwin's own view is in the main what we should call agnostic: "i do not consider my faculties adequate to pronouncing upon the cause of all things. i am contented to take the phenomena as i behold them, without pretending to erect an hypothesis under the idea of making all things easy. i do not rest my globe of earth upon an elephant [a reference to the indian myth], and the elephant upon a tortoise. i am content to take my globe of earth simply, in other words to observe the objects which present themselves to my senses, without undertaking to find out a cause why they are what they are." with cautious steps, he will, however, go a little further than this. he regards with reverence and awe "that principle, whatever it is, which acts everywhere around me." but he will not slide into anthropomorphism, nor give to this supreme thing, which recalls shelley's demogorgon, the shape of a man. "the principle is not intellect; its ways are not our ways." if there is no particular providence, there is none the less a tendency in nature which seconds our strivings, guarantees the work of reason, and "in the vast sum of instances, works for good, and operates beneficially for us." the position reminds us of matthew arnold's definition of god as "the stream of tendency by which all things strive to fulfil the law of their being." "we have here," writes godwin, "a secure alliance, a friend that so far as the system of things extends will never desert us, unhearing, inaccessible to importunity, uncapricious, without passions, without favour, affection, or partiality, that maketh its sun to rise on the evil and the good, and its rain to descend on the just and the unjust." amid the dim but rosy mist of this vague faith the old man went out to explore the unknown. a bolder and more rebellious thought was his real legacy to his age. it is the central impulse of the whole revolutionary school: "we know what we are: we know not what we might have been. but surely we should have been greater than we are but for this disadvantage [dogmatic religion, and particularly the doctrine of eternal punishment]. it is as if we took some minute poison with everything that was intended to nourish us. it is, we will suppose, of so mitigated a quality as never to have had the power to kill. but it may nevertheless stunt our growth, infuse a palsy into every one of our articulations, and insensibly change us from giants of mind which we might have been into a people of dwarfs." let us write godwin's epitaph in his own roman language. he stood erect and independent. he spoke what he deemed to be truth. he did his part to purge the veins of men of the subtle poisons which dwarf them. chapter vii mary wollstonecraft when women, standing at length beyond the last of the gates and walls that have barred their road to freedom, measure their debt to history, there will be little to claim their gratitude before the close of the eighteenth century. the protestant reformation on the whole depressed their status, and even among its more speculative sects the quakers stood alone in preaching the equality of the sexes. the english whigs ignored the existence of women. it was left for the french thinkers who laid the foundations of the revolution to formulate a view of society and human nature which, as it were, insisted on its own application to women. the idea of women's emancipation was alive among their principles. one can name its parents, and one marvels not at all that it seized this mind and the other, but that any mind among the professors of the "new philosophy" contrived to escape it. the central thought, which inspired the gospel of perfectibility has a meaning for men which an enlightened mind can grasp, but it tells the plain obvious fact about women. when holcroft compares the influence of laws and institutions upon men to the action of beggars who mutilate their children, when godwin talks of the subtle poisons of dogma and custom, which cause mankind to grow up a race of dwarfs when they should be giants, they seem to be using metaphors which describe nothing so well as the effect of an artificial education and a tradition of subjection upon women. one by one the thinkers of this generation were unconsciously laying down the premises which the women's movement needed. at the end of all their arguments for liberty and perfectibility, we seem to hear to-day a chorus of women's voices which points the application to themselves. there was little hope for women while the opinion prevailed that minds come into the world with their qualities innate and their limitations fixed by nature. if that were the case, then the undeniable fact that women were intellectually and morally dependent and inferior must be accepted as their inevitable destiny. helvétius, all unconscious of what he did, was the hope-bringer, when he insisted that mind is the creation of education and experience. when he urged that the very inequality of men's talents is itself factitious and the result of more or less good fortune in the occasions which provoke a mind to activity, who could fail to enquire whether the accepted inferiority of women were so natural and so necessary as the whole world assumed? this school of thought revelled in social psychology. it studied in turn the soldier, the priest and the courtier, and shewed how each of these has a secondary character, a professional mind, a class morality impressed and imposed upon him by his education and employment. looking down from the vantage ground of their philosophic salon upon their contemporaries in french society who owed their fortunes and reputations to the favour of an absolute court, helvétius and his friends framed their general theory of the demoralisation which despotism brings about in the human character. they studied the natural history of the human parasite who flourished under the bourbons. they need not have travelled to versailles to find him. the domestic subjection of wives to husbands, the education of girls in a specialised morality, the fetters of custom and fashion, the experience of economic dependence, the denial of every noble stimulus to thought and action--these causes, more potent and more universal than any which work at court, were making a sex condemned to an artificial inferiority, an induced parasitism. thinkers who had discarded the notion that human minds come into the world with an innate character and with their limitations already predestined, were ripe to draw the conclusion. the revolution believed that men by taking thought might add many cubits to their mental stature. to think in these terms was to prepare oneself to see that the "lovely follies" the "amiable weaknesses" of the "fair sex" were in their turn nothing innate, but the fostered characteristics of a class bred in subjection, the trading habits of a profession which had bent all its faculties to the art of pleasing. reformers who sought to raise the peasant, the negro, and even the courtier to his full stature as a man, were inevitably led to consider the case of their own wives and daughters. they were not the men to be arrested by the distinction which has been recently invented. democracy, we are told, is concerned with the removal not of natural, but of artificial inequalities. their bias was to regard all inequalities as artificial. looking forward to the goal of human perfection, they were prompt to realise that every advance would be insecure, and the final hope a delusion, if on their road they should leave half mankind behind them. it requires a vigorous exercise of the historical imagination to realise the conditions which society imposed upon women in the eighteenth century. if godwin and paine had reflected closely on the position of women, they might have been led to modify their exaggerated antithesis between society and government. government, indeed, imposed a barbarous code of laws upon women. it was a trifle that they were excluded from political power. the law treated a wife as the chattel of her husband, denied her the disposal of her own property, even when it was the produce of her own labour, sanctioned his use of violence to her person, and refused (as indeed it still in part does) to recognise her rights as a parent. but the state of the law reflected only too faithfully the opinions of society, and these opinions in their turn formed the minds of women. civilised people amuse themselves to-day by detecting how much of the old prejudices still lurk in a shamefaced half-consciousness in the minds of modern men. there was no need in the eighteenth century for any fine analysis to detect the naïve belief that women exist only as auxiliary beings to contribute to the comfort and to flatter the self-esteem of men. the belief was avowed and accepted as the unquestioned basis of human society. good men proclaimed it, and the cleverest women dared not question it. for the crudest statement of it we need not go to men who defended despotism and convention in other departments of life. the most repulsive of all definitions of the principle of sex-subjection is to be found in rousseau:--"the education of women should always be relative to that of men. to please, to be useful to us, to make us love and esteem them, to educate us when young, to take care of us when grown up, to advise, to console us, to render our lives easy and agreeable; these are the duties of women at all times, and what they should be taught in their infancy." when the men of the eighteenth century said this, they meant it, and they accepted not only its plain meaning, but its remotest logical consequences. it was a denial of the humanity and personality of women. a slave is a human being, whom the law deprives of his right to sell his labour. a woman had to learn that her subjection affected not only her relations to men, but her attitude to nature and to god. the subtle poison ran in her veins when she prayed and when she studied. subject in her body, she was enslaved in mind and soul as well. milton saw the husband as a priest intervening between a woman and her god:-- he for god only, she for god in him. even on her knees a woman did not escape the consciousness of sex, and a manual of morality written by a learned divine (dr. fordyce) assured her that a "fine woman" never "strikes so deeply" as when a man sees her bent in prayer. she was encouraged to pray that she might be seen of men--men who scrutinised her with the eyes of desire. it is a woman, herself something of a "blue-stocking," who has left us the most pathetic statement of the intellectual fetters which her sex accepted. women, says mrs. barbauld, "must often be content to know that a thing is so, without understanding the proof." they "cannot investigate; they may remember." she warns the girls whom she is addressing that if they will steal knowledge, they must learn, like the spartan youths, to hide their furtive gains. "the thefts of knowledge in our sex are only connived at while carefully concealed, and if displayed punished with disgrace." religion was sullied; knowledge was closed; but above all the sentiment of the day perverted morals. here, too, everything was relative to men, and men demanded a sensitive weakness, a shrinking timidity. courage, honour, truth, sincerity, independence--these were items in a male ideal. they were to a woman as unnecessary, nay, as harmful in the marriage market as a sturdy frame and well-knit muscles. dean swift, a sharp satirist, but a good friend of women, comments on the prevailing view. "there is one infirmity," he writes in his illuminating _letter to a very young lady on her marriage_, "which is generally allowed you, i mean that of cowardice," and he goes on to express what was in his day the wholly unorthodox view that "the same virtues equally become both sexes." there he was singular. the business of a woman was to cultivate those virtues most conducive to her prosperity in the one avocation open to her. that avocation was marriage, and the virtues were those which her prospective employer, the average over-sexed male, anxious at all points to feel his superiority, would desire in a subject wife. submission was the first of them, and submission became the foundation of female virtue. lord kames, a forgotten but once popular scottish philosopher, put the point quite fairly (the quotation, together with that from mrs. barbauld, is to be found in mr. lyon blease's valuable book on _the emancipation of englishwomen_): "women, destined by nature to be obedient, ought to be disciplined early to bear wrongs without murmuring.... this is essential to the female sex, for ever subjected to the authority of a single person." the rest of morality was summed up in the precepts of the art of pleasing. chastity had, of course, its incidental place; it enhances the pride of possession. the art of pleasing was in practice a kind of furtive conquest by stratagems and wiles, by tears and blushes, in which the woman, by an assumed passivity, learned to excite the passions of the male. rousseau owed much of his popularity to his artistic statement of this position:--"if woman be formed to please and to be subjected to man, it is her place, doubtless, to render herself agreeable to him.... the violence of his desires depends on her charms; it is by means of these that she should urge him to the exertion of those powers which nature hath given him. the most successful method of exciting them is to render such exertion necessary by resistance; as in that case self-love is added to desire, and the one triumphs in the victory which the other is obliged to acquire. hence arise the various modes of attack and defence between the sexes; the boldness of one sex and the timidity of the other; and in a word, that bashfulness and modesty, with which nature hath armed the weak in order to subdue the strong." the "soft," the "fair," the "gentle sex" learned its lesson with only too much docility. it grew up stunted to meet the prevailing demand. it acquired weakness, feigned ignorance, and emulated folly as sedulously as men will labour to make at least a show of strength, good sense, and knowledge. it adapted itself only too successfully to the economic conditions in which it found itself. men accepted its flatteries and returned them with contempt. "women," wrote that dictator of morals and manners, lord chesterfield, "are only children of a larger growth.... a man of sense only trifles with them, plays with them, humours and flatters them, as he does a sprightly, forward child." the men of that century valued women only as playthings. they forgot that he is the child who wants the toy. the first protests against this morality of degradation came, as one would expect, from men. demoralising as it was for men, it did at least leave them the free use of their minds. enquiry, reflection, scepticism, unsuitable if not immodest in a woman, were the rights of a manly intellect. defoe and swift uttered an unheeded protest in england, but neither of them carried the subject far. there are some good critical remarks in helvétius about women's education; but the first man in that century who seemed to realise the importance and scope of what several dimly felt, was baron holbach, whose materialism was so peculiarly shocking to our forefathers. a chapter "on women" in his _système social_ ( ) opens thus: "in all the countries of the world the lot of women is to submit to tyranny. the savage makes a slave of his mate, and carries his contempt for her to the point of cruelty. for the jealous and voluptuous asiatic, women are but the sensual instruments of his secret pleasures.... does the european, in spite of the apparent deference which he affects towards women, really treat them with more respect? while we refuse them a sensible education, while we feed their minds with tedium and trifles, while we allow them to busy themselves only with playthings and fashions and adornments, while we seek to inspire them only with the taste for frivolous accomplishments, do we not show our real contempt, while we mask it with a show of deference and respect?" holbach was a rash and rather superficial metaphysician, but the warm-hearted and honest pages which follow this opening inspire a deep respect for the man. he talks of the absurdities of women's education; draws a bitter picture of a woman's fate in a loveless marriage of convenience; remarks that esteem is necessary for a happy marriage, but asks sadly how one is to esteem a mind which has emerged from a schooling in folly; assails the practice of gallantry, and the fashionable conjugal infidelities of his day; writes with real indignation of the dangers to which working-class girls are exposed; proposes to punish seduction as a crime no less cruel than murder, and concludes by confessing that he would like to adopt plato's opinion that women should share with men in the tasks of government, but dreads the effects which would flow from the admission of the corrupt ladies of his day to power. twenty years later this promising beginning bore fruit in the mature and reasoned pleading of condorcet for the reform of women's education. there was no subject on which this noble constructive mind insisted with such continual emphasis. his feminism (to use an ugly modern word), was an integral part of his thinking. he remembered women when he wrote of public affairs as naturally as most men forget them. he deserves in the gratitude of women a place at least as distinguished as john stuart mill's. the best and fullest statement of his position is to be found in the report and draft bill on national education (sur l'instruction publique), which he prepared for the revolutionary convention in (see also p. ). he maintains boldly that the system of national education should be the same for women as for men. he specially insists that they should be admitted to the study of the natural sciences (these were days when it was held that a woman would lose her modesty if she studied botany), and thinks that they would render useful services to science, even if they did not attain the first rank. they ought to be educated for many reasons. they must be able to teach their children. if they remain ignorant, the curse of inequality will be introduced into the family, and mothers will be regarded by their sons with contempt. nor will men retain their intellectual interests, unless they can share them with women. lastly, women have the same natural right to knowledge and enlightenment as men. the education should be given in common, and this will powerfully further the interests of morality. the separation of the sexes in youth really proceeds from the fear of unequal marriages, in other words, from avarice and pride. it would be dangerous for a democratic community to allow the spirit of social inequality to survive among women, with the consequence that it could never be extirpated among men. condorcet was not a brilliant writer, but the humanity and generosity of his thought finds a powerful and reasoned expression in his sober and somewhat laboured sentences. so far a good and enlightened man might go. the substance of all that need be said against the harem with the door ajar, in which the eighteenth century had confined the mind if not the body, of women, is to be found in holbach and condorcet. but they wrote from outside. they were the wise spectators who saw the consequences of the degradation of women, but did not intimately know its cause. mary wollstonecraft's _vindication of the rights of woman_ ( ) is perhaps the most original book of its century, not because its daring ideas were altogether new, but because in its pages for the first time a woman was attempting to use her own mind. her ideas, as we have seen, were not absolutely new. they were latent in all the thinking of the revolutionary period. they had been foreshadowed by holbach (whom she may have read), by paine (whom she had occasionally met), and by condorcet (whose chief contribution to the question, written in the same year as her _vindication_, she obviously had not read). what was absolutely new in the world's history was that for the first time a woman dared to sit down to write a book which was not an echo of men's thinking, nor an attempt to do rather well what some man had done a little better, but a first exploration of the problems of society and morals from a standpoint which recognised humanity without ignoring sex. she showed her genius not so much in writing the book, which is, indeed, a faulty though an intensely vital performance, as in thinking out its position for herself. she had her predecessors, but she owed to them little, if anything. there was not enough in them to have formed her mind, if she had come to their pages unemancipated. she freed herself from mental slavery, and the utmost which she can have derived from the two or three men who professed the same generous opinions, was the satisfaction of encouragement or confirmation. she owed to others only the powerful stimulus which the revolution gave to all bold and progressive thought. the vitality of her ideas sprang from her own experience. she had received rather less than was customary of the slipshod superficial education permitted to girls of the middle classes in her day. with this nearly useless equipment, she had found herself compelled to struggle with the world not merely to gain a living, but to rescue a luckless family from a load of embarrassments and misfortunes. her father was a drunkard, idle, improvident, moody and brutal, and as a girl she had often protected her mother from his violence. a sister had married a profligate husband, and mary rescued her from a miserable home, in which she had been driven to temporary insanity. the sisters had attempted to live by conducting a suburban school for girls; a brief experience as a governess in a fashionable family had been even more formative. when at length she took to writing and translating educational books, with the encouragement of a kindly publisher, she was practising under the stimulus of necessity the doctrine of economic independence, which became one of the foundations of her teaching. it is the pressure of economic necessity which in this generation and the last has forced women into a campaign for freedom and opportunity. what the growth of the industrial system has done for women in the mass, a hard experience did for mary wollstonecraft. in her own person or through her sisters she had felt in an aggravated form most of the wrongs to which women were peculiarly exposed. she had seen the reverse of the shield of chivalry, and known the domestic tyrannies of a sheltered home. the miracle was that mary wollstonecraft's mind was never distorted by bitterness, nor her faith in mankind destroyed by cynicism. her personality lives for us still in her own books and in the records of her friends. opie's vivid painting hangs in the national portrait gallery to confirm what godwin tells us of her beauty in his pathetic _memoir_ and to remind us of southey's admiration for her eyes. godwin writes of "that smile of bewitching tenderness ... which won, both heart and soul, the affection of almost every one that beheld it." she was, he tells us, "in the best and most engaging sense, feminine in her manners"; and indeed her letters and her books present her to us as a woman who had courage and independence precisely because she was so normal, so healthy in mind and body, so richly endowed with a generous vitality. if she won the hearts of all who knew her, it was because her own affections were warm and true. she was a good sister, a good daughter, a passionate lover, an affectionate friend, a devoted and tender mother. she was too real a human being to be misled by the impartialities of universal benevolence. "few," she wrote, "have had much affection for mankind, who did not first love their parents, their brothers, sisters, and even the domestic brutes whom they first played with." that eloquent trait, her love of animals and her hatred of cruelty, helps to define her character. she was, says godwin, "a worshipper of domestic life," and, for all her proud independence, in love with love. in godwin's prim phraseology, she "set a great value on a mutual affection between persons of an opposite sex, and regarded it as the principal solace of human life." indeed, in the _letters to imlay_, which appeared after her death, it is not so much the strength and independence of her final attitude which impresses us, as her readiness to forgive, her reluctance to resent his neglect, her affection which could survive so many proofs of the man's unworthiness. the strongest passion in her generous nature was maternal tenderness. it won her the enduring love of the children whom she taught as a governess. it caused her mind to be busied with the problem of education as its chief preoccupation. it informs her whole view of the rights and duties of women in her _vindication_. it inspired the charming fragment entitled _lessons for little fanny_, which is one of the most graceful expressions in english prose of the physical tenderness of a mother's love. if she despised the artificial sensibility which in her day was admired and cultivated by women, it was because her own emotions were natural and strong. her intellect, which no regular discipline had formed, impressed the laborious and studious godwin by its quickness and its flashes of sudden insight--its "intuitive perception of intellectual beauty." the _vindication_ is certainly among the most remarkable books that have come down to us from that opulent age. it has in abundance most of the faults that a book can have. it was hastily written in six weeks. it is ill-arranged, full of repetitions, full of digressions, and almost without a regular plan. its style is unformed, sometimes rhetorical, sometimes familiar. but with all these faults, it teems with apt phrases, telling passages, vigorous sentences which sum up in a few convincing lines the substance of its message. it lacks the neatness, the athletic movement of paine's english. it has nothing of the learning, the formidable argumentative compulsion of godwin's writing. but it is sold to-day in cheap editions, while godwin survives only on the dustier shelves of old libraries. its passion and sincerity have kept it alive. it is the cry of an experience too real, too authentic, to allow of any meandering down the by-ways of fanciful speculation. it said with its solitary voice the thing which the main army of thinking women is saying to-day. there is scarcely a passage of its central doctrine which the modern leaders of the women's movement would repudiate or qualify; and there is little if anything which they would wish to add to it. writers like olive schreiner, miss cicely hamilton, and mrs. gilman have, indeed, a background of historical knowledge, an evolutionary view of society, a sense of the working of economic causes which mary wollstonecraft did not possess and could not in her age have acquired, even if she had been what she was not, a woman of learning. but she has anticipated all their main positions, and formulated the ideal which the modern movement is struggling to complete. her book is dated in every chapter. it is as much a page torn from the journals of the french revolution as paine's _rights of man_ or condorcet's _sketch_. and yet it seems, as they do not, a modern book. the chief merit of the _vindication_ is its clear perception that everything in the future of women depends on the revision of the attitude of men towards women and of women towards themselves. the rare men who saw this, from holbach and condorcet to mill, were philosophers. mary wollstonecraft had no pretensions to philosophy. a brilliant courage gave her in its stead her range and breadth of vision. it would have been so much easier to write a treatise on education, a plea for the reform of marriage, or even an argument for the admission of women to political rights. to the last of these themes she alludes only in a single sentence: "i may excite laughter, by dropping a hint, which i mean to pursue, some future time, for i really think that women ought to have representatives, instead of being arbitrarily governed without having any direct share allowed them in the deliberations of government." she had the insight to perceive that the first task of the pioneer was to raise the whole broad issue of the subjection of her sex. she begins by linking her argument with a splendid imprudence to the revolutionary movement. it had proclaimed the supremacy of reason, and based freedom on natural right. why was it that the new constitution ignored women? with a fresh simplicity, she appeals to the french convention in the name of its own abstract principles, as modern women appeal (with more experience of the limitations of male logic) to english liberalism. but she knew very well what was the enormous despotism of interest and prejudice that she was attacking. the sensualist and the tyrant were for her interchangeable terms, and with great skill she enlists on her side the new passion for liberty. "all tyrants want to crush reason, from the weak king to the weak father." she demands the enlightenment of women, as the reformers demanded that of the masses: "strengthen the female mind by enlarging it, and there will be an end to blind obedience; but as blind obedience is ever sought for by power, tyrants and sensualists are in the right when they endeavour to keep women in the dark, because the former only want slaves, and the latter a plaything." with a shrewd if instinctive insight into social psychology, she traces to the unenlightened self-interest of the dominant sex the code of morals which has been imposed upon women. rousseau supplies her with the perfect and finished statement of all that she opposed. he and his like had given a sex to virtue. she takes her stand on a broad human morality. "freedom must strengthen the reason of woman until she comprehend her duty." against the perverted sex-morality which treated woman in religion, in ethics, in manners as a being relative only to men, she directs the whole of her argument. it is "vain to expect virtue from women, till they are in some degree independent of men." "females have been insulated, as it were, and while they have been stripped of the virtue that should clothe humanity, they have been decked with artificial graces that enable them to exercise a short-lived tyranny.... their sole ambition is to be fair, to raise emotion instead of inspiring respect; and this ignoble desire, like the servility in absolute monarchies, destroys all strength of character. liberty is the mother of virtue, and if women be, by their very constitution, slaves, and not allowed to breathe the sharp invigorating air of freedom, they must ever languish like exotics, and be reckoned beautiful flaws in nature.... women, i allow, may have different duties to fulfil; but they are human duties.... if marriage be the cement of society, mankind should all be educated after the same model, or the intercourse of the sexes will never deserve the name of fellowship, nor will women ever fulfil the peculiar duties of their sex, till they become enlightened citizens, till they become free by being enabled to earn their own subsistence, independent of men; in the same manner, i mean, to prevent misconstruction, as one man is independent of another. nay, marriage will never be held sacred till women, by being brought up with men, are prepared to be their companions rather than their mistresses." it is a brave but singularly balanced view of human life and society. there is in it no trace of the dogmatic individualism that distorts the speculations of godwin and clogs the more practical thinking of paine. it is, indeed, a protest against the exaggeration of sex, which instilled in women "the desire of being always women." it flouts that external morality of reputation, which would have a woman always "seem to be this and that," because her whole status in the world depended on the opinion which men held of her. it demands in words which anticipate ibsen's _doll's house_, that a woman shall be herself and lead her own life. but "her own life" was for mary wollstonecraft a social life. the ideal is the perfect companionship of men and women, and the preparation of men and women, by an equal practice of modesty and chastity, and an equal advance in education, to be the parents of their children. she is ready indeed to rest her whole case for the education of women upon the duties of maternity. "whatever tends to incapacitate the maternal character takes woman out of her sphere." the education which she demanded was the co-education of men and women in common schools. she attacked the dual standard of sexual morality with a brave plainness of speech. she demanded the opening of suitable trades and professions to women. she exposed the whole system which compels women to "live by their charm." but a less destructive reformer never set out to overthrow conventions. for her the duty always underlies the right, and the development of the self-reliant individual is a preparation for the life of fellowship. chapter viii shelley if it were possible to blot out from our mind its memory of the bible and of protestant theology, and with that mind of artificial vacancy to read _paradise lost_ and _samson agonistes_, how strange and great and mad would the genius of milton appear. we should wonder at his creative mythological imagination, but we should marvel past all comprehending at his conceptions of the divine order, and the destiny of man. to attempt to understand shelley without the aid of godwin is a task hardly more promising than it would be to read milton without the bible. the parallel is so close that one is tempted to pursue it further, for there is between these two poets a close sympathy amid glaring contrasts. each admitted in spite of his passion for an ideal world an absorbing concern in human affairs, and a vehement interest in the contemporary struggle for liberty. if the one was a republican puritan and the other an anarchical atheist, the dress which their passion for liberty assumed was the uniform of the day. neither was an original thinker. each steeped himself in the classics. but more important even than the classics in the influences which moulded their minds, were the dogmatic systems to which they attached themselves. it is not the power of novel and pioneer thought which distinguishes a philosophical from a purely sensuous mind. shelley no more innovated or created in metaphysics or politics than did milton. but each had, with his gift of imagery, and his power of musical speech, an intellectual view of the universe. the name of milton suggests to us eloquent rhythms and images which pose like grecian sculpture. but milton's world was the world as the grave, gowned men saw it who composed the westminster confession. the name of shelley rings like the dying fall of a song, or floats before our eyes amid the faery shapes of wind-tossed clouds. but shelley's world was the world of the utilitarian godwin and the mathematical condorcet. the supremacy of an intellectual vision is not a common characteristic among poets, but it raises milton and shelley to the choir in which dante and goethe are leaders. for keats beauty was truth, and that was all he cared to know. coleridge, indeed, was a metaphysician of some pretensions, but the "honey dew" on which he fed when he wrote _christabel_ and _kubla khan_ was not the _critique of pure reason_. but to shelley _political justice_ was the veritable "milk of paradise." we must drink of it ourselves if we would share his banquet. godwin in short explains shelley, and it is equally true that shelley is the indispensable commentary to godwin. for all that was living and human in the philosopher he finds imaginative expression. his mind was a selective soil, in which only good seed could germinate. the flowers wear the colour of life and emotion. in the clear light of his verse, gleaming in their passionate hues, they display for us their values. some of them, the bees of a working hive will consent to fertilise; from others they will turn decidedly away. shelley is godwin's fertile garden. from another standpoint he is the desert which godwin laid waste. it is, indeed, the commonplace of criticism to insist on the reality which the ideal world possessed for shelley. other poets have illustrated thought by sensuous imagery. to shelley, thought alone was the essential thing. a good impulse, a dream, an idea, were for him what a centaur or a pegasus were for common fancy. he sees in _prometheus unbound_ a spirit who speeded hither on the sigh of one who gave an enemy his plank, then plunged aside to die. another spirit rides on a sage's "dream with plumes of flame"; and a third tells how a poet will watch from dawn to gloom the lake-reflected sun illume, the yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, nor heed, nor see, what things they be; but from these create he can forms more real than living man, nurslings of immortality. how naturally from shelley's imagination flowed the lines about keats:-- all he had loved and moulded into thought from shape and hue and odour and sweet sound lamented adonais. this was no rhetoric, no affectation of fancy. shelley saw the immortal shapes of "desires and adorations" lamenting over the bier of the mortal keats, because for him an idea or a passion was incomparably more real and more comprehensible than the things of flesh and earth, of whose existence the senses persuade us. to such a mind philosophy was not a distant world to be entered with diffident and halting feet, ever ready to retreat at the first alarm of commonsense. it was his daily habitation. he lived in it, and guided himself by its intellectual compass among the perils and wonders of life, as naturally as other men feel their way by touch. this ardent, sensitive, emotional nature, with all its gift of lyrical speech and passionate feeling, was in fact the ideal man of the godwinian conception, who lives by reason and obeys principles. three men in modern times have achieved a certain fame by their rigid obedience to "rational" conceptions of conduct--thomas day, who wrote _sandford and merton_, bentham, and herbert spencer. but the erratic, fanciful shelley was as much the enthusiastic slave of reason, as any of these three; and he seemed erratic only because to be perfectly rational is in this world the wildest form of eccentricity. he came upon _political justice_ while he was still a school-boy at eton; and his diaries show that there hardly passed a year of his life in which he omitted to re-read it. its phraseology colours his prose; his mind was built upon it, as milton's was upon the bible. we hardly require his own confession to assure us of the debt. "the name of godwin," he wrote in , "has been used to excite in me feelings of reverence and admiration. i have been accustomed to consider him a luminary too dazzling for the darkness which surrounds him. from the earliest period of my knowledge of his principles, i have ardently desired to share on the footing of intimacy that intellect which i have delighted to contemplate in its emanations. considering then, these feelings, you will not be surprised at the inconceivable emotions with which i learnt your existence and your dwelling. i had enrolled your name in the list of the honourable dead. i had felt regret that the glory of your being had passed from this earth of ours. it is not so. you still live, and i firmly believe are still planning the welfare of human kind." the enthusiastic youth was to learn that his master's preoccupation was with concerns more sordid and more pressing than the welfare of human kind; but if close personal intercourse brought some disillusionment regarding godwin's private character, it only deepened his intellectual influence, and confirmed shelley's lifelong adhesion to his system. no contemporary thinker ever contested godwin's empire over shelley's mind; and if in later years plato claimed an ever-growing share in his thoughts, we must remember that in several of his fundamental tenets godwin was a platonist without knowing it. it is only in his purely personal utterances, in the lyrics which rendered a mood or an impression, or in such fancies as the _witch of atlas_, that shelley can escape from the obsession of _political justice_. the voice of godwin does not disturb us in _the skylark_, and it is silenced by the violent passions of _the cenci_. but in all the more formal and graver utterances of shelley's genius, from _queen mab_ to _hellas_, it supplies the theme and shelley writes the variations. _queen mab_, indeed, is nothing but a fervent lad's attempt to state in verse the burden of godwin's prose. some passages in it (notably the lines about commerce) are a mere paraphrase or summary of pages from _the enquirer_ or _political justice_. in the _revolt of islam_, and still more in _prometheus unbound_, shelley's imagination is becoming its own master. the variations are more important, more subtle, more beautiful than the theme; but still the theme is there, a precise and definite dogma for fancy to embroider. it is only in _hellas_ that shelley's power of narrative (in hassan's story), his irrepressible lyrical gift, and his passion which at length could speak in its own idiom, combine to make a masterpiece which owes to godwin only some general ideas. if the transcript became less literal, it was not that the influence had waned. it was rather that shelley was gaining the full mastery of his own native powers of expression. in these poems he assumes or preaches all godwin's characteristic doctrines, perfectibility, non-resistance, anarchism, communism, the power of reason and the superiority of persuasion over force, universal benevolence, and the ascription of moral evil to the desolating influence of "positive institution." the general agreement is so obvious that one need hardly illustrate it. what is more curious is the habit which shelley acquired of reproducing even the minor opinions or illustrations which had struck him in his continual reading of godwin. when mammon advises swellfoot the tyrant to refresh himself with a simple kickshaw by your persian cook such as is served at the great king's second table. the price and pains which its ingredients cost might have maintained some dozen families a winter or two--not more. he is simply making an ironical paraphrase from godwin. the fine scene in canto xi. of the _revolt of islam_, in which laon, confronting the tyrant on his throne, quells by a look and a word a henchman who was about to stab him, is a too brief rendering of godwin's reflections on the story of marius and the executioner (see p. ). and one more daring, raised his steel anew to pierce the stranger: "what hast thou to do with me, poor wretch?"--calm, solemn and severe that voice unstrung his sinews, and he threw his dagger on the ground, and pale with fear, sate silently. the pages of shelley are littered with such reminiscences. matthew arnold said of shelley that he was "a beautiful and ineffectual angel beating in the void his luminous wings in vain." one is tempted to retort that to be beautiful is in itself to escape futility, and to people a void with angels is to be far from ineffectual. but the metaphor is more striking as phrase-making than as criticism. the world into which the angel fell, wide-eyed, indignant, and surprised, was not a void. it was a nightmare composed of all the things which to common mortals are usual, normal, inevitable--oppressions and wars, follies and crimes, kings and priests, hangmen and inquisitors, poverty and luxury. if he beat his wings in this cage of horrors, it was with the rage and terror of a bird which belongs to the free air. shelley, matthew arnold held, was not quite sane. sanity is a capacity for becoming accustomed to the monstrous. not time nor grey hairs could bring that kind of sanity to shelley's clear-sighted madness. if he must be compared to an angel, mr. wells has drawn him for us. he was the angel whom a country clergyman shot in mistake for a buzzard, in that graceful satire, _the wonderful visit_. brought to earth by this mischance, he saw our follies and our crimes without the dulling influence of custom. satirists have loved to imagine such a being. voltaire drew him with as much wit as insight in _l'ingénu_--the american savage who landed in france, and made the amazing discovery of civilisation. shelley had not dropped from the clouds nor voyaged from the backwoods, but he seems always to be discovering civilisation with a fresh wonder and an insatiable indignation. one may doubt whether a saint has ever lived more selfless, more devoted to the beauty of virtue; but one quality shelley lacked which is commonly counted a virtue. he had none of that imaginative sympathy which can make its own the motives and desires of other men. self-interest, intolerance and greed he understood as little as common men understand heroism and devotion. he had no mean powers of observation. he saw the world as it was, and perhaps he rather exaggerated than minimised its ugliness. but it never struck him that its follies and crimes were human failings and the outcome of anything that is natural in the species. the doctrines of perfectibility and universal benevolence clothed themselves for him in the godwinian phraseology, but they were the instinctive beliefs of his temperament. so sure was he of his own goodness, so natural was it with him to love and to be brave, that he unhesitatingly ascribed all the evil of the world to the working of some force which was unnatural, accidental, anti-human. if he had grown up a mediæval christian, he would have found no difficulty in blaming the devil. the belief was in his heart; the formula was godwin's. for the wonder, the miracle of all this unnatural, incomprehensible evil in the world, he found a complete explanation in the doctrine that "positive institutions" have poisoned and distorted the natural good in man. after a gloomy picture in _queen mab_ of all the oppressions which are done under the sun, he suddenly breaks away to absolve nature: nature!--no! kings, priests and statesmen blast the human flower even in its tender bud; their influence darts like subtle poison through the bloodless veins of desolate society.... let priest-led slaves cease to proclaim that man inherits vice and misery, when force and falsehood hang even o'er the cradled babe stifling with rudest grasp all natural good. it is a stimulating doctrine, for if humanity had only to rid itself of kings and priests, the journey to perfection would be at once brief and eventful. as a sociological theory it is unluckily unsatisfying. there is, after all, nothing more natural than a king. he is a zoological fact, with his parallel in every herd of prairie dogs. nor is there anything much more human than the tendency to convention which gives to institutions their rigidity. if force and imposture have had a share in the making of kings and priests, it is equally true that they are the creation of the servility and superstition of the mass of men. the eighteenth century chose to forget that man is a gregarious animal. oppression and priestcraft are the transitory forms in which the flock has sought to cement its union. but the modern world is steeped in the lore of anthropology; there is little need to bring its heavy guns to bear upon the slender fabric of shelley's dream. _queen mab_ was a boy's precocious effort, and in later verses shelley put the case for his view of evil in a more persuasive form. he is now less concerned to declare that it is unnatural, than to insist that it flows from defects in men which are not inherent or irremovable. the view is stated with pessimistic malice by a fury in _prometheus unbound_ after a vision of slaughter. fury. blood thou can'st see, and fire; and can'st hear groans. worse things unheard, unseen, remain behind. prometheus. worse? fury. in each human heart terror survives the ravin it has gorged: the loftiest fear, all that they would disdain to think were true: hypocrisy and custom make their minds the fanes of many a worship, now outworn. they dare not devise good for man's estate, and yet they know not that they do not dare. the good want power, but to weep barren tears. the powerful goodness want--worse need for them. the wise want love; and those who love want wisdom. and all best things are thus confused to ill. many are strong and rich, and would be just, but live among their suffering fellow-men as if none felt; they know not what they do. shelley so separated the good and evil in the world, that he was presently vexed as acutely as any theist with the problem of accounting for evil. paine felt no difficulty in his sharp, positive mind. he traced all the wrongs of society to the egoism of priests and kings; and, since he did not assume the fundamental goodness of human nature, it troubled none of his theories to accept the crude primitive fact of self-interest. what shelley would really have said in answer to a question about the origin of evil, if we had found him in a prosaic mood, it is hard to guess, and the speculation does not interest us. shelley's prose opinions were of no importance. what we do trace in his poetry is a tendency, half conscious, uttering itself only in figures and parables, to read the riddle of the universe as a struggle between two hostile principles. in the world of prose he called himself an atheist. he rejoiced in the name, and used it primarily as a challenge to intolerance. "it is a good word of abuse to stop discussion," he said once to his friend trelawny, "a painted devil to frighten the foolish, a threat to intimidate the wise and good. i used it to express my abhorrence of superstition. i took up the word as a knight takes up a gauntlet in defiance of injustice." shelley was an atheist because christians used the name of god to sanctify persecution. that was really his ultimate emotional reason. his mythology, when he came to paint the world in myths, was manichean. his creed was an ardent dualism, in which a god and an anti-god contend and make history. but in his mood of revolt it suited him to confuse the names and the symbols. the snake is everywhere in his poems the incarnation of good, and if we ask why, there is probably no other reason than that the hebrew mythology against which he revolted, had taken it as the symbol of evil. the legitimate gods in his pantheon are always in the wrong. he belongs to the cosmic party of opposition, and the jupiter of his _prometheus_ is morally a temporarily omnipotent devil. like godwin he felt that the god of orthodoxy was a "tyrant," and he revolted against him, because he condemned the world which he had made. the whole point of view, as it concerns christian theology, is stated with a bitter clearness, in the speech of ahasuerus in _queen mab_. the first canto of the _revolt of islam_ puts the position of dualism without reserve: know, then, that from the depths of ages old two powers o'er mortal things dominion hold, ruling the world with a divided lot, immortal, all-pervading, manifold, twin genii, equal gods--when life and thought sprang forth, they burst the womb of inessential nought. the good principle was the morning star (as though to remind us of lucifer) until his enemy changed him to the form of a snake. the anti-god, whom men worship blindly as god, holds sway over our world. terror, madness, crime, and pain are his creation, and asia in _prometheus_ cries aloud-- utter his name: a world pining in pain asks but his name: curses shall drag him down. in the sublime mythology of _prometheus_ the war of god and anti-god is seen visibly, making the horrors of history. as jupiter's furies rend the heart of the merciful titan chained to his rock on caucasus, murders and crucifixions are enacted in the world below. the mythical cruelties in the clouds are the shadows of man's sufferings below; and they are also the cause. a mystical parallelism links the drama in heaven with the tragedy on earth; we suffer from the malignity of the world's ruler, and triumph by the endurance of man's saviour. nothing could be more absurd than to call shelley a pantheist. pantheism is the creed of conservatism and resignation. shelley felt the world as struggle and revolt, and like all the poets, he used heaven as the vast canvas on which to paint with a demonic brush an heroic idealisation of what he saw below. it would be interesting to know whether any human heart, however stout and rebellious, when once it saw the cosmic process as struggle, has ever been able to think of the issue as uncertain. certainly for shelley there was never a doubt about the final triumph of good. godwin qualified his agnosticism by supposing that there was a tendency in things (he would not call it spiritual, or endow it with mind) which somehow cooperates with us and assures the victory of life (see p. ). one seems to meet this vague principle, this reverend thing, in shelley's demogorgon, the shapeless, awful negation which overthrows the maleficent jupiter, and with his fall inaugurates the golden age. the strange name of demogorgon has probably its origin in the clerical error of some mediæval copyist, fumbling with the scholia of an anonymous grammarian. one can conceive that it appealed to shelley's wayward fancy because it suggested none of the traditional theologies; and certainly it has a mysterious and venerable sound. shelley can describe it only as godwin describes his principle by a series of negatives. i see a mighty darkness filling the seat of power, and rays of gloom dart round, as light from the meridian sun, ungazed upon and shapeless; neither limb, nor form, nor outline; yet we feel it is a living spirit. it is the eternal =x= which the human spirit always assumes when it is at a loss to balance its equations. demogorgon is, because if it were not, our strivings would be a battle in the mist, with no clear trumpet-note that promised triumph. shelley, turning amid his singing to the supremest of all creative work, the making of a mythology, invents his god very much as those detested impostors, the primitive priests, had done. he gives humanity a friendly power as they had endowed their tribe with a god of battles. humanity at grips with chaos is curiously like a nigger clan in the bush. it needs a fetish of victory. but a poet's mythology is to be judged by its fruits. a faith is worth the cathedral it builds. a myth is worth the poem it inspires. if shelley's ultimate view of reality is vague, a thing to be shadowed in myths and hinted in symbols, there is nothing indefinite in his view of the destinies of mankind. here he marched behind godwin, and godwin hated vagueness. his intellect had assimilated all the steps in the argument for perfectibility. it emerges in places in its most dogmatic form. institutions make us what we are, and to free us from their shackles is to liberate virtue and unleash genius. he pauses midway in the preface to _prometheus_ to assure us that, if england were divided into forty republics, each would produce philosophers and poets as great and numerous as those of athens. the road to perfection, however, is not through revolution, but by the gradual extirpation of error. when he writes in prose, he expresses himself with all the rather affected intellectualism of the godwinian psychology. "revenge and retaliation," he remarks in the preface to _the cenci_ "are pernicious _mistakes_." but temperament counts for something even in a disciple so devout as shelley. he had an intellectual view of the world; but, when once the rhythm of his musical verse had excited his mind to be itself, the force and simplicity of his emotion transfuse and transform these abstractions. godwin's "universal benevolence" was with him an ardent affectionate love for his kind. godwin's cold precept that it was the duty of an illuminated understanding to contribute towards the progress of enquiry, by arguing about perfection and the powers of the mind in select circles of friends who meet for debate, but never (virtue forbids) for action, became for him a zealous missionary call. one smiles, with his irreverent yet admiring biographers, at the early escapades of the married boy--the visit to dublin at the height of the agitation for catholic emancipation, the printing of his address to the irish nation, and his trick of scattering it by flinging copies from his balcony at passers-by, his quaint attempts to persuade grave catholic noblemen that what they ought really to desire was a total and rapid transformation of the whole fabric of society, his efforts to found an association for the moral regeneration of mankind, and his elfish amusement of launching the truth upon the waters in the form of pamphlets sealed up in bottles. shelley at this age perpetrated "rags" upon the universe, much as commonplace youths make hay of their fellows' rooms. it is amusing to read the solemn letters in which godwin, complacently accepting the post of mentor, tells shelley that he is much too young to reform the world, urges him to acquire a vicarious maturity by reading history, and refers him to _political justice passim_ for the arguments which demonstrate the error of any attempt to improve mankind by forming political associations. it is questionable how far the world has to thank godwin for dissuading ardent young men from any practical effort to realise their ideals. it is just conceivable that, if the generation which hailed him as prophet had been stimulated by him to do something more than fold its hands in an almost superstitious veneration for the slow approach of truth, there might have arisen under educated leaders some movement less class-bound than whig reform, less limited than the corn law agitation, and more intelligent than chartism. but, if politics lost by godwin's quietism, literature gained. it was godwin's mission in life to save poets from botany bay; he rescued shelley, as he had rescued southey and coleridge. it was by scattering his pity and his sympathy on every living creature around him, and squandering his fortune and his expectations in charity, while he dodged the duns and lived on bread and tea, that shelley followed in action the principles of universal benevolence. godwin omitted the beasts; but shelley, practising vegetarianism and buying crayfish in order to return them to the river, realised the "boast" of the poet in _alastor_:-- if no bright bird, insect, or gentle beast i consciously have injured, but still loved and cherished these my kindred-- we hear of his gifts of blankets to the poor lace-makers at marlow, and meet him stumbling home barefoot in mid-winter because he had given his boots to a poor woman. perhaps the most characteristic picture of this aspect of shelley is leigh hunt's anecdote of a scene on hampstead heath. finding a poor woman in a fit on the top of the heath, shelley carries her in his arms to the lighted door of the nearest house, and begs for shelter. the householder slams it in his face, with an "impostors swarm everywhere," and a "sir, your conduct is extraordinary." "sir," cried shelley, "i am sorry to say that _your_ conduct is not extraordinary.... it is such men as you who madden the spirits and the patience of the poor and wretched; and if ever a convulsion comes in this country (which is very probable), recollect what i tell you. you will have your house, that you refuse to put this miserable woman into, burnt over your head." it must have been about this very time that the law of england (quite content to regard the owner of the closed door as a virtuous citizen) decided that the shelley who carried this poor stranger into shelter, fetched a doctor, and out of his own poverty relieved her direr need, was unfit to bring up his own children. if shelley allowed himself to be persuaded by godwin to abandon his missionary adventures, he pursued the ideal in his poems. whether by platonic influence, or by the instinct of his own temperament, he moves half-consciously from the godwinian notion that mankind are to be reasoned into perfection. the contemplation of beauty is with him the first stage in the progress towards reasoned virtue. "my purpose," he writes in the preface to _prometheus_, "has been ... to familiarise ... poetical readers with beautiful idealisms of moral excellence; aware that, until the mind can love, and admire, and trust, and hope, and endure, reasoned principles of moral conduct are seeds cast upon the highway of life, which the unconscious passenger tramples into dust, although they would bear the harvest of his happiness." it was for want of virtue, as mary wollstonecraft reflected, writing sadly after the terror, that the french revolution had failed. the lesson of all the horrors of oppression and reaction which shelley described, the comfort of all the listening spirits who watch from their mental eyries the slow progress of mankind to perfection, the example of martyred patriots--these tend always to the moral which demogorgon sums up at the end of the unflagging, unearthly beauties of the last triumphant act of _prometheus unbound_: to suffer woes which hope thinks infinite; to forgive wrongs darker than death or night; to defy power, which seems omnipotent; to love and bear; to hope till hope creates from its own wreck the thing it contemplates; neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; this like thy glory, titan! is to be good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; this is alone life, joy, empire, and victory. to suffer, to forgive, to love, but above all, to defy--that was for shelley the whole duty of man. in two peculiarities, which he constantly emphasised, shelley's view of progress differed at once from godwin's conception, and from the notion of a slow evolutionary growth which the men of to-day consider historical he traced the impulse which is to lead mankind to perfection, to the magnetic leading of chosen and consecrated spirits. he saw the process of change not as a slow evolution (as moderns do), nor yet as the deliberate discarding of error at the bidding of rational argument (as godwin did), but rather as a sudden emotional conversion. the missionary is always the light-bringer. "some eminent in virtue shall start up," he prophesies in _queen mab_. the _revolt of islam_, so puzzling to the uninitiated reader by the wilful inversions of its mythology, and its history which seems to belong to no conceivable race of men, becomes, when one grasps its underlying ideas, a luminous epic of revolutionary faith, precious if only because it is told in that elaborately musical spenserian stanza which no poet before or after shelley has handled with such easy mastery. their mission to free their countrymen comes to laon and cythna while they are still children, brooding over the slavery of modern greece amid the ruins of a free past. they dream neither of teaching nor of fighting. they are the winged children of justice and truth, whose mere words can scatter the thrones of the oppressor, and trample the last altar in the dust. it is enough to speak the name of liberty in a ship at sea, and all the coasts around it will thrill with the rumour of her name. in one moving, eloquent harangue, cythna converts the sailors of the ship, laden with slaves and the gains of commerce, into the pioneers of her army. she paints to them the misery of their own lot, and then appeals to the central article of revolutionary faith: this need not be; ye might arise and will that gold should lose its power and thrones their glory. that love which none may bind be free to fill the world like light; and evil faith, grown hoary with crime, be quenched and die. "ye might arise and will"--it was the inevitable corollary of the facile analysis which traced all the woes of mankind not to "nature," but to kings, priests, and institutions. shelley's missionaries of liberty preach to a nation of slaves, as the apostles of the salvation army preach in the slums to creatures reared in degradation, the same mesmeric appeal. conversion is a psychological possibility, and the history of revolutions teaches its limitations and its power as instructively as the history of religion. it breaks down not because men are incapable of the sudden effort that can "arise and will," but rather because to render its effects permanent, it must proceed to regiment the converts in organised associations, which speedily develop all the evils that have ruined the despotism it set out to overthrow. the interest of this revolutionary epic lies largely in the marriage of godwin's ideas with mary wollstonecraft's, which in the second generation bears its full imaginative fruit. the most eloquent verses are those which describe cythna's leadership of the women in the national revolt, and enforce the theme "can man be free, if woman be a slave?" not less characteristic is the godwinian abhorrence of violence, and the godwinian trust in the magic of courageous passivity. laon finds the revolutionary hosts about to slaughter their vanquished oppressors, and persuades them to mercy and fraternity with the appeal. o wherefore should ill ever flow from ill and pain still keener pain for ever breed. he pardons and spares the tyrant himself; and cythna shames the slaves who are sent to bind her, until they weep in a sudden perception of the beauty of virtue and courage. when the reaction breaks at length upon the victorious liberators, they stand passive to be hewn down, as shelley, in the _masque of anarchy_, written after peterloo, advised the english reformers to do. with folded arms and steady eyes, and little fear and less surprise, look upon them as they slay, till their rage has died away. then they will return with shame to the place from which they came, and the blood thus shed will speak in hot blushes on their cheek. the simple stanzas might have been written by blake. there is something in the primitive christianity of this aggressive atheist which breathes the childlike innocence of the kingdom of heaven. shelley dreamed of "a nation made free by love." with a strange mystical insight, he stepped beyond the range of the godwinian ethics, when he conceived of his humane missionaries as victims who offer themselves a living sacrifice for the redemption of mankind. prometheus chained to his rock, because he loved and defied, by some inscrutable magic of destiny, brings at last by his calm endurance the consummation of the golden age. laon walks voluntarily on to the pile which the spanish inquisitor had heaped for him; and cythna flings herself upon the flames in a last affirmation of the power of self-sacrifice and the beauty of comradeship. thrice shelley essayed to paint the state of perfection which mankind might attain, when once it should "arise and will." the first of the three pictures is the most literally godwinian. it is the boyish sketch of _queen mab_, with pantisocracy faithfully touched in, and godwin's speculations on the improvement of the human frame suggested in a few pregnant lines. one does not feel that shelley's mind is even yet its own master in the firmer and maturer picture which concludes the third act of _prometheus unbound_. he is still repeating a lesson, and it calls forth less than the full powers of his imagination. the picture of perfection itself is cold, negative, and mediocre. the real genius of the poet breaks forth only when he allows himself in the fourth act to sing the rapture of the happy spirits who "bear time to his tomb in eternity," while they circle in lyrical joy around the liberated earth. there sings shelley. the picture itself is a faithful illustration etched with a skilful needle to adorn the last chapter of _political justice_. evil is once more and always something factitious and unessential. the spirit of the earth sees the "ugly human shapes and visages" which men had worn in the old bad days float away through the air like chaff on the wind. they were no more than masks. thrones are kingless, and forthwith men walk in upright equality, neither fawning nor trembling. republican sincerity informs their speech: none talked that common false cold hollow talk which makes the heart deny the yes it breathes. women are "changed to all they dared not be," and "speak the wisdom once they could not think." "thrones, altars, judgment-seats and prisons," and all the "tomes of reasoned wrong, glozed on by ignorance" cumber the ground like the unnoticed ruins of a barbaric past. the loathsome mask has fallen, the man remains sceptreless, free, uncircumscribed, but man equal, unclassed, tribeless and nationless exempt from awe, worship, degree, the king over himself; just, gentle, wise: but man passionless. the story ends there, and if we do not so much as wait for the assurance that man passionless, tribeless, and nationless lived happily ever afterwards, it is because we are unable to feel even this faint interest in his destiny. there is something amiss with an ideal which is constrained to express itself in negatives. what should be the climax of a triumphant argument becomes its refutation. to reduce ourselves to this abstract quintessential man might be euthanasia. it would not be paradise. the third of shelley's visions of perfection is the climax of _hellas_. one feels in attempting to make about _hellas_ any statement in bald prose, the same sense of baffled incompetence that a modest mind experiences in attempting to describe music. one reads what the critics have written about beethoven's heroic symphony, to close the page wondering that men with ears should have dared to write it. the insistent rhythm beats in your blood, the absorbing melodies obsess your brain, and you turn away realising that emotion, when it can find a channel of sense, has a power which defies the analytic understanding. _hellas_, in a sense, is absolute poetry, as the "eroica" is absolute music. ponder a few lines in one of the choruses which seem to convey a definite idea, and against your will the elaborate rhythms and rhymes will carry you along, until thought ceases and only the music and the picture hold your imagination. and yet shelley meant something as certainly as beethoven did. nowhere is his genius so realistic, so closely in touch with contemporary fact, yet nowhere does he soar so easily into his own ideal world. he conceived it while mavrocordato, about to start to fight for the liberation of greece, was paying daily visits to shelley's circle at pisa. the events in turkey, now awful, now hopeful, were before him as crude facts in the newspaper. the historians of classical greece were his continual study. as he steeped himself in plato, a world of ideal forms opened before him in a timeless heaven as real as history, as actual as the newspapers. _hellas_ is the vision of a mind which touches fact through sense, but makes of sense the gate and avenue into an immortal world of thought. past and present and future are fused in one glowing symphony. the sultan is no more real than xerxes, and the golden consummation glitters with a splendour as dazzling and as present as the age of pericles. for shelley, this denial of time had become a conscious doctrine. berkeley and plato had become for him in his later years influences as intimate as godwin. again and again in his later poems, he turns from the cruelties and disappointments of the world, from death and decay and failure, no longer with revolt and anger, but with a serene contempt. thought is the only reality; time with its appearance of mortality is the dream and the illusion. says ahasuerus in _hellas_: the future and the past are idle shadows of thought's eternal flight. the moral rings out at the end of "the sensitive plant" with an almost conversational simplicity; death itself must be, like all the rest, a mockery. most eloquent of all are the familiar lines in _adonais_: 'tis we who lost in stormy visions keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife, and again: the one remains, the many change and pass. heaven's light for ever shines, earth's shadows fly; life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, stains the white radiance of eternity. in all the musical and visionary glory of _hellas_ we seem to hear a subtle dialogue. it never reaches a conclusion. it never issues in a dogma. the oracle is dumb, and the end of it all is rather like a prayer. at one moment shelley toys with the dreary sublimity of the stoic notion of world-cycles. the world in the stoic cosmogony followed its destined course, until at last the elemental fire consumed it in the secular blaze, which became for mediæval christianity the _dies irae_. and then once more it rose from the conflagration to repeat its own history again, and yet again, and for ever with an ineluctable fidelity. that nightmare haunts shelley in _hellas_: worlds on worlds are rolling ever from creation to decay, like the bubbles on a river, sparkling, bursting, borne away. the thought returns to him in the final chorus like the "motto" of a symphony; and he sings it in a triumphant major key: the world's great age begins anew, the golden years return, the earth doth like a snake renew her winter weeds outworn. heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam like wrecks of a dissolving dream. he is filled with the afflatus of prophecy, and there flow from his lips, as if in improvisation, surely the most limpid, the most spontaneous stanzas in our language: a brighter hellas rears its mountains from waves serener far. he sings happily and, as it were, incautiously of tempe and argo, of orpheus and ulysses, and then the jarring note of fear is heard: o write no more the tale of troy if earth death's scroll must be, nor mix with laian rage the joy which dawns upon the free. he has turned from the empty abstraction of the godwinian vision of perfection. he dissolves empires and faiths, it is true. but his imagination calls for action and movement. the new philosophy had driven history out of the picture. this lyrical vision restores it, whole, complete, and literal. the wealth of the concrete takes its revenge upon the victim of abstraction. the men of his golden age are no longer tribeless and nationless. they are greeks. he has peopled his future; but, as the picture hardens into detail, he seems to shrink from it. that other earlier theme of his symphony recurs. his chorus had sung: revenge and wrong bring forth their kind. the foul cubs like their parents are, their den is in their guilty mind, and conscience feeds them with despair. some end there must be to the _perpetuum mobile_ of wrong and revenge. and yet it seems to be in human affairs the very principle of motion. he ends with a cry and a prayer, and a clouded vision. the infinity of evil must be stayed, but what if its cessation means extinction? o cease! must hate and death return? cease! must men kill and die? cease! drain not to its dregs the urn of bitter prophecy. the world is weary of the past o might it die, or rest at last. never were there simpler verses in a great song. but he were a bold man who would pretend to know quite certainly what they mean. shelley is not sure whether his vision of perfection will be embodied in the earth. for a moment he seems to hope that greece will renew her glories. for one fleeting instant--how ironical the vision seems to us--he conceives that she may be re-incarnated in america. but there is a deeper doubt than this in the prophet's mind. he is not sure that he wants to see the golden age founded anew in the perilous world of fact. there is a pattern of the perfect society laid up in heaven, or if that phrase by familiarity has lost its meaning, let us say rather that the republic exists firmly founded in the human mind itself: but greece and her foundations are built below the tide of war, based on the crystalline sea of thought and its eternity. again, and yet again, he tells us that the heavenly city, the new athens, "the kingless continents, sinless as eden" shine in no common day, beside no earthly sea: if greece must be a wreck, yet shall its fragments reassemble, and build themselves impregnably in a diviner clime, to amphionic music on some cape sublime which frowns above the idle foam of time. is it only an eloquent phrase, which satisfies us, by its beautiful words, we know not why, as the chords that make the "full close" in music content us? or shall we re-interpret it in our own prose? where any mind strives after justice, where any soul suffers and loves and defies, there is the ideal republic. * * * * * we have moved from dr. price's sermon to shelley's chorus. the eloquent old man, preaching in the first flush of hope that came with the new time, conceived that his eyes had seen the great salvation. the day of tyrants and priests was already over, and before the earth closed on his grave, a free europe would be linked in a confederacy that had abolished war. a generation passed, and the winged victory is now a struggling hope, her pinions singed with the heat of battle, her song mingled with the rumour of massacre, speeding, a fugitive from fact, to the diviner climes of an ideal world. the logic of the revolution has worked to its predestined conclusion. it dreamed too eagerly of the end. it thought in indictments. it packed the present on its tumbrils, and cleared away the past with its dialectical guillotine. when the present was condemned and the past buried, the future had somehow eluded it. it executed the mother, and marvelled that the child should die. the human mind can never be satisfied with the mere assurance that sooner or later the golden years will come. the mere lapse of time is in itself intolerable. if our waking life and our years of action are to regain a meaning, we must perceive that the process of evolution is itself significant and interesting. we are to-day so penetrated with that thought, that the notion of a state of perfection in the future seems to us as inconceivable and as little interesting as rousseau's myth of a state of innocence in the past. we know very well that our ideal, whether we see it in the colours of plato or godwin or william morris, does but measure the present development of our faculties. long before the dream is realised in fact, a new horizon will have been unfolded before the imagination of mankind. what is of value in this endless process is precisely the unfolding of ideals which record themselves, however imperfectly, in institutions, and still more the developing sense of comradeship and sympathy which links us in relations of justice and love with every creature that feels. we are old enough to pass lightly over the enthusiastic paradoxes that intoxicated the youth of the progressive idea. it is a truth that outworn institutions fetter and dwarf the mind of man. it is also a truth that institutions have moulded and formed that mind. to condemn the past is in the same breath to blast the future. the true basis for that piety towards our venerable inheritance which burke preached, is that it has made for us the possibility of advance. but our strivings would be languid, our march would be slow, were it not for the revolutionary leaven which godwin's generation set fermenting. they taught how malleable and plastic is the human mind. they saw that by a resolute effort to change the environment of institutions and customs which educate us, we can change ourselves. they liberated us not so much from "priests and kings" as from the deadlier tyranny of the belief that human nature, with all its imperfections, is an innate character which it were vain to hope to reform. their teaching is a tonic to the will, a reminder still eloquent, still bracing, that among the forces which make history the chief is the persuasion of the understanding, the conscious following of a rational ideal. from much that is iconoclastic and destructive in their ideal we may turn away unconvinced. there remain its ardent statement of the duty of humanity, which shames our practice after a century of progress, and its faith in the efficacy of unregimented opinion to supersede brute force. they taught a lesson which posterity has but half learned. we shall be the richer for returning to them, as much by what we reject as by what we embrace. bibliography general lecky. _history of england in the th century._ leslie stephen.--_history of english thought in the th century._ oliver elton..--_a survey of english literature._ edward dowden--_the french revolution and english literature._ the most vivid impression of the period from the standpoint of godwin's circle is conveyed in the _memoirs_ of thomas holcroft edited by hazlitt, and in hazlitt's portraits of godwin, malthus and mackintosh in _the spirit of the age_ (everyman's library). of the opposite way of thinking the one immortal record is burke's _reflections on the french revolution_. lord morley's _burke_ (english men of letters) should be read, and the eloquent exposition by lord hugh cecil (_conservatism_) in this (h.u.l.) series. the main works of the french revolutionary thinkers have been issued in dent's series of french classics. for study and pleasure consult lord morley's books on voltaire, rousseau and diderot. the details given in the first chapter concerning the london corresponding society are based on its pamphlets in the british museum. thomas paine paine's writings are published in cheap editions by the rationalist press, and may be had bound in one volume. the same press issues a cheap edition of the admirable _life_ by dr. moncure d. conway. william godwin godwin's works are now procurable only in old libraries, with the exception of _caleb williams_. _political justice_ should be read in the second edition ( ), which is maturer than the first and more lively than the third. a modern summary of it by mr. salt, with the full text of the last section "on property," was published by swan, sonnenschein & co. this selection emphasises his communism, but hardly does full justice to the novelty of his anarchist opinions. full biographical data are to be found in _william godwin: his friends and contemporaries_, by mr. kegan paul, which contains a readable collection of letters. there is a painstaking and elaborate study in french by raymond gourg (félix alcan, ) and a stimulating little essay in german from the anarchist standpoint (_william godwin, der theoretiker des kommunistischen anarchismus._ von pierre ramus. leipzig. dietrich). for a modern statement of anarchist communism read kropotkin's _the conquest of bread_ (chapman and hall). mary wollstonecraft _the rights of woman_ has been reissued in everyman's library. the volume of _selections_ in the regent library (herbert and daniel) was well edited by miss jebb, and may be recommended, for mary wollstonecraft rather gains than loses by compression. for her life mr. kegan paul's _william godwin_ should be consulted. the edition of the _rights_, published by t. fisher unwin, contains an admirable critical study of mrs. fawcett. there is no general history of the so-called "feminist" movement, and in english books the french pioneers are ignored. mr. lyon blease has some good historical chapters in _the emancipation of english women_. shelley shelley literature is a library in itself. the standard edition is forman's; the standard biography is the tolerant, human, gossipy _life_ by professor dowden. the general reader can use no better edition than mrs. shelley's. of critical essays the most notable are matthew arnold's oddly unsympathetic essay, and sir leslie stephen's informing but hostile study on _godwin and shelley_ ("hours in a library"). professor santayana may be mentioned among the few critics who have realised that shelley thought before he sang (_winds of doctrine_). incomparably the best of all the critical essays is the little monograph by francis thompson (burns and oates). _postscript_, since this book was written two indispensable aids to the study of godwin and his circle have been published. ( ) an adequate modern life of godwin is now available: _the life of william godwin_ by ford k. brown (j. m. dent & sons). the work could hardly have been better done. ( ) mr. elbridge colby has given us in two volumes a modern edition of _the life of thomas holcroft_ (constable & co.) by himself with hazlitt's continuation. mr. colby's scholarly notes and introduction add greatly to its value. a modern edition of godwin's _political justice_ (knopf, political science classics) is now available, but cannot be recommended. the editor has abbreviated it by capricious omissions. _the heavenly city of the eighteenth-century philosophers_ by carl l. becker (oxford university press, also yale) is a most readable study of the political thought of the period. see also professor h. j. laski's _the rise of european liberalism_ (allen & unwin) and _voltaire_ by h. n. brailsford in this series. index _age of reason_, arnold, matthew, , arnot, baldwin, edward, barbauld, mrs., blake, wm., , bright, john, burke, - , burney, fanny, _caleb williams_, calvinism, chesterfield, lord, clairmont, mrs. (afterwards godwin), - clairmont, jane, coleridge, s. t., - , , , condorcet, , , , , , , convention, english, ---- scottish, - cooper, thomas, , corresponding society (see london) dundas, , _enquirer, the_, _essays_ (on religion) by wm. godwin, fénelon, _fleetwood_, gatton, borough of, gerrald, joseph, , , gillray, godwin, william: as historian ; letter on trial of twelve reformers, ; experience during revolution, - ; influence on coleridge and southey, - ; relation to paine, , , ; relation to holcroft, - ; early life, ; _political justice_, - ; marriage to mary wollstonecraft, ; _caleb williams_, ; controversies, ; estimate of his work, ; second marriage and later life, ; later works, ; relations with shelley, ; death, ; religious views, ; intellectual influence on shelley, _seq._ godwin, william (junior), godwin, mrs. (_see_ wollstonecraft and clairmont) hardy, thomas, , , , , hazlitt, , , , , , helvétius, , , , , , , , , , , , hervé, holbach, baron d', , holcroft, thomas, quoted, ; early life of, , ; trial of, , , ; association with paine, ; influence on godwin, - imlay, fanny, , imlay, gilbert, jones, sir wm., kames, lord, kant, lafayette, , lamb, charles, leibnitz, , london corresponding society, - , lovell, r., lytton, bulwer, mably, mackintosh, sir james, , malthus, , margarot, marius, , milton, , montesquieu, , , muir, napoleon, paine, thomas, , , , ; biographical sketch, - ; political views - ; religious views, - palmer, pantisocracy, - parr, rev. dr., patrickson, pitt, , , , plato, platonism, , , , , , , , plutarch, _political justice_, - price, rev. dr., - , priestley, , , , _rights of man_, paine's, , _rights of woman--a vindication of the_, _seq._ ritson, , roosevelt, theodore, rousseau, , , , sandemanians, _sepulchres, godwin's essay on_, shelley, , , ; personal relations with godwin, ; intellectual outlook, ; debt to godwin, ; his mythology, ; his view of human perfectibility, shelley, mary, née godwin, , , , , sheridan, sinclair, skirving, socrates, socratic (_see_ plato) southey, - , _st. leon_, , stanhope, earl, swift, , tolstoy, , tooke, horne, , , , turgot, _vindication of the rights of women_ (_see rights_) voltaire, , wedgwood, weissmann, wells, h. g., westbrook, harriet, windham, wollstonecraft, mary, ; early life, ; marriage and death, - ; her personality, ; her originality, ; summary of "rights," ; relation to french revolution, - ; reflection in shelley, wordsworth, , , transcriber's note: passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. passages in bold font are indicated by =bold=. the following misprint has been corrected: "magnaminity" corrected to "magnanimity" (page ) "subjecttion" corrected to "subjection" (page ) "gilray" corrected to "gillray" (page ) all other spelling and punctuation is presented as in the original. additional spacing after some of the quotes is intentional to indicate both the end of a quotation and the beginning of a new paragraph as presented in the original text. generously made available by the internet archive/canadian libraries.) columbia university studies in english leigh hunt's relations with byron, shelley and keats leigh hunt's relations with byron, shelley and keats by barnette miller, ph.d. new york the columbia university press _all rights reserved_ copyright, by the columbia university press printed from type april, press of the new era printing company lancaster, pa. _this monograph has been approved by the department of english in columbia university as a contribution to knowledge worthy of publication._ a. h. thorndike, _secretary_. preface the relations of leigh hunt to byron, shelley and keats have been treated in a fragmentary way in various works of biography and criticism, and from many points of view. yet hitherto there has been no attempt to construct a whole out of the parts. this led professor trent to suggest the subject to me about five years ago. the publication of the results of my investigation has been unfortunately delayed for nearly four years after the work was finished. i am indebted to mr. s. l. wolff for reading the first and second chapters; to professors g. r. krapp, w. w. lawrence, a. h. thorndike, of columbia university, and professor william alan nielson, now of harvard, for suggestions throughout. i am especially glad to have this opportunity to record my gratitude to prof. trent, whose inspiration and guidance and kindness from beginning to end have alone made completion of the study possible. b. m. constantinople, turkey. march , . contents chapter i. leigh hunt - chapter ii. keats chapter iii. shelley chapter iv. byron and _the liberal_ chapter v. the cockney school chapter vi. conclusion bibliography chapter i revolutionary tendencies of the age--the reaction--counter reform movement--leigh hunt--his ancestry--school days--career as a journalist--imprisonment--finances--politics--religion--poetry. since contemporary social conditions played an important part in the relations of leigh hunt with byron, shelley, and keats, a brief survey of the period in question is necessary to an understanding of the forces at play on their intellect and conduct. the english mind had been admirably prepared for the principles of the french revolution by the progressive tendency since the revolution of . the new order promised by france was acclaimed in england as one destined to right the wrongs of humanity; through unending progress mankind was to attain unlimited perfection. upon such a prospect both parties were agreed, and the warnings of burke were vain when pitt, rationalizing, led the tories, and fox, rhapsodizing, led the whigs. in , godwin's _political justice_, with its anarchistic doctrines of individual perfectibility and of individual self-reliance, rallied more recruits to the standard of liberty, though his theories of community of property and annulment of the marriage bond were somewhat charily received. the early writings of wordsworth, southey and coleridge were colored with enthusiasm for the new movement. the agitation and the enactment of reform measures made actual advances towards the expected millennium. but the excesses of the revolutionary régime in france bred in england, ever inclined to order, an opposition in many conservative minds that resulted in positive panic at the menace to state and church and property. the reaction swung the pendulum far in the opposite direction from justice and philanthropy. the first two decades of the new century continued to suffer from a counter-reform movement when the actual fright had subsided. during that period, anything which savored of reform was labelled as seditious. at the very beginning of this reaction william pitt's efforts for the extension of the franchise were summarily put an end to, and the house of commons remained as little representative of the english people as formerly. catholics and non-conformists were denied, from the period of the union of ireland with england in until , the right to vote and to hold office. pitt's efforts to frustrate such discrimination in ireland were as unavailing as in his own country, for the prejudices and obstinacy of george iii, in both instances, neutralized the good intentions of the liberal ministry. the corrupt influence of the crown in parliament was undiminished except by the disfranchisement of persons holding contracts from the crown and of incumbents of revenue offices. the wars with america and with france greatly increased the public debt, threatened the national credit and burdened with taxes an already overburdened people. oppressive industrial conditions made the life of the masses still more unendurable. the rise of manufacturing and the consequent adoption of inventions that dispensed with much hand labor decreased the number of the employed and reduced wages, while the enormous increase in population during the eighteenth century multiplied the number of the idle and the poor. it is true that the wealth of the country became much greater through the development of new resources, but the profits were distributed among the few and gave no relief to the majority. the government was indifferent to the sufferings of the poor, to the severity of the penal code, to the horrors of the slave traffic. in great britain the habeas corpus act was suspended, public assemblies were forbidden, the press was more narrowly restricted, right of petition was limited, and the legal definition of treason was greatly extended; in scotland the barbarous statute of transportation for political offenses was revived; in ireland industry and commerce were discouraged. the re-accession of the tories to power in , followed by their long ascendancy and abuse of power, led inevitably to a revival of the questions of revolution and of reform. lord byron, shelley and leigh hunt were among the leaders of this second band of agitators, the "new camp," as professor dowden has designated them. it was their love of humanity, perhaps to a greater degree than their poetic genius and their æsthetic ideals, that made these men akin. of the four poets with whom we deal keats alone was comparatively indifferent to the strife about him. * * * * * besides the political background of the times, personal influence and literary imitation enter into consideration in the present study. especially in the case of hunt, whose unique personality has been so variously interpreted, a brief biographical review is necessary. james henry leigh hunt was born october , , in the village of southgate, middlesex. he was descended on the father's side from "tory cavaliers" of west indian adoption, and on the mother's from american quakers of irish extraction--an exotic combination of celtic and creole strains which never coalesced but in turn affected his temperament. his father was an engaging and gifted clergyman who quoted horace and drank claret--a sanguine, careless child of the south who made the acquaintance alike of good society and of debtor's prisons. this parent's cheerfulness and courage were his most fortunate legacies to his son; a speculative turn in matters of religion and government and a general financial irresponsibility constituted his most unfortunate legacy. his mother was as shrinking as his father was convivial, but, like her husband, possessed a strong sense of duty and of loyalty. her son inherited her love of books and of nature. of his heritage from his parents leigh hunt wrote: "i may call myself, in every sense of the word ... a son of mirth and melancholy;... and, indeed, as i do not remember to have ever seen my mother smile, except in sorrowful tenderness, so my father's shouts of laughter are now ringing in my ears."[ ] as leigh hunt was heir to his ancestry in an unusual degree, so in an extraordinary measure was the child father of the man. the atmosphere of the home, tense with discussions of theology and politics and bitter with hardships of poverty and prisons, gave him a precocious acquaintance with weighty matters and with many miseries. in he entered christ's hospital. like shelley he rebelled against the time-honored custom of fagging, and chose instead a beating every night with a knotted handkerchief. he avoided personal encounters in self-defense, but was valiant enough where others were concerned, or where a principle was involved. haydon said: "he was a man who would have died at the stake for a principle, though he might have cried like a child from physical pain, and would have screamed still louder if he put his foot in the gutter! yet not one iota of recantation would have quivered on his lips, if all the elysium of all the religions on earth had been offered and realized to induce him to do so."[ ] his wonderful power of forming friendships--a power with which the present study is so much concerned--was first developed at christ's hospital. as he sentimentally expressed it, "the first heavenly taste it gave me of that most spiritual of the affections. i use the word 'heavenly' advisedly; and i call friendship the most spiritual of the affections, because even one's kindred, in partaking of our flesh and blood, become, in a manner, mixed up with our entire being. not that i would disparage any other form of affection, worshipping as i do, all forms of it, love in particular, which in its highest state, is friendship and something more. but if i ever tasted a disembodied transport on earth, it was in those friendships which i entertained at school, before i dreamt of any maturer feeling."[ ] like shelley, hunt had so great an inclination to sentimentalize and idealize friendship that sometimes after the first brief rhapsody of fresh acquaintance he suffered bitter disillusionment. the majority, however, of the ties formed were lasting.[ ] the abridgements of the _spectator_, set hunt as a school task, instilled a dislike of prose-writing that may account for his preference through life for verse composition, although he was by nature less a poet than an essayist. from cooke's edition of the _british poets_ he learned to love gray, collins, thomson, blair and spenser--influences responsible in part for his dislike of eighteenth century convention and for his historical prominence in the romantic movement. spenser later became the literary passion of his life. other books which he read at this period were tooke's _pantheon_, lemprière's _classical dictionary_, and spence's _polymetis_, three favorites with keats; _peter wilkins_, _thalaba_ and _german romances_, three favorites with shelley. later hunt and shelley's reading was closely paralleled in godwin's _political justice_, _lucretius_, _pliny_, _plato_, _aristotle_, _voltaire_, _condorcet_ and the _dictionnaire philosophique_. with the years hunt's list swelled to an almost incredible degree. it was through books that he knew life. he left christ hospital in . the eight years spent there were his only formal preparation for a literary profession. he greatly regretted his lack of a university education, but he consoled himself by quoting with true cockney spirit goldsmith's saying: "london is the first of universities."[ ] through his father's connections he met many prominent men in london and was made much of. this premature association accounts for some of the arrogance so conspicuous in his early journalistic work, which, in middle life, sobered down into a harmless vanity. in hunt started a sunday newspaper, _the examiner_. the letter tendering his resignation[ ] of a position in the office of the secretary of war, coming from an inexperienced man of twenty-four is pompous in tone and heavy with the weight of his duty to the english nation. his subsequent assurance and boldness resulted in in his being indicted for a libel of the prince regent, afterwards george iv, and in an imprisonment for two years dating from february , . his elder brother john, the publisher of the paper, served the same sentence in a separate prison. they shared between them a fine of £ , . by special dispensation hunt's family was allowed to reside with him in prison and, stranger still, he was allowed to continue his work on the libellous journal. at the same time he wrote in jail the _descent of liberty_ and part of the _story of rimini_. he transformed his prison yard into a garden and his prison room into a bower by papering the walls with trellises of roses and by coloring his ceiling like the sky. his books and piano-forte, his flowers and plaster casts surrounded him as at home. old friends gathered about and new ones sought him as a martyr to the liberal cause. but the picture has a darker side which it is necessary to notice in order to understand hunt's personal relations. an imaginative and over-sensitive brain in a feeble body had peopled his childhood with creatures of fear, the precursors of the morbid fancies of later years. from to he suffered from a trouble that seems to have been mental rather than physical, probably a form of melancholia or hypochondria. he tortured himself with problems of metaphysics and philosophy. he was haunted with the hallucination that he was deficient in physical courage, and therefore subjected himself to all kinds of tests. at the beginning of his imprisonment he was suffering from a second attack of his malady. the injurious effects upon his health of close confinement at this time can be traced to the end of his life. after his release his morbid fear of cowardice and his habit of seclusion were so strong upon him that for months at a time he would not venture out upon the streets. yet in spite of all this and of frequent illnesses, his animal spirits were invincible. his optimism was proverbial; indeed, it was a part of his religion. coventry patmore tells us that on entering a room and being presented to hunt for the first time, he received the greeting "this is a beautiful world, mr. patmore."[ ] his wonderful fancy colored his life as it colored his poetry. with his flowers and his friends and his fancies he turned life into a perpetual arcadia. it has been many times asserted that leigh hunt was morally weak. his self-depreciation is largely responsible for such assertions. it is true that he fell short of great accomplishment and that he was guilty of small foibles which haydon exaggerated into "petticoat twaddling and grandisonian cant."[ ] yet the struggle and the suffering of his life show more virility and nobility than he is generally credited with, and prove that beneath a veneer of affectation lay strong and healthy qualities. a second lasting and disastrous result that followed hunt's incarceration and that greatly affected his relations with byron and shelley was the crippling of his finances. while it cannot be said that he ever showed any real business ability, yet, at the beginning of the trials for libel, his money matters were in fair condition. the heavy fine and costs permanently disabled him. in his affairs were in such a bad state that, with the hope of bettering them, he left england on a precarious journalistic venture, an injudicious step, the cause of which can be traced to the lingering effects of his labors in the cause of liberalism. from to his misfortunes reached a climax. he sold his books to get something to eat. the pain of giving up his beloved _parnaso italiano_ was like that of a violinist parting with his instrument. he lived in continual fear of arrest for debt. at the same time, family troubles and ill-health combined to torment him. in sir percy shelley gave him an annuity of £ , and in , the same year of the benefit performance of _every man in his humour_, he was granted through the efforts of lord john russell, macaulay and carlyle, an annual pension of £ on the civil list. there were also two separate grants of £ each from the royal bounty, one from william iv, and the other from queen victoria. in his last years there is no mention made of want.[ ] hunt's attitude in respect to money obligations was unique, but well-defined and consistent. it was not, as is often inferred, either puling or unscrupulous.[ ] he was absolutely incapable of the skimpole vices.[ ] his dilemmas were not due to indolence. on the contrary, he labored indefatigably as results show. the trouble was his "hugger-mugger" management, as carlyle expressed it. he adopted william godwin's doctrine that the distribution of property should depend on justice and necessity, and thought with him that the teachers of religion were pernicious in treating the practice of justice "not as a debt, but as an affair of spontaneous generosity and bounty. they have called upon the rich to be clement and merciful to the poor. the consequence of this has been that the rich, when they bestowed the slender pittance of their enormous wealth in acts of charity, as they were called, took merit to themselves for what they gave, instead of considering themselves delinquents for what they withheld."[ ] godwin held gratitude to be a superstition. consequently, when in need, hunt thought he had a right to assistance from such friends as had the wherewithal to give. he accepted obligations, as will be shown in the following chapters, much as a matter of course.[ ] but even in his worst distresses, he never desired nor accepted promiscuous charity; and he did not always willingly accept aid even from his friends. he refused offers of help from trelawney. he returned a bank bill sent him by his sister-in-law, £ sent by de wilde as part of the compensation fund, and $ presented by james russell lowell. in reynell forfeited £ as security for hunt. twenty years later, on the payment of the first installment of the shelley legacy, hunt discharged the debt.[ ] he rejected several offers to pay his fine at the time of his imprisonment.[ ] mary shelley, who more than any one had cause to complain of hunt's attitude in money matters, wrote in in announcing to him the forthcoming annuity from her son: "i know your real delicacy about money matters."[ ] in the _correspondence_ there are mysterious allusions made by hunt and by his son thornton to a veiled influence on hunt's life, to some one who acted as trustee for him and who, without his knowledge or consent, made indiscriminating appeals in his behalf. the discovery of refusals and repulses led him to write the following to william story, through whom came lowell's offer: "nor do i think the man truly generous who cannot both give and receive. but, my dear story, my heart has been deeply wounded, some time back, in consequence of being supposed to carry such opinions to a practical extreme.... it gave me a shock so great that, as long as i live, it will be impossible for me to forego the hope of outliving all similar chances, by conduct which none can misinterpret."[ ] * * * * * leigh hunt's work which comes into the period of his association with byron, shelley and keats falls into four divisions: his theatrical criticism, his political journals, his poetry and his miscellaneous essays. the first and the last, although important in themselves, do not enter into his relations with the three men in question and will not be considered here. his political activity is important in his relations with byron and shelley; his poetry in his relations with keats and shelley. in leigh hunt's career, the step most significant in its far-reaching effects was the establishment of _the examiner_.[ ] its professed object was the discussion of politics. it contained, in addition to foreign and provincial intelligence, criticism of the theatre, of literature, and of the fine arts. full reports were given of the proceedings in parliament. at different times, various series of articles appeared, such as the _essays on methodism_ by hunt, and _the round table_ by hunt and hazlitt. fox-bourne says that previous to hunt's _examiner_ there had been weeklies or "essay sheets" such as defoe, steele, addison and goldsmith had developed, and that there had been dailies or "news sheets" which gave bare facts, but that _the examiner_ was the first to give the news faithfully in essay style.[ ] it soon raised the character of the weeklies. during the first year the circulation reached , , a large number at that time. carlyle said: "i well remember how its weekly coming was looked for in our village in scotland. the place of its delivery was besieged by an eager crowd, and its columns furnished the town talk till the next number came."[ ] redding says "everybody in those days read _the examiner_."[ ] the prospectus contained a severe criticism of contemporary journalism:[ ] "mean in its subserviency to the follies of the day, very miserably merry in its fuss and stories, extremely furious in politics, and quite as feeble in criticism. you are invited to a literary conversation, and you find nothing but scandal and commonplace. there is a flourish of trumpets, and enter tom thumb. there is an earthquake and a worm is thrown up.... the gentleman who until lately conducted the theatrical department in the _news_ will criticise the theatre in the examiner; and as the public have allowed the possibility of impartiality in that department, we do not see why the same possibility may not be obtained in politics." then followed a declaration against party as a factor in politics: party, it was declared, should not exist "abstracted from its utility"; in the present day every man must belong to some class; "he is either pittite or foxite, windhamite, wilberforcite or burdettite; though, at the same time, two thirds of these disturbers of coffee-houses might with as much reason call themselves hivites, or shunamites, or perhaps bedlamites."[ ] although _the examiner_ thus firmly announced its intentions, nevertheless in the heat of political contest it soon became the organ of a group of men known as "reformers," who were laboring and clamoring for constitutional and administrative improvement. it became the avowed enemy of the tory party and its journals, and in particular of the ministry during the long tory ascendancy; the enemy, at times, of royalty itself. the prospectus likewise announced an intention to reform the manners and morals of the age. hunt could write a sermon with the same ease as a song or a satire. horse-racing, cock-fighting and prize-fighting were condemned; most of all the publication of scandal and crime. a passage on advertisements is humorous and still of living interest: "the public shall neither be tempted to listen to somebody in the shape of wit who turns out to be a lottery-keeper, nor seduced to hear a magnificent oration which finishes by retreating into a peruke, or rolling off into a blacking ball ... and as there is perhaps about one person in a hundred who is pleased to see two or three columns occupied with the mutabilities of cotton and the vicissitudes of leather, the proprietors will have as little to do with bulls and raw-hides, as with lottery-men and wig-makers." the editorials, which occupied the foremost columns of the paper, attacked corruption and injustice of every kind without respect of persons, currying favor with neither party nor individual, and laboring above all for the people. international relations and continental conditions were kept track of, but chief prominence was given to domestic affairs. the editor warred against all abuses of power in the cabinet and in all offices under the crown. in particular he attacked with merciless persistence the prince regent in regard to his private life and his public conduct, and his brother frederick the duke of york, for his inefficiency as commander-in-chief of the army.[ ] his definition of the english army was "a host of laced jackets and long pigtails."[ ] he condemned the numerous subsidies of the crown, the royal pensions and salaries for nominal service. he ridiculed the divine right of kings and exposed court scandal and immorality. the chief measures for which he labored were catholic emancipation; reform of parliamentary representation; liberty of the press; reduction and equalization of taxes; greater discretion in increasing the public debt; education of the poor and amelioration of their sufferings; abolition of child-labor and of the slave trade; reform of military discipline, of prison conditions, and of the criminal and civil laws, particularly those governing debtors. it is not a matter of marvel that the paper made hosts of enemies on every side. charges of libel quickly followed its onslaughts. before the paper was a year old a prosecution was begun in connection with the major hogan and mrs. clarke case,[ ] but it was dropped when an investigation was begun by the house of commons. within a year's time after this prosecution a second indictment was brought because of the sentence: "of all monarchs since the revolution the successor of george the third will have the finest opportunity of becoming nobly popular."[ ] the _morning chronicle_ copied it, and was indicted, but both cases were dismissed. the third offense was the quotation of an article by john scott on the cruelty of military flogging[ ] but, like the others, this prosecution came to nothing. the fourth and most disastrous misdemeanor was libel of the prince regent, a man of shocking morals and of unstable character. before his appointment as regent he had leaned to the whig party and advocated catholic emancipation, but at his accession to power he retained the tory ministry. the whigs were greatly angered in consequence, and _the examiner_ took it upon itself to voice their indignation.[ ] at a dinner given at the freemason's tavern on st. patrick's day, march , , lord moira, an old friend of the prince's, omitted mentioning him in his speech. later, when a toast was proposed to the prince, it was greeted with hisses. mr. sheridan, because of lord moira's omission, spoke later in the evening in defense of the regent, but he, too, was received with hisses. the _morning chronicle_ reported the dinner; the _morning post_ replied with fulsome praise of the prince; _the examiner_ with its usual alacrity joined in the fray and took sides with the _chronicle_, dissecting, phrase by phrase, the adulation heaped upon the prince by the _post_. the following is the bitterest part of the polemic against him: "what person, unacquainted with the true state of the case, would imagine, in reading these astounding eulogies, that this 'glory of the people' was the subject of millions of shrugs and reproaches!--that this 'protector of the arts' had named a wretched foreigner his historical painter, in disparagement or in ignorance of the merits of his own countrymen!--that this 'mæcenas of the age' patronized not a single deserving writer!--that this 'breather of eloquence' could not say a few decent extempore words, if we are to judge, at least, from what he said to his regiment on its embarkation for portugal!--that this 'conqueror of hearts' was the disappointer of hopes!--that this 'exciter of desire' [bravo! messieurs of the post!]--this 'adonis in loveliness', was a corpulent man of fifty!--in short, this _delightful_, _blissful_, _wise_, _pleasurable_, _honourable_, _virtuous_, _true_ and _immortal_ prince, was a violator of his word, a libertine over head and ears in disgrace, a dispiser of domestic ties, the companion of gamblers and demireps, a man who has just closed half a century without one single claim on the gratitude of his country, or the respect of posterity!"[ ] it was said that the chief offense was given by the statement that "this 'adonis in loveliness' was a corpulent man of fifty." the article, although true, was of doubtful expediency and offensively violent and personal. further, the unremitting attacks of _the examiner_ had been neither dignified nor charitable in their searchlight penetration into the prince's private affairs.[ ] an indictment for libel naturally followed at once. lord brougham's "masterly defense"[ ] failed to avert the determined efforts of the prosecution to make an example of the editor and the publisher of _the examiner_. they were sentenced to the imprisonment and fine already mentioned. they refused all overtures for alleviation of the sentence:--overtures from the government; from the whigs who, in the person of perry of the _morning chronicle_, proposed to obtain a compromise from the prosecution by threatening the regent with the publication of state secrets from friends; and even from a juror who offered to pay the fine. leigh hunt wrote: "i am an englishman setting an example to my children and my country; and it would be hard, under all these circumstances, if i could not suffer my extremity rather than disgrace myself by effeminate lamentation or worse compromise."[ ] the two hunts thought that the serving of the sentence would be beneficial to the liberal cause, particularly in increasing the freedom of the press. the general method of _the examiner_ was vigorous attack. there was no circumlocution, no mincing of language, but aggressive candour, and, when it was considered necessary, wholesale censure and vituperation. a typical illustration is given in this passage, describing a dinner of the common council: "it is the fashion just now to call bonaparte antichrist, the beast with seven heads and ten horns, ... but if you wish to see those who have the 'real mark of the beast' upon them, go to a city dinner, and after battles for trout and the buffetings for turtle, after the rattling of wine glasses and plethoric throats, after the swillings and the gormandizings, and the maudlin hobs-and-nobs, and the disquisitions on smothered rabbits, and the bloated hectics, and the blinking eyes and slurred voices, and the hiccups, the rantings, and the roars, hear an unwieldy loan-jobber descanting on our glorious king and unshaken constitution. the stranger, that after this sight, goes to see the beasts in the tower, is an enemy to all true climax."[ ] in actual results _the examiner_ accomplished a great deal in the counter movement for reform. while hunt had no original or constructive political theory, little power of philosophical or logical thought, and no special equipment besides wide general knowledge, he had great sincerity and courage and a defiant attitude toward corruption of all kinds.[ ] he was himself absolutely incorruptible. if he preferred any form of government above another--for he was more interested in the pure administration of an established government than in the form itself--his preference was for a liberal monarchy. notwithstanding this moderate attitude, _the examiner_ was accused of radical, even revolutionary opinions. it was charged with being an enemy of the constitution, a traitor to the king, a foe to the established church.[ ] hunt's positive achievement in political journalism was two-fold: he obtained additional freedom for the press and he elevated journalistic style to a literary level. monkhouse says that hunt "established for the first time a paper which fought, and fought effectively, with prejudice and privilege, with superstition and tyranny, which was a bearer of light to all men of liberal principles in that country, and set the example of the independent thought and fearless expression of opinion, which has since become the very light and power of the press."[ ] of the hunt brothers coventry patmore writes: "i verily believe that, without the manly firmness, the immaculate political honesty, and the vigorous good sense of the one, and the exquisite genius and varied accomplishments, guided by the all-pervading and all-embracing humanity of the other, we should at this moment have been without many of those writers and thinkers on whose unceasing efforts the slow but sure march of our political, and with it, our social regeneration as a people mainly depends."[ ] hunt assisted in bringing about reforms in the interest of the people by calling attention to abuses that demanded investigation, and by advocating correction. his ideas on national finance and practical administration are wonderful when contrasted with his inefficiency in his own affairs. he lacked largeness of perspective and masculine grasp. his work is all the more remarkable when his temperament and tastes are considered; for his was a nature, as professor dowden has put it, "framed less for the rough and tumble of english radical politics than for 'dance and provençal song and sunburnt mirth.'" as a factor in the reform movement begun in the first decade of the nineteenth century leigh hunt has not yet come into his own.[ ] his was no cosmic theory, nor search after the origin of evil, nor magnificent rebellion like shelley's and byron's; but in his own smaller way he played as courageous and as effective a part in the cause of liberty as those greater spirits.[ ] in , the two brothers had established a quarterly, _the reflector_, of much the same nature and creed as _the examiner_. it was unsuccessful and was discontinued after the fourth number. it differed from its predecessor in combining literature with politics. hunt's reason for this innovation displays a rare power to judge of contemporary movements: "politics, in times like these, should naturally take the lead in periodical discussion, because they have an importance almost unexampled in history, and because _they are now, in their turn, exhibiting their reaction upon literature, as literature in the preceding age exhibited its action upon them_."[ ] although hunt continued to be editor of _the examiner_ until he went to italy in , his aggressive political activity seemed to die out of him after his release from prison. he was never so prominently again before the public; in , he ceased altogether to write on political questions. he retired more and more into the seclusion of his books, and from about , denied himself to all but a small circle of congenial spirits. hunt, like the others of his group, was deeply influenced by the liberal movement in religion as well as in politics. he had seen his father's progress from the anglican church through the unitarian[ ] to the universalist. at the age of twelve he repudiated the doctrine of eternal punishment and declared himself a believer in the "exclusive goodness of futurity." in his early manhood he decried the superstition of catholicism, the intolerance of calvinism, and the emotionality of methodism. yet he acknowledged a great first cause and a divine paternity. he refused, like shelley, to recognize the existence of evil, and thought everything finally good and beautiful in nature.[ ] he believed that universal happiness would come about through individual excellence, through performance of duty and avoidance of excess. those who disagreed with him in this respect he considered blasphemers of nature. as lord houghton in his address in the cemetery of kensal green on the unveiling of a bust of hunt remarked, he had an "absolute superstition for good." similar testimony was borne by r. h. horne when he said that chaucer's "'ah, benedicite' was falling forever from his lips."[ ] his religion was one of charity and cheerfulness, of love and truth, which is but to affirm that the humanitarian moral of _abou ben adhem_ was realized in his own life.[ ] on the death of shelley's child william, hunt wrote to the bereaved father: "i do not know that a soul is born with us; but we seem, to me, to _attain_ to a soul, some later, some earlier; and when we have got that, there is a look in our eye, a sympathy in our cheerfulness, and a yearning and grave beauty in our thoughtfulness that seems to say, 'our mortal dress may fall off when it will; our trunk and our leaves may go; we have shot up our blossom into an immortal air.'"[ ] hunt, like byron and shelley, had curious ideas about the relation of the sexes, ideas which hazlitt said, were "always coming out like a rash."[ ] this "crotchet" was taken over likewise from godwin, who thought it checked the progress of the mind for one individual to be obliged to live for a long period in conformity to the desires of another and therefore disapproved of the marriage relation. but, like godwin and shelley, hunt bowed to the conventions. his life was a singularly pure one. the influence of hunt's poetry upon keats and shelley, in its general romantic tendencies, particularly in respect to diction and metre, deserves equal consideration with the influence of his politics upon shelley and byron. _juvenilia_, a volume of hunt's poems collected by his father and issued by subscription in contains original work and translations which show wide reading for a boy of seventeen and some fluency in versification. otherwise the writer's own opinion in is correct: "my work was a heap of imitations, all but absolutely worthless.... i wrote 'odes' because collins and gray had written them, 'pastorals' because pope had written them, 'blank verse' because akenside and thomson had written blank verse, and a 'palace of pleasure' because spenser had written a 'bower of bliss.'"[ ] hunt's chief defect in taste, that of introducing in the midst of highly poetical conceptions, disagreeable physical conditions or symptoms, is as conspicuous in this volume[ ] as in his more mature work. the _feast of the poets_, ,[ ] is a light satire in the manner of sir john suckling's _session of the poets_. it spares few poets since the days of milton and dryden, and it includes in its revilings most of hunt's contemporaries. gifford, the editor of the _quarterly review_, comes in for the worst castigation. it is not remarkable that the satire antagonized people on every side in the literary world as _the examiner_ had done in the political. hunt believed that "its offences, both of commission and of omission, gave rise to some of the most inveterate enmities" of his life.[ ] it is important in the history to be discussed in a later chapter of the literary feud which resulted in the creation of the so-called cockney school. later revisions included some poets who had been intentionally ignored at first in both poems and notes, or who, like shelley and keats, naturally would not have been included in the edition; and it softened down the harsh criticism of those who were unfortunate enough to have been included, except gifford, whom hunt could never forgive. the irony is fresh and there are occasional spicy flashes of wit. the narrative is clear and the characterization vivid. byron pronounced it "the best session we have."[ ] the _descent of liberty_,[ ] , is a masque celebrating the triumph of liberty, in the person of the allies, over the enchanter, napoleon. there is little plot or human interest; the natural, the supernatural, and the mythical are confusedly interwoven. the pictorial effect, however, is one of great richness and color, and some of the songs and passages have fine lyrical feeling and melody. it is interesting in this connection to note a vague general resemblance between the _descent of liberty_ and shelley's _queen mab_ ( - ) in the worship of liberty, in the hope and promise of her ultimate triumph, and in the wild imagination which hunt probably never again equalled. it is not likely, however, that hunt knew shelley's poem at the time he was writing his own. _the story of rimini_, produced in and dedicated to lord byron, is the most important of hunt's works in a consideration of his relations with the enemies of the cockney school[ ] and with byron, shelley, and keats. byron criticised it severely. shelley thought it carried uncommon and irresistible interest with it, but he agreed with byron in thinking that the style had fettered hunt's genius.[ ] keats wrote a sonnet[ ] on _rimini_ in , and in his own works shows unmistakably the influence of hunt's poem in diction and versification. the story is founded, of course, on the francesca episode in the fifth canto of the _inferno_ of dante. it was a dangerous thing for hunt to undertake an elaboration of the marvelous episode of dante. had he been a man of greater genius it would have been a risk; as it was, he produced a diffuse and sentimental narrative which bears little resemblance to the singular perfection of the original. on the other hand, the _story of rimini_ does possess indubitable merits: directness of narrative, minute observation, sensuous richness of pictorial description, and occasional delicate felicity of language.[ ] byron wrote of the third canto which he saw in manuscript: "you have excelled yourself--if not all your contemporaries--in the canto which i have just finished. i think it above the former books; but that is as it should be; it rises with the subject, the conception seems to me perfect, and the execution perhaps as nearly so as verse will admit. there is more originality than i recollect to have seen elsewhere within the same compass, and frequent and great happiness of expression." the faults he said were "occasional quaintnesses and obscurity, and a kind of harsh and yet colloquial compounding of epithets, as if to avoid saying common things in a common way."[ ] october , , in reply to these objections hunt sent forth this defense: "we accomodate ourselves to certain habitual, sophisticated phrases of _written_ language, and thus take away from real feeling of any sort the only language _it ever actually uses_, which is the _spoken_ language." at the same time he made a few alterations at byron's suggestion.[ ] and again the latter wrote: "you have two excellent points in that poem--originality and italianism."[ ] after the _story of rimini_ appeared he wrote to moore: "leigh hunt's poem is a devilish good one--quaint, here and there, but with the substratum of originality, and with poetry about it that will stand the test."[ ] in byron's opinion had changed somewhat: "when i saw _rimini_ in ms., i told him i deemed it good poetry at bottom, disfigured only by a strange style. his answer was, that his style was a system, or _upon system_, or some other such cant; and when a man talks of system, his case is hopeless; so i said no more to him, and very little to anyone else. he believed his trash of vulgar phrases tortured into compound barbarisms to be _old_ english[ ] ... hunt, who had powers to make the _story of rimini_ as perfect as a fable of dryden, has thought fit to sacrifice his genius to some unintelligible notion of wordsworth, which i defy him to explain.[ ]... a friend of mine calls 'rimini' _nimini pimini_; and 'foliage' _follyage_. perhaps he had a tumble in 'climbing trees in the hesperides'! but rimini has a great deal of merit. there never were so many fine things spoiled as in 'rimini.'"[ ] hunt had a distinct theory of language based on a few crude principles. as his practical application of them had its effect upon keats, a somewhat full consideration of them is desirable here. the first and most conspicuous one, promoted by what hunt called "an idiomatic spirit in verse,"[ ] was a preference for colloquial words.[ ] he mistook for grace and fluency of diction, a turn of phrase that was without poetic connection and often in very poor taste. in dialogue, particularly, the effect is undignified. this professed doctrine was a fuller development[ ] of the statement in the advertisement to the _lyrical ballads_ of : in hunt's opinion, wordsworth failed to consider duly meter in its essential relations to poetry, and while hunt himself desired a "return to nature and a natural style" he thought that wordsworth had substituted puerility for simplicity and affectation for nature. hunt's acknowledged model for the poem was dryden,[ ] but hunt's colloquial phrasing, peculiar diction, elision,[ ] and loose expansion approach much more closely to chamberlayne's _pharronida_ ( ) than to anything in dryden.[ ] the following extract is one of many that might be cited as suggestive of hunt's _story of rimini_: "to his cold clammy lips joining her balmy twins, she from them sips so much of death's oppressing dews, that, by that touch revived, his soul, though winged to fly her ruined seat, takes time to breathe these sad notes forth: "farewell, my dear, beneath my fainting spirits sink."[ ] occasionally hunt's choice of colloquial words fitted the subject, as in the _feast of the poets_, where humor and satire permit such expressions as "bards of old england had all been rung in," "twiddling a sunbeam," "bloated his wits," "tricksy tenuity" or such words as "smack," "pop-in" and "sing-song." his poetical epistles suffer without injury such departures from dignified diction, but in other cases, of which the _story of rimini_ is a notable example, a grave subject in the garb of everyday language is degraded into the incongruous and prosaic. it is in physical descriptions that this undignified diction most strikingly violates good taste. examples are: "and both their cheeks, like peaches on a tree, leaned with a touch together, thrillingly." "so lightsomely dropped in, his lordly back, his thigh so fitted for the tilt or dance." sometimes the prosaic quality of hunt's diction is due to its being pitched upon a merely "society" level: "may i come in? said he:--it made her start,-- that smiling voice;--she coloured, pressed her heart a moment, as for breath and then with free and usual tone said, 'o yes,--certainly.'" such a treatment of the meeting of paolo and francesca in the bower is wholly inadequate to the situation and the emotion of the moment. additional illustrations of his colloquialisms from the _story of rimini_ and from other poems of the same period are: "to bless his shabby eyes," "that to the stander near looks awfully," "banquet small, and cheerful, and considerate," "clipsome waist," "jauntiness behind and strength before" (description of a horse), "lend their streaming tails to the fond air," "sweepy shape," "cored in our complacencies," "lumps of flowers," "smooth, down-arching thigh," "tapering with tremulous mass internally." hunt's second principle to be considered is the excessive use of vague and passionless words. instances of such words to be found very frequently in his poetry are: fond, amiable, fair, rural, cordial, cheerful, gentle, calm, smooth, serene, earnest, lovely, balmy, dainty, mild, meek, tender, kind, elegant, quiet, sweet, fresh, pleasant, warm, social, and many others of like character. a third principle was the employment of unusual words; examples are found in the _story of rimini_ in the first edition and in other poems produced about this same time. in the _poetical works_, , most of them have been discarded. the preface states that the "occasional quaintnesses and neologisms" which "formerly disfigured the poems did not arise from affectation but from the sheer license of animal spirits"; that they are not worth defending and that he has left only two in the _story of rimini_, "swirl" and "cored." "swaling" had been the most famous one in the poem because of the ridicule heaped upon it by the enemies of the cockney school. to use ordinary words in an extraordinary sense was a fourth principle. the effect was often extremely awkward. core passes as a synonym for heart; fry occurs in _rimini_ in a strange sense; hip and tiptoe are employed with a special huntian significance. nouns and adjectives are used as verbs and verbs as nouns and adjectives with an unpoetical effect: cored (verb); drag (noun); frets (noun); feel (noun); patting (adjective); spanning (adjective); lull'd (adjective); smearings; measuring; doings.[ ] the use of compounds is a fifth distinguishing feature. such combinations are found as bathing-air, house-warm lips, side-long pillowed meekness, fore-thoughted chess, pin-drop silence, tear-dipped feeling. the sixth and last peculiarity is the preference for adjectives in _y_ and _ing_, many of them of his own coinage; for adverbs in _ly_; and for unauthorized or awkward comparatives: examples are plumpy (cheeks), knify, perky, sweepy, farmy, bosomy, pillowy, arrowy, liny, leafy, scattery, winy, globy; hasting, silvering, doling, blubbing, firming, thickening, quickening, differing, perking; lightsomely, refreshfully, thrillingly, kneadingly, lumpishly, smilingly, preparingly, crushingly,[ ] finelier, martialler, tastefuller, apter. the colloquial vocabulary, the familiar tone, and the expansion of thought into phrases and clauses where it would have gained by condensed expression, give to the _story of rimini_ a prosaic and eccentric style. yet hunt declared he held in horror eccentricity and prosiness.[ ] in a discussion of the influence of leigh hunt upon the versification of his contemporaries and successors it is necessary to consider not only his theory but also the active part played by him as a conscious reviver of the older heroic couplet. in this reaction against the school of pope, as also in the use of blank verse, he showed great independence in discarding approved models. the notes added to the _feast of the poets_ in , when it was republished from the _reflector_ of , are important in this connection. they show a wide familiarity with modern poetry. he writes: "the late dr. darwin, whose notion of poetical music, in common with that of goldsmith and others, was of the school of pope, though his taste was otherwise different, was perhaps the first, who by carrying it to the extreme pitch of sameness, and ringing it affectedly in one's ears, gave the public at large a suspicion that there was something wrong in its nature. but of those who saw its deficiencies, part had the ambition without the taste or attention requisite for striking into a better path, and became eccentric in another extreme; while others, who saw the folly of both, were content to keep the beaten track and set a proper example to neither. by these appeals, however, the public ear has been excited to expect something better; and perhaps there was never a more favourable time than the present for an attempt to bring back the real harmonies of the english heroic, and to restore it to half the true principle of its music, variety. i am not here joining the cry of those, who affect to consider pope as no poet at all. he is, i confess, in my judgment, at a good distance from dryden, and at an immeasurable one from such men as spenser and milton; but if the author of the _rape of the lock_, of _eloisa to abelard_, and of the _elegy on an unfortunate lady_, is no poet, then are fancy and feeling no properties belonging to poetry. i am only considering his versification; and upon that point i do not hesitate to say, that i regard him, not only as no master of his art, but as a very indifferent practiser, and one whose reputation will grow less and less, in proportion as the lovers of poetry become intimate with his great predecessors, and with the principles of musical beauty in general."[ ] the remarks on pope close with the hope that the imitation of the best work of dryden, milton and spenser "might lead the poets of the present age to that proper mixture of sweetness and strength--of modern finish and ancient variety--from which pope and his rhyming facilities have so long withheld us."[ ] hunt closes with an appeal for the return to italian models, and says that hayley, in his _triumphs of temper_ was "the quickest of our late writers to point out the great superiority of the italian school over the french." he protests against the wide influence of boileau.[ ] the introduction to the _poetical works_ of contains a concise and technical statement of hunt's theory of the heroic couplet. he argues that the triplet tends to condensation, three lines instead of four; that it carries onward the fervor of the poet's feeling, delivering him from the ordinary laws of his verse, and that it expresses continuity. of the bracket he says: "i confess i like the very bracket that marks out the triplet to the reader's eye, and prepares him for the music of it. it has a look like the bridge of a lute."[ ] the use of the alexandrine in the heroic couplet, he avers, gives variety and energy. double rhymes are defended on historical grounds. for himself he claims credit as a restorer, not an innovator, and prophesies that the perfection of the heroic couplet is "to come about by a blending between the inharmonious freedom of our old poets in general ... and the regularity of dryden himself.... if anyone could unite the vigor of dryden with the ready and easy variety of pause in the works of the late mr. crabbe, and the lovely poetic consciousness in the _lamia_ of keats ... he would be a perfect master of the rhyming couplet." a study of the heroic couplet from dryden to shelley based on two hundred lines from each poet has yielded the results indicated in the table on the following page. professor saintsbury says: "there is no doubt that his [hunt's] versification in _rimini_ (which may be described as chaucerian in basis with a strong admixture of dryden, further crossed and dashed slightly with the peculiar music of the followers of spenser, especially browne and wither) had a very strong influence both on keats and on shelley, and that it drew from them music much better than itself. this fluent, musical, many-colored-verse was a capital medium for tale telling."[ ] professor herford marks it as the "starting point of that free or chaucerian treatment of the heroic couplet and of the colloquial style, eschewing epigram and full of familiar turns, which shelley in _julian and maddalo_, and keats in _lamia_, made classical."[ ] mr. r. b. johnson calls it "a protest against the polished couplet of pope--a protest already expressed to some extent in the _lyrical ballads_, but through hunt's influence, guiding the pens of keats, shelley and some of his noblest successors."[ ] mr. a. j. kent says that "no one-sided sentiment of reaction against our so-called augustan literature disqualified leigh hunt from becoming, as he afterwards became, the greatest master since the days of dryden of the heroic couplet."[ ] leigh hunt's greatest mistake in the handling of the couplet has been clearly pointed out by mr. colvin, who says that he "blended the grave and the colloquial cadences of dryden, without his characteristic nerve and energy in either."[ ] the late dr. garnett said that the ease and variety of dryden was restored by hunt to english literature.[ ] monkhouse pointed out that keats and shelley, more than hunt, reaped the rewards of his revivification of the heroic couplet. the diffuseness of the diction of the _story of rimini_ results in a movement weaker than dryden's and less buoyant than chaucer's. yet the verse is distinguished by a fluency and grace and melody that at times are very pleasing. it had a notable influence on english verse--an influence begun by others but strongly reinforced by hunt. further treatment of the influence of hunt's diction and versification upon keats and shelley is reserved for chapters ii and iii of the present study. ---------------+------------------------------------------------- |dryden, |_absalom & achitophel_, | . | +---------------------------------------------- | |wm. chamberlayne, | |_pharronida_, . | + +------------------------------------------- | | |alexander pope, | | |_dunciad_, . | | + +---------------------------------------- | | | |leigh hunt,[ ] | | | |_story of rimini_, . | | | + +------------------------------------- | | | | |john keats, | | | | |_i stood tiptoe_, . | | | | + +---------------------------------- | | | | | |keats, | | | | | |_sleep and poetry_, . | | | | | + +------------------------------- | | | | | | |keats, | | | | | | |_endymion_, . | | | | | | + +---------------------------- | | | | | | | |keats,[ ] | | | | | | | |_lamia_, . | | | | | | | + +------------------------- | | | | | | | | |shelley, | | | | | | | | |_julian & maddalo_, . ---------------+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+------------------------- run-on couplets| | | | | | | | | run-on lines | | | | | | | | | triplets | | | | | | | | | alexandrines | | | | | | | | | ---------------+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+--+-- hunt's next poetical work after _rimini_ was _foliage_, published in . it is a collection of original poems under the title _greenwoods_, and of translations under the title _evergreens_.[ ] in the preface hunt announces the main features to be a love of sociability, of the country, and of the "fine imagination of the greeks."[ ] the first predilection runs the gamut from "sociability" to "domestic interest" and is the most fundamental characteristic of the author and of his writing. in the preface to _one hundred romances of real life_ he declares sociability to be "the greatest of all interests." it rarely failed to crop out when he was writing even on the gravest and most impersonal of subjects. in his intercourse with strangers, this same "sociability," added to a natural kindliness and sympathy, caused a familiarity of bearing that was often misunderstood. the _nymphs_, the longest poem of the volume, is founded on greek mythology and is interesting in connection with keats's poems on classical subjects. shelley said that the _nymphs_ was "truly _poetical_, in the intense and emphatic sense of the word. if miles were not between us, i should say what pity that _glib_ was not omitted, and that the poem is not so faultless as it is beautiful."[ ] in general shelley overestimated hunt's poetry, though he saw some of its affectations. shorter pieces were epistles to byron, moore, hazlitt and lamb--a kind of verse in which hunt excelled, for his attitude and style were peculiarly adapted to the familiar tone permissible in such writing. among hunt's best poems may be counted the sonnets to shelley, keats, haydon, raphael, and kosciusko; those entitled the _grasshopper and the cricket_, _to the nile_, _on a lock of milton's hair_, and the series on hampstead. the suburban charms of hampstead were very dear to hunt and he never tired of celebrating them in poetry and in prose. no amount of derision from the _quarterly_ or _blackwood's_ stopped him. the general characteristics of _foliage_ are much the same as those of the _story of rimini_. there are poor lines and good ones, never sustained power, and no poetry of a very high order. the subjects themselves are often unpoetical. hunt obtrudes himself too frequently in a breezy, offhand manner. byron's opinion of the book was scathing: "of all the ineffable centaurs that were ever begotten by self-love upon a nightmare, i think 'this monstrous sagittary' the most prodigious. _he_ (leigh h.) is an honest charlatan, who has persuaded himself into a belief of his own impostures, and talks punch in pure simplicity of heart, taking himself (as poor fitzgerald said of _him_self in the _morning post_) for vates in both senses and nonsenses of the word. did you [moore] look at the translations of his own which he prefers to pope and cowper, and says so?--did you read his skimble-skamble about wordsworth being at the head of his own _profession_, in the _eyes_ of _those_ who followed it? i thought that poetry was an _art_, or an _attribute_, and not a _profession_; but be it one, is that ... at the head of _your_ profession in your eyes?"[ ] other poems belonging to this period are _hero and leander_ and _bacchus and ariadne_ in , and a translation of tasso's _aminta_ in . the first two show hunt's faculty for poetical narrative and description, and, in common with keats, a partiality for classical subjects. the three are in no way radically different from the poems already considered. the _literary pocket book_ which hunt edited in , and , the _new monthly magazine_ to which he began contributing in , and the _literary examiner_, which he established in , complete the enumeration of his writings during the period of his association with byron, shelley and keats. beyond the contributions of shelley and keats to the first and the reviews of byron's poems in the third, they are unimportant here. chapter ii keats's meeting with hunt--growth of their friendship--haydon's intervention--keats's residence with hunt--his departure for italy--hunt's criticism of keats's poetry--his influence on the _poems of _. it was about the year that keats showed to his former school friend, charles cowden clarke, the following sonnet, the first indication the latter had that keats had written poetry: "what though, for showing truth to flatter'd state, kind hunt was shut in prison, yet has he, in his immortal spirit been as free as the sky-searching lark, and as elate. minion of grandeur! think you he did wait? think you he nought but prison walls did see, till, so unwilling thou unturn'dst the key? ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate! in spenser's halls he stray'd, and bowers fair, culling enchanted flowers; and he flew with daring milton through the fields of air: to regions of his own his genius true took happy flights. who shall his fame impair when thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?" this admiration, expressed before keats had met hunt, was due to the influence of the clarke family and to keats's acquaintance with _the examiner_, which he saw regularly during his school days at enfield and which he continued to borrow from clarke during his medical apprenticeship. clarke later showed to leigh hunt two or three of keats's poems. of the reception of one of them (_how many bards gild the lapses of time_) clarke said: "i could not but anticipate that hunt would speak encouragingly, and indeed approvingly, of the compositions--written, too, by a youth under age; but my partial spirit was not prepared for the unhesitating and prompt admiration which broke forth before he had read twenty lines of the first poem."[ ] hunt invited keats to visit him. of this first meeting between the two men, clarke wrote: "that was a red letter day in the young poet's life, and one which will never fade with me while memory lasts. the character and expression of keats's features would arrest even the casual passenger in the street; and now they were wrought to a tone of animation that i could not but watch with interest, knowing what was in store for him from the bland encouragement, and spartan deference in attention, with fascinating conversational eloquence, that he was to encounter and receive.... the interview, which stretched into three 'morning calls', was the prelude to many after-scenes and saunterings about caen wood and its neighborhood; for keats was suddenly made a familiar of the household, and was always welcomed."[ ] hunt's account of the meeting is as follows: "i shall never forget the impression made upon me by the exuberant specimens of genuine though young poetry that were laid before me, and the promise of which was seconded by the fine fervid countenance of the writer. we became intimate on the spot, and i found the young poet's heart as warm as his imagination. we read and we walked together, and used to write verse of an evening upon a given subject. no imaginative pleasure was left untouched by us, or unenjoyed; from the recollections of the bards and patriots of old, to the luxury of a summer rain at our window, or the clicking of the coal in the winter-time. not long afterwards, having the pleasure of entertaining at dinner mr. godwin, mr. hazlitt, and mr. basil montagu, i showed the verses of my young friend, and they were pronounced to be as extraordinary as i thought them."[ ] leigh hunt discovered keats, by no means a small thing, for as he himself has said: "to admire and comment upon the genius that two or three hundred years have applauded, and to discover what will partake of applause two or three hundred years hence, are processes of a very different description."[ ] with the same power of prophetic discernment, writing in , he realized to the full the greatness of keats and predicted that growth of his fame in the future which has since taken place.[ ] keats's account of his reception is given in the sonnet _keen fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there_: "for i am brimfull of the friendliness that in a little cottage i have found; of fair hair'd milton's eloquent distress, and all his love for gentle lycid drown'd; of lovely laura in her light green dress, and faithful petrarch gloriously crowned." the date of the introduction of keats to hunt has been placed variously from november, , to the end of the year . he says: "it was not at hampstead that i first saw keats. it was in york buildings, in the new road (no. ), where i wrote part of the _indicator_--and he resided with me while in mortimer terrace, kentish town (no. ), where i concluded it. i mention this for the curious in such things, among whom i am one."[ ] if this statement were correct, it would make the meeting about two or three years later than has generally been supposed, for leigh hunt did not move to york buildings until , and he did not begin work on the _indicator_ until october, . clarke states positively that the meeting took place at hampstead. from this evidence mr. colvin has suggested the early spring of as the most probable date.[ ] what seems better evidence than any that has yet been brought forward is a passage in _the examiner_ of june , , in hunt's review of keats's _poems_ of , where he says that the poet is a personal friend whom he announced to the public a short time ago (this allusion can only be to an article in _the examiner_ of december , ) and that the friendship dates from "no greater distance of time than the announcement above mentioned. we had published one of his sonnets in our paper,[ ] without knowing more of him than of any other anonymous correspondent; but at the period in question a friend brought us one morning some copies in verse, which he said were from the pen of a youth.... we had not read more than a dozen lines when we recognized a young poet indeed." this seems conclusive evidence that the meeting did not take place until the winter of , for hunt's testimony written in , when the circumstance was fresh in his mind is certainly more trustworthy than his impression of it at the time that he revised his _autobiography_ in at the age of seventy-five years. the two men, before they came in contact, had much in common, and hunt's influence, while in some cases an inspiring force, more often fostered instincts already existing in keats. both possessed by nature a deep love of poetry, color and melody, and both "were given to 'luxuriating' somewhat voluptuously over the 'deliciousness' of the beautiful in art, books or nature."[ ] at the very beginning of their acquaintance, notwithstanding a disparity in age of eleven years, they were wonderfully drawn to each other. spenser was their favorite poet. both had a great love for chaucer, for oriental fable and for chivalric romance, and an unusual knowledge of greek myth. but even at the height of their intimacy, the friendship seems to have remained more intellectual than personal, a fact due no doubt to keats's reserve and hunt's "incuriousness."[ ] except for this drawback hunt considered the friendship ideal. he says: "mr. keats and i were old friends of the old stamp, between whom there was no such thing as obligation, except the pleasure of it. he enjoyed the privilege of greatness with all whom he knew, rendering it delightful to be obliged by him, and an equal, but not a greater delight, to oblige. it was a pleasure to his friends to have him in their houses, and he did not grude it."[ ] through hunt, keats was introduced to a circle of literary men whose companionship was an important factor in his development, notably haydon, godwin, hazlitt, shelley, vincent novello, horace smith, cornelius webbe, basil montagu, the olliers, barry cornwall, and later wordsworth. for about a year following the meeting of the two, hunt undoubtedly exerted the strongest influence of any living man over the young poet. severn said that keats's introduction to hunt wrought a great change in him and "intoxicated him with an excess of enthusiasm which kept by him four or five years."[ ] mr. forman says that "charles cowden clarke, as his early mentor, leigh hunt and haydon as his most powerful encouragers at the important epoch of adolescence, must be credited with much of the active influence that took keats out of the path to a medical practitioner's life, and set his feet in the devious paths of literature."[ ] keats's interest in his profession had decreased as his knowledge and love of poetry grew. with the publication of his _poems_ in , and his retirement in april of that year from london to the isle of wight "to be alone and improve" himself and to continue _endymion_, his decision was finally made in favor of a literary life. hunt's aid at this time took the practical form of publishing keats's poems in _the examiner_ and of drawing the attention of the public to them by comments and reviews. whether he ever paid keats for any of his contributions to his periodicals is not known.[ ] through the influence of hunt the ollier brothers were induced to undertake the publication of keats's first volume of poems. it is dedicated to leigh hunt in the sonnet _glory and loveliness have passed away_. the sestet refers directly to him: "but there are left delights as high as these, and i shall ever bless my destiny, that in a time, when under pleasant trees pan is no longer sought, i feel a free a leafy luxury, seeing i could please with these poor offerings, a man like thee."[ ] hunt replied in the sonnet _to john keats_, quoted here in full because of its inacessibility: "'tis well you think me truly one of those, whose sense discerns the loveliness of things; for surely as i feel the bird that sings behind the leaves, or dawn as it up grows, or the rich bee rejoicing as he goes, or the glad issue of emerging springs, or overhead the glide of a dove's wings, or turf, or trees, or midst of all, repose. and surely as i feel things lovelier still, the human look, and the harmonious form containing woman, and the smile in ill, and such a heart as charles's wise and warm,-- as surely as all this, i see ev'n now, young keats, a flowering laurel on your brow."[ ] in , hunt dedicated his translation of tasso's _aminta_ to keats. in spite of a eulogistic article by hunt running in _the examiners_ of june , july and , , and other notices in some of the provincial papers, the _poems_ sold not very well at first, and later, not at all.[ ] praise from the editor of _the examiner_, although offered with the kindest intentions in the world, was about the worst thing that could possibly have happened to keats, for, politically and poetically, leigh hunt was most unpopular at this time;[ ] and it was noised abroad that keats too was a radical in politics and in religion, a disciple of the apostate in his attack on the established and accepted creed of poetry. as a matter of fact, keats's interest in politics decreased as his knowledge of poetry increased, although, "as a party-badge and sign of ultra-liberalism," he, like hunt, byron and shelley continued to wear the soft turn-down collars in contrast to the stiff collars and enormous cravats of the time.[ ] in religion keats vented his dislike of sect and creed on the kirk of scotland, as hunt had on the methodists. his "simply-sensuous beauty-worship" palgrave attributes to the "moral laxity" of hunt.[ ] unless palgrave, like haydon, refers to hunt's unorthodoxy in matters of church and state, it is difficult to understand on what evidence he bases this statement; in the first place, a charge of moral laxity is not borne out by the recorded facts of hunt's life, but only by such untrustworthy tradition as still lingers in the public mind from the cockney school articles of _blackwood's_ and the _quarterly_. carlyle said that he was of "most exemplary private deportment."[ ] byron, shelley and lamb testified to his virtuous life. in the second place, a close comparison of the works of the two now leads one to conclude that "simply-sensuous beauty-worship" existed to a much higher degree in keats than in hunt, and that so strong an innate tendency would have developed without outward stimulus from any one. while both men sought the good and worshipped the beautiful, keats, unlike hunt, recognized somewhat "the burthen and the mystery" of human life. keats, during his stay in the isle of wight and a visit to oxford with bailey in the spring and summer of , worked on _endymion_, finishing it in the fall. the letters exchanged between him and hunt during his absence were friendly, but a feeling of coolness began before his return. in a letter from margate may , , there is a curiously obscure reference to the _nymphs_: "how have you got on among them? how are the _nymphs_? i suppose they have led you a fine dance. where are you now?--in judea, cappadocia, or the parts of lybia about cyrene? stranger from 'heaven, hues, and prototypes' i wager you have given several new turns to the old saying, 'now the maid was fair and pleasant to look on,' as well as made a little variation in 'once upon a time.' perhaps, too, you have rather varied, 'here endeth the first lesson.' thus i hope you have made a horseshoe business of 'unsuperfluous life,' 'faint bowers' and fibrous roots."[ ] a letter written by haydon to keats, dated may , , warned keats against hunt, and, with others of its kind, was possibly the insidious beginning of the coolness which followed: "beware, for god's sake of the delusions and sophistications that are ripping up the talents and morality of our friend! he will go out of the world the victim of his own weakness and the dupe of his own self-delusions, with the contempt of his enemies and the sorrow of his friends, and the cause he undertook to support injured by his own neglect of character."[ ] a letter in reply from keats, written the day after he wrote the passage about the _nymphs_, accounts for its dissembling tone: "i wrote to hunt yesterday--scarcely know what i said in it. i could not talk about poetry in the way i should have liked for i was not in humour with either his or mine. his self delusions are very lamentable--they have inticed him into a situation which i should be less eager after than that of a galley slave,--what you observe thereon is very true must be in time [sic]. perhaps it is a self delusion to say so--but i think i could not be deceived in the manner that hunt is--may i die to-morrow if i am to be. there is no greater sin after the seven deadly than to flatter oneself into the idea of being a great poet...."[ ] to judge from the testimony of his brother george it is not surprising that keats succumbed to haydon's influence against hunt: "his nervous, morbid temperament led him to misconstrue the motives of his best friends."[ ] in the last days of his life, his suspicion and bitterness were general. in a letter to bailey, june, , keats says: "i have suspected everybody."[ ] january, , he wrote georgiana keats, "upon the whole i dislike mankind."[ ] haydon may have sincerely believed hunt's influence to be injurious because of the latter's unorthodoxy in matters of religion. he wrote that keats "could not bring his mind to bear on one object, and was at the mercy of every petty theory that leigh hunt's ingenuity would suggest.... he had a tendency to religion when i first knew him, but leigh hunt soon forced it from his mind.... leigh hunt was the unhinger of his best dispositions. latterly, keats saw leigh hunt's weaknesses. i distrusted his leader, but keats would not cease to visit him, because he thought hunt ill-used. this shows keats's goodness of heart."[ ] it is not to be regretted that haydon lessened keats's estimate of hunt's literary infallibility, for his influence was most injurious in that direction; but it is to be regretted that he impugned a friendship in which hunt was certainly sincere and by which keats had benefited. in september, just before keats's return, he seems somewhat mollified and writes to john hamilton reynolds of leigh hunt's pleasant companionship; he has failings, "but then his make-ups are very good."[ ] on his return to hampstead in october, , keats found affairs among the circle in a very bad way.[ ] everybody "seems at loggerheads--there's hunt infatuated--there's haydon's picture in statu quo--there's hunt walks up and down his painting room--criticising every head most unmercifully. there's horace smith tired of hunt. 'the web of our life is of mingled yarn.'... i am quite disgusted with literary men and will never know another except wordsworth--no not even byron. here is an instance of the friendship of such. haydon and hunt have known each other many years.... haydon says to me, keats, don't show your lines to hunt on any account or he will have done half for you--so it appears hunt wishes it to be thought. when he met reynolds in the theatre, john told him that i was getting on to the completion of , lines--ah! says hunt, had it not been for me they would have been , ! if he will say this to reynolds, what would he to other people? haydon received a letter a little while back on this subject from some lady--which contains a caution to me, thro' him, on the subject--now is not all this a most paultry (sic) thing to think about?"[ ] hunt had tried to persuade keats not to write a long poem. keats wrote of this: "hunt's dissuasion was of no avail[ ]--i refused to visit shelley that i might have my own unfettered scope; and after all, i shall have the reputation of hunt's élève. his corrections and amputations will by the knowing ones be traced in the poem."[ ] during , leigh hunt in his critical work remained silent concerning keats, probably because of his sincere disapproval of _endymion_ and secondly, because he realized that his praise would be injurious. the attacks on hunt in _blackwood's_ and the _quarterly_ had foreshadowed an attack of the same virulent kind on keats. the realization came with the publication of _endymion_. the article on "johnny keats," fourth of the series on the cockney school in _blackwood's magazine_, appeared almost simultaneously with his return from scotland, and the one in the _quarterly_ in september of the same year. these will be discussed in a later chapter. suspicions of neglect on the part of hunt murmured in keats's mind like a discordant undertone, although the friendship continued as warm as ever on hunt's part. keats was passive, without, however, the old sense of dependence and trust. december , , he writes to his brothers of the "drivelling egotism" of _the examiner_ article on the obsoletion of christmas gambols and pastimes.[ ] in a journal letter written to george keats and his wife in louisville during december and january, , the old liking has become almost repugnance: "hunt keeps on in his old way--i am completely tired of it all. he has lately published a pocket book called the literary pocket-book--full of the most sickening stuff you can imagine";[ ] yet keats suffered himself to become a contributor to this same book with two sonnets, _the human seasons_ and _to ailsa rock_. again in the same letter: "the night we went to novello's there was a complete set-to of mozart and punning. i was so completely tired of it that if i were to follow my own inclinations i should never meet any of that set again, not even hunt who is certainly a pleasant fellow in the main when you are with him, but in reality he is vain, egotistical, and disgusting in matters of taste and morals. he understands many a beautiful thing; but then, instead of giving other minds credit for the same degree of perception as he himself possesses,--he begins an explanation in such a curious manner that our taste and self-love is offended continually. hunt does one harm by making fine things petty and beautiful things hateful. through him i am indifferent to mozart, i care not for white busts--and many a glorious thing when associated with him becomes a nothing."[ ] continuing in the same strain: "i will have no more wordsworth or hunt in particular. why should we be of the tribe of manasseh when we can wander with esau? why should we kick against the pricks, when we can walk on roses?... i don't mean to deny wordsworth's grandeur and hunt's merit, but i mean to say that we need not to be teazed with grandeur and merit, when we can have them uncontaminated and unobtrusive. let us have the old poets and robin hood."[ ] and again: "hunt has damned hampstead and masks and sonnets and italian tales. wordsworth has damned the lakes--milman has damned the old drama--west has damned wholesale. peacock has damned satire--ollier has damned music--hazlitt has damned the bigoted and the blue-stockinged; how durst the man?!"[ ] a parody on the conversation of hunt's set, in which he is the principal actor, carries with it a ridicule that is unkinder than the bitterness of dislike, and difficult to reconcile with the fact that keats at the same time preserved the semblance of friendship.[ ] "scene, a little parlour--enter hunt--gattie--hazlitt--mrs. novello--ollier. _gattie_:--ha! hunt got into your new house? ha! mrs. novello: seen altam and his wife? _mrs. n._: yes (with a grin) it's mr. hunt's isn't it? _gattie_: hunt's? no, ha! mr. ollier, i congratulate you upon the highest compliment i ever heard paid to the book. mr. hazlitt, i hope you are well. _hazlitt_:--yes sir, no sir--_mr. hunt_ (at the music) 'la biondina' etc. hazlitt, did you ever hear this?--"la biondina" &c. _hazlitt_: o no sir--i never--_ollier_:--do hunt give it us over again--divine--_gattie_:--divino--hunt when does your pocket-book come out--_hunt_:--'what is this absorbs me quite?' o we are spinning on a little, we shall floridize soon i hope. such a thing was very much wanting--people think of nothing but money getting--now for me i am rather inclined to the liberal side of things. i am reckoned lax in my christian principles, etc., etc., etc., etc."[ ] such a dual attitude in keats can be explained only by a dual feeling in his mind, for it is impossible to believe him capable of deliberate deceit. he may have realized hunt's affectation and superficiality and "disgusting taste"; he was probably swayed by haydon to distrust hunt's morals; the suspicions planted by haydon concerning _endymion_ rankled; but at the same time hunt's charm of personality, and the assistance and encouragement given in the first days of their friendship, formed a bond difficult to break. of leigh hunt's attitude there can be no doubt, for through his long life of more than threescore years and ten, filled with many friendships of many kinds, he can in no instance be charged with insincerity. there is no conclusive proof on record to show him deserving of the insinuations which keats believed in respect to _endymion_, for haydon is not trustworthy, and the opinion of a lady given through haydon may be dismissed on the same grounds.[ ] reynolds' testimony is not damaging in itself, and in the absence of facts to the contrary may have been wrongly construed by keats. to the charges against himself, leigh hunt has replied in the following passage, "affecting and persuasive in its unrestrained pathos of remonstrance":[ ] "an irritable morbidity appears even to have driven his suspicions to excess; and this not only with regard to the acquaintance whom he might reasonably suppose to have had some advantages over him, but to myself, who had none; for i learned the other day, with extreme pain, such as i am sure so kind and reflecting a man as mr. monckton milnes would not have inflicted on me could he have foreseen it, that keats at one period of his intercourse suspected shelley and myself of a wish to see him undervalued! such are the tricks which constant infelicity can play with the most noble natures. for shelley, let _adonais_ answer. for myself, let every word answer which i uttered about him, living and dead, and such as i now proceed to repeat. i might as well have been told that i wished to see the flowers or the stars undervalued, or my own heart that loved him."[ ] hunt's feeling towards keats is nowhere better expressed than in his _autobiography_: "i could not love him as deeply as i did shelley. that was impossible. but my affection was only second to the one which i entertained for that heart of hearts."[ ] keats's atonement is contained in the last letter that he ever wrote: "if i recover, i will do all in my power to correct the mistakes made during sickness, and if i should not, all my faults will be forgiven."[ ] haydon's influence over keats was at its height in and .[ ] his gifts and his enthusiasm, his "fresh magnificence"[ ] carried keats by storm. it was not until about july that a reaction against haydon in favor of hunt set in, brought about by money transactions between keats and haydon, and the indifference of the latter in repaying a debt when he knew keats's necessity.[ ] keats probably never ceased to feel that hunt's influence as a poet had been injurious, as indeed it was, but the relative stability of his two friends adjusted itself after this experience with haydon. affairs seem to have been smoothed over with hunt, and were not disturbed again until a short time before keats's departure for italy, when his morbid suspicions, which even led him to accuse his friend brown of flirting with fanny brawne,[ ] seem to have been renewed. in , brown, with whom keats had been living since his brother tom's death, went on a second tour to scotland. keats, unable to accompany him, took a lodging in wesleyan place, kentish town, to be near hunt, who was living in mortimer street. brown says: "it was his choice, during my absence to lodge at kentish town, that he might be near his friend, leigh hunt, in whose companionship he was ever happy."[ ] in a letter to fanny brawne, keats said hunt "amuses me very kindly."[ ] it is not likely, judging from this overture, that there had ever been an actual cessation of intercourse, notwithstanding what keats wrote in his letters; and the act points to a revival of the old feeling on his part. about the twenty-second or twenty-third of june, , keats left his rooms and moved to leigh hunt's home to be nursed.[ ] he remained about seven weeks with the family, when there occurred an unfortunate incident which resulted in his abrupt departure august , . a letter of fanny brawne's was delivered to him two days late with the seal broken. the contretemps was due to the misconduct of a servant, but it was interpreted by keats as treachery on the part of the family. at the moment he would accept no explanations or apologies. he writes of this incident to fanny brawne: "my friends have behaved well to me in every instance but one, and there they have become tattlers, and inquisitors into my conduct: spying upon a secret i would rather die than share it with anybody's confidence. for this i cannot wish them well, i care not to see any of them again. if i am the theme, i will not be the friend of idle gossips. good gods what a shame it is our loves should be put into the microscope of a coterie. their laughs should not affect you (i may perhaps give you reasons some day for these laughs, for i suspect a few people to hate me well enough, _for reasons i know of_, who have pretended a great friendship for me) when in competition with one, who if he should never see you again would make you the saint of his memory. these laughers, who do not like you, who envy you for your beauty, who would have god-bless'd me from you for ever: who were plying me with disencouragements with respect to you eternally. people are revengeful--do not mind them--do nothing but love me."[ ] in his next letter to her he says: "i shall never be able to endure any more the society of any of those who used to meet at elm cottage and wentworth place. the last two years taste like brass upon my palate."[ ] the lack of self-control and the distrust seen in these extracts show that keats was laboring under hallucinations produced by an ill mind and body; the letters from which they have been taken are unnatural, almost terrible, in their passion and rebellion against fate. keats moved to the residence of the brawnes. while he was here the trouble seems to have been smoothed over, for in a letter to hunt he says: "you will be glad to hear i am going to delay a little at mrs. brawne's. i hope to see you whenever you get time, for i feel really attached to you for your many sympathies with me, and patience at all my _lunes_.... your affectionate friend, john keats."[ ] to brown he says: "hunt has behaved very kindly to me"; and again: "the seal-breaking business is over-blown. i think no more of it."[ ] hunt's reply is couched in most affectionate terms: "giovani [sic] mio, "i shall see you this afternoon, and most probably every day. you judge rightly when you think i shall be glad at your putting up awhile where you are, instead of that solitary place. there are humanities in the house; and if wisdom loves to live with children round her knees (the tax-gatherer apart), sick wisdom, i think, should love to live with arms about it's waist. i need not say how you gratify me by the impulse that led you to write a particular sentence in your letter, for you must have seen by this time how much i am attached to yourself. "i am indicating at as dull a rate as a battered finger-post in wet weather. not that i am ill: for i am very well altogether. your affectionate friend, leigh hunt."[ ] this was probably the last letter written by him to keats. in september keats went to rome with severn to escape the hardships of the winter climate, after having declined an invitation from shelley to visit him at pisa. in the same month, hunt published an affectionate farewell to him in _the indicator_. an announcement of his death appeared in _the examiner_ of march , . the story of the personal relations of the two men could not be better closed than with the words of hunt written march , , to severn in rome when he believed keats still alive: "if he can bear to hear of us, pray tell him; but he knows it already, and can put it into better language than any man. i hear that he does not like to be told that he may get better; nor is it to be wondered at, considering his firm persuasion that he shall not survive. he can only regard it as a puerile thing, and an insinuation that he shall die. but if his persuasion should happen to be no longer so strong, or if he can now put up with attempts to console him, tell him of what i have said a thousand times, and what i still (upon my honour) think always, that i have seen too many instances of recovery from apparently desperate cases of consumption not to be in hope to the very last. if he still cannot bear to hear this, tell him--tell that great poet and noblehearted man--that we shall all bear his memory in the most precious part of our hearts, and that the world shall bow their heads to it, as our loves do. or if this, again, will trouble his spirit, tell him that we shall never cease to remember and love him; and that, christian or infidel, the most sceptical of us has faith enough in the high things that nature puts into our heads, to think all who are of one accord in mind and heart are journeying to one and the same place, and shall unite somewhere or other again, face to face, mutually conscious, mutually delighted."[ ] the literary relations of keats and hunt will be considered under two heads; first, the criticism of keats's writings by hunt; and second, his direct influence upon them. _on first looking into chapman's homer_ in _the examiner_ of december st, , was embodied in an article entitled "young poets." it was the first notice of keats to appear in print and is in part as follows: "the last of these young aspirants whom we have met with, and who promise to help the new school to revive nature and 'to put a spirit of youth in everything,'-- is we believe, the youngest of them all, and just of age. his name is john keats. he has not yet published anything except in a newspaper, but a set of his manuscripts was handed us the other day, and fairly surprised us with the truth of their ambition, and ardent grappling with nature." in _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, the last line of the same sonnet-- "silent upon a peak in darien"-- is called "a basis of gigantic tranquillity."[ ] leigh hunt's review of the _poems_ of [ ] was kind and discriminating. he writes characteristically of the first poem, _i stood tiptoe_, that it "consists of a piece of luxury in a rural spot"; of the epistles and sonnets, that they "contain strong evidences of warm and social feelings." this comment is quite characteristic of hunt. he was as fond of finding "warm and social feelings" in the poetry of others as of putting them into his own. in his anxiety he sometimes found them when they did not exist. he continues: "the best poem is certainly the last and the longest, entitled _sleep and poetry_. it originated in sleeping in a room adorned with busts and pictures [hunt's library], and is a striking specimen of the restlessness of the young poetical appetite, obtaining its food by the very desire of it, and glancing for fit subjects of creation 'from earth to heaven.' nor do we like it the less for an impatient, and as it may be thought by some irreverend [sic] assault upon the late french school of criticism[ ] and monotony." but hunt did not allow his affection for keats or his approval of keats's poetical doctrine to blunt his critical acumen. in summarizing he says: "the very faults of mr. keats arise from a passion for beauties, and a young impatience to vindicate them; and as we have mentioned these, we shall refer to them at once. they may be comprised in two;--first, a tendency to notice everything too indiscriminately, and without an eye to natural proportion and effect; and second, a sense of the proper variety of versification without a due consideration of its principles." in conclusion, the beauties "outnumber the faults a hundred fold" and "they are of a nature decidedly opposed to what is false and inharmonious. their characteristics indeed are a fine ear, a fancy and imagination at will, and an intense feeling of external beauty in its most natural and least inexpressible simplicity." hunt was disappointed with _endymion_ and did not hesitate to say so. keats writes to his brothers: "leigh hunt i showed my st book to--he allows it not much merit as a whole; says it is unnatural and made ten objections to it in the mere skimming over. he says the conversation is unnatural and too high-flown for brother and sister--says it should be simple, forgetting do ye mind that they are both overshadowed by a supernatural power, and of force could not speak like francesca in the _rimini_. he must first prove that caliban's poetry is unnatural. this with me completely overturns his objections. the fact is he and shelley are hurt, and perhaps justly, at my not having showed them the affair officiously (sic); and from several hints i have had they appear much disposed to dissect and anatomize any trip or slip i may have made.--but who's afraid? aye! tom! demme if i am."[ ] leigh hunt expressed himself thus in : "_endymion_, it must be allowed was not a little calculated to perplex the critics. it was a wilderness of sweets, but it was truly a wilderness; a domain of young, luxuriant, uncompromising poetry."[ ] _la belle dame sans merci_, which appeared first in _the indicator_,[ ] was accompanied with an introduction by hunt, who says that it was suggested by alain chartier's poem of the same title and "that the union of the imagination and the real is very striking throughout, particularly in the dream. the wild gentleness of the rest of the thoughts and of the music are alike old, and they are alike young." _the indicator_ of august and , , contained a review of the volume of . the part dealing with philosophy in poetry is of more than passing interest: "we wish that for the purpose of his story he had not appeared to give in to the commonplace of supposing that apollonius's sophistry must always prevail, and that modern experiment has done a deadly thing to poetry by discovering the nature of the rainbow, the air, etc.; that is to say, that the knowledge of natural science and physics, by showing us the nature of things, does away the imaginations that once adorned them. this is a condescension to a learned vulgarism, which so excellent a poet as mr. keats ought not to have made. the world will always have fine poetry, so long as it has events, passions, affections, and a philosophy that sees deeper than this philosophy. there will be a poetry of the heart, as long as there are tears and smiles: there will be a poetry of the imagination, as long as the first causes of things remain a mystery. a man who is no poet, may think he is none, as soon as he finds out the first causes of the rainbow; but he need not alarm himself:--he was none before."[ ] much the same line of discussion is reported of the conversation at haydon's "immortal dinner," december , , when keats and lamb denounced sir isaac newton and his demolition of the things of the imagination, keats saying he "destroyed the poetry of the rainbow by reducing it to a prism."[ ] the pictorial features of the _eve of st. agnes_ were particularly admired by hunt, as one might be led to expect from the decorative detail of his own narrative poetry. the portrait of "agnes" (_sic_ for madeline) is said to be "remarkable for its union of extreme richness and good taste" and "affords a striking specimen of the sudden and strong maturity of the author's genius. when he wrote _endymion_ he could not have resisted doing too much. to the description before me, it would be a great injury either to add or to diminish. it falls at once gorgeously and delicately upon us, like the colours of the painted glass." of the description of the casement window, hunt asks "could all the pomp and graces of aristocracy with titian's and raphael's aid to boot, go beyond the rich religion of this picture, with its 'twilight saints' and its 'scutcheons blushing with the blood of queens'?" elsewhere he says that "persian kings would have filled a poet's mouth with gold" for such poetry. hunt calls _hyperion_[ ] "a fragment, a gigantic one, like a ruin in the desert, or the bones of the mastodon. it is truly of a piece with its subject, which is the downfall of the elder gods." later, in _imagination and fancy_, hunt declared that keats's greatest poetry is to be found in _hyperion_. his opinion of the whole is thus summed up: "mr. keats's versification sometimes reminds us of milton in his blank verse, and sometimes of chapman both in his blank verse and in his rhyme; but his faculties, essentially speaking, though partaking of the unearthly aspirations and abstract yearnings of both these poets, are altogether his own. they are ambitious, but less directly so. they are more _social_, and in the finer sense of the word, sensual, than either. they are more coloured by the modern philosophy of sympathy and natural justice. _endymion_, with all its extraordinary powers, partook of the faults of youth, though the best ones; but the reader of _hyperion_ and these other stories would never guess that they were written at twenty.[ ] the author's versification is now perfected, the exuberances of his imagination restrained, and a calm power, the surest and loftiest of all power, takes place of the impatient workings of the younger god within him. the character of his genius is that of energy and voluptuousness, each able at will to take leave of the other, and possessing in their union, a high feeling of humanity not common to the best authors who can combine them. mr. keats undoubtedly takes his seat with the oldest and best of our living poets."[ ] the more important division of the literary relations of the two men is the direct influence of hunt's work upon that of keats. on keats's prose style hunt's influence was very slight and can be quickly dismissed. at one time keats, affected perhaps by hunt's example, thought of becoming a theatrical critic. he did actually contribute four articles to _the champion_. keats's favorite of hunt's essays, _a now_, contains several passages composed by keats. mr. forman considers that "the greater part of the paper is so much in the taste and humor of keats" that he is justified in including it in his edition of keats. he has also called attention to a passage in keats's letter to haydon of april , , which bears a striking likeness to hunt's occasional essay style: "the hedges by this time are beginning to leaf--cats are becoming more vociferous--young ladies who wear watches are always looking at them. women about forty-five think the season very backward." the _poems_ of show hunt's influences in spirit, diction and versification. there are epistles and sonnets in the manner of hunt. _i stood tiptoe upon a little hill_ opens the volume with a motto from the _story of rimini_. the _specimen of an induction_ and _calidore_ so nearly approach hunt's work in manner, that they might easily be mistaken for it. _sleep and poetry_ attacks french models as hunt had previously done. the colloquial style of certain passages is significant of hunt's influence upon the poems. a few examples are: "to peer about upon variety."[ ] "or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves."[ ] "the ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses."[ ] "... you just now are stooping to pick up the keepsake intended for me."[ ] "of this fair world, and all its gentle livers."[ ] "the evening weather was so bright, and clear, that men of health were of unusual cheer."[ ] "linger awhile upon some bending planks that lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, and watch intently nature's gentle doings: they will be found softer than the ring-dove's cooings."[ ] "the lamps that from the high roof'd wall were pendant and gave the steel a shining quite transcendent."[ ] "or on the wavy grass outstretch'd supinely, pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely."[ ] the following are infelicitous passages reflecting leigh hunt's bad taste, especially in the description of physical appearance, or of situations involving emotion: "... what amorous and fondling nips they gave each other's cheeks."[ ] "... some lady sweet who cannot feel for cold her tender feet."[ ] "rein in the swelling of his ample might."[ ] "nor will a bee buzz round two swelling peaches."[ ] "... what a kiss, what gentle squeeze he gave each lady's hand! how tremblingly their delicate ankles spann'd! into how sweet a trance his soul was gone, while whisperings of affection made him delay to let their tender feet come to the earth; with an incline so sweet from their low palfreys o'er his neck they bent: and whether there were tears of languishment, or that the evening dew had pearl'd their tresses, he felt a moisture on his cheek and blesses with lips that tremble, and with glistening eye, all the soft luxury that nestled in his arms."[ ] "... add too, the sweetness of thy honey'd voice; the neatness of thine ankle, lightly turned: with those beauties, scarce discern'd kept with such sweet privacy, that they seldom meet the eye of the little loves that fly round about with eager pry."[ ] descriptive passages in the huntian style are not infrequent: the opening lines from the _imitation of spenser_[ ] are much nearer to hunt than to spenser. "now morning from her orient chamber came, and her first footsteps touched a verdant hill, crowning its lawny crest with amber flame, silv'ring the untainted gushes of its rill; which, pure from mossy beds, did down distil and after parting beds of simple flowers, by many streams a little lake did fill, which round its marge reflected woven bowers, and in its middle space, a sky that never lowers."[ ] these lines of _calidore_ show a like resemblance: "he bares his forehead to the cool blue sky, and smiles at the far clearness all around, until his heart is well nigh over wound, and turns for calmness to the pleasant green of easy slopes, and shadowy trees that lean so elegantly o'er the waters' brim and show their blossoms trim."[ ] a third is: "across the lawny fields, and pebbly water." single phrases showing the influence of hunt[ ] are: "airy feel," "patting the flowing hair," "a man of elegance," "sweet-lipped ladies," "grateful the incense," "modest pride," "a sun-beamy tale of a wreath," "soft humanity," "leafy luxury," "pillowy silkiness," "swelling apples," "the very pleasant rout," "forms of elegance." the following passages apparently bear as close a resemblance to each other as it is possible to find by the comparison of individual passages from the works of the two men: "the sidelong view of swelling leafiness which the glad setting sun in gold doth dress"[ ] compare with: "and every hill, in passing one by one gleamed out with twinkles of the golden sun: for leafy was the road, with tall array."[ ] the _epistles_ are strikingly like hunt's epistles in spirit, diction and metre. mr. colvin has pointed out that the one addressed _to george felton mathew_ was written in november, , before keats had met hunt and before the publication of the latter's epistles;[ ] but keats may have known them at the time in manuscript through clarke. the resemblances may also have been due, in part, as in other points of comparison, to an innate similarity of thought and feeling. that hunt's habit of sonneteering and his preference for the petrarcan form influenced keats, is attested by the similarity of the latter's sonnets to hunt's in form, subjects, and allusions, and by the direct references[ ] to hunt. _on the grasshopper and the cricket_[ ] and _to the nile_[ ] were written in contest with hunt. _to spenser_ is a refusal to comply with hunt's request that he should write a sonnet on spenser.[ ] the title of _on leigh hunt's poem, the story of rimini_[ ] speaks for itself.[ ] to put it briefly, the _poems_ of show hunt's influence in more ways than any equal number of the young poet's later verses. it is seen in keats's subject matter[ ] and allusions; in his adoption of a colloquial style and diction; in his absorption of hunt's spirit in the treatment of nature and in his attitude toward women; and in his imitation and exaggerated use of the free heroic couplet in _sleep and poetry_, _i stood tiptoe_, _specimen of an induction_ and other poems. of the poem _lines on seeing a lock of milton's hair_, written in january, , keats wrote in a letter to bailey: "i was at hunt's the other day, and he surprised me with a real authenticated lock of _milton's hair_. i know you would like what i wrote thereon, so here it is--as they say of a sheep in a nursery book.... this i did at hunt's, at his request--perhaps i should have done something better alone and at home."[ ] leigh hunt's three sonnets on the same subject, published in _foliage_, have been already spoken of in the preceding chapter. _endymion_ shows a decided decrease in the ascendancy of hunt's mind over keats, for the sway of his intellectual supremacy had been shaken before suspicions arose in keats's mind as to the disinterestedness of his motives. what influence lingers is seen in the general theory of versification and in the diction, with some trace in matters of taste. a marvellous luxury of imagery, glimpses into the heights and depths of nature, an absorbing love of greek fable, a deeper infusion of the ideal have superseded what mr. colvin has called the "sentimental chirp" of hunt.[ ] specific passages in _endymion_ reminiscent of hunt are rare, but book iii, ll. - recalls the general descriptive style in the _descent of liberty_ and summarizes in a few lines pages of hunt's diffuse, spectacular imagery. once or twice keats seems to have fallen into the colloquial manner in dialogue: "but a poor naiad, i guess not. farewell! i have a ditty for my hollow cell."[ ] again: "i own this may sound strangely: but when, dearest girl, thou seest it for my happiness, no pearl will trespass down those cheeks. companion fair! wilt be content to dwell with her, to share this sister's love with me? like one resign'd and bent by circumstance, and thereby blind in self-commitment, thus that meek unknown: 'aye, but a buzzing by my ears has flown, of jubilee to dian:--truth i heard? well then, i see there is no little bird.'"[ ] occasionally there are passages in the bad taste of hunt, as this example: "enchantress! tell me by this soft embrace, by the most soft completion of thy face, those lips, o slippery blisses, twinkling eyes, and by these tenderest, milky sovereignties-- these tenderest, and by the nectar wine, the passion--"[ ] likewise: "o that i were rippling round her dainty fairness now, circling about her waist, and striving how to entice her to a dive! then stealing in between her luscious lips and eyelids thin."[ ] in july, , appeared the volume _lamia, isabella, the eve of st. agnes and other poems_. the lingering influence of hunt is seen in a fondness for the short poetic tale, in the direct and simple narrative style, and in the return in _lamia_ to the use of the heroic couplet; but that, along with the other poems of the volume, is free from the huntian eccentricities of manner and diction found in keats's earlier works. he had come into his own. in treatment, _lamia_ is almost faultless in technique and in matters of taste; although mr. colvin has pointed out as an exception the first fifteen lines of the second book, which he says have leigh hunt's "affected ease and fireside triviality."[ ] one of the few occurrences of hunt's manner is seen in the _eve of st. agnes_. "paining with eloquence her balmy side."[ ] the famous passage in the _eve of st. agnes_ describing all manner of luscious edibles is very suggestive of one in hunt's _bacchus and ariadne_ which enumerates articles of the same kind.[ ] it is in this latter poem and in the _story of rimini_ that hunt's power of description most nearly approximates to that of keats. in , in the _gentle armour_, hunt is the imitator of keats, as mr. colvin has already pointed out.[ ] the peculiarities of keats's diction are, in the main, two-fold, and may each be traced to a direct influence: first, archaisms in the manner of spenser[ ] and chatterton; second, colloquialisms and deliberate departures from established usage in the employment and formation of words, in imitation of leigh hunt. keats's theory so far as he had one, is set forth in a passage in one of his letters: "i shall never become attached to a foreign idiom, so as to put it into my writings. the paradise lost, though so fine in itself, is a corruption of our language. it should be kept as it is, unique, a curiosity, a beautiful and grand curosity, the most remarkable production of the world; a northern dialect accommodating itself to greek and latin inversions and intonations. the purest english, i think--or what ought to be the purest--is chatterton's."[ ] keats's _poems_ of show hunt's influence in diction more strongly than any of his later works. in the majority of instances, this influence is reflected in the principles of usage rather than in the actual usages, although words and phrases used by hunt are occasionally found in the writings of keats. the tendency to a colloquial vocabulary is seen in such words and combinations as jaunty, right glad, balmy pain, leafy luxury,[ ] delicious,[ ] tasteful, gentle doings, gentle livers, soft floatings, frisky leaps, lawny mantle, patting, busy spirits. among these words, leafy, balmy, lawny, patting, nest, tiptoe, and variations of "taste" were special favorites with hunt. a few expressions only of this kind, as "nest," "honey feel," "infant's gums," are found in _endymion_, and almost none at all in the later poems. keats used peculiar words with so much greater felicity and in so much greater profusion than hunt, exceeding in richness and individuality of vocabulary most of the poets of his own time, that one is forced to believe that spenser's influence rather than hunt's was dominant here. breaches of taste are confined almost entirely to the _poems_ of . ordinary words used peculiarly include "nips" (they gave each other's cheeks), "core" (for heart) and "luxury"[ ] (with a wrong connotation), nouns and adjectives employed as verbs, and verbs as nouns and adjectives. these devices likewise cannot be credited to hunt without reservation, since both spenser and milton used them; but there is little doubt that in this instance hunt was an inciting and sustaining influence. keats resorted to such artifices frequently and continued to do so to the end. instances of nouns and adjectives employed as verbs are: pennanc'd, luting, passion'd, neighbour'd, syllabling, companion'd, labrynth, anguish'd, poesied, vineyard'd, woof'd, loaned, medicin'd, zon'd, mesh, pleasure, legion'd, companion, green'd, gordian'd, character'd, finn'd, forest'd, tusk'd, monitor. verbs employed as nouns and adjectives are: shine, which occurs five times, feel, seeing, hush, pry and amaze. more examples of coined compounds, nouns and adjectives, are to be found in keats than in hunt; in his better work as well as in his early productions. a few are: cirque-couchant, milder-mooned, tress-lifting, flitter-winged, silk-pillowed, death-neighing, break-covert, palsy-twitching, high-sorrowful, sea-foamy, amber-fretted, sweet-lipped, lush-leaved. the last principle is the coining, or choice of, adjectives in _y_ and _ing_; of adverbs in _ly_, when, in many instances, adjectives and adverbs already existed formed on the same stem. the frequent use of words with these weak endings gives a very diffuse effect at times in keats's early poems. the following are examples: fenny, fledgy, rushy, lawny, liny, nervy, pipy, paly, palmy, towery, sluicy, surgy, scummy, mealy, sparry, heathy, rooty, slumbery, bowery, bloomy, boundly, palmy, surgy, spermy, ripply, spangly, spherey, orby, oozy, skeyey, clayey, and plashy.[ ] adjectives in _ing_ are: cheering, hushing, breeding, combing, dumpling, sphering, tenting, toying, baaing, far-spooming, peering (hand), searing (hand), shelving, serpenting. adverbs are: scantly, elegantly, refreshingly, freshening (lave), hoveringly, greyly, cooingly, silverly, refreshfully, whitely, drowningly, wingedly, sighingly, windingly, bearingly. these statements are not very conclusive proof of the frequent occurrences of the same words in the poems of the two men. they are questionable even in regard to the principles of usage themselves, since poets of the same period or young poets may possess the same tendencies. yet in the light of their relations already discussed the similarity of a number of principles seems convincing proof that hunt influenced keats considerably in the _principles_ of diction in his first volume and occasionally in the selection of individual words; and that keats never entirely freed himself from some of hunt's peculiarities. shelley, in writing of _hyperion_ to mrs. hunt, spoke of the "bad sort of style which is becoming fashionable among those who fancy that they are imitating hunt and wordsworth."[ ] medwin reported shelley as saying "we are certainly indebted to the lakists for a more simple and natural phraseology; but the school that has sprung out of it, have spawned a set of words neither chaucerian nor spencerian (_sic_), words such as 'gib,' and 'flush,' 'whiffling,' 'perking up,' 'swirling,' 'lightsome and brightsome' and hundreds of others."[ ] keats, following the lead of hunt, used the free heroic couplet in several of the poems with a license even greater than hunt's. in _endymion_ he indulged in further vagaries of rhythm and metre that hunt never dreamed of and in fact greatly disapproved of. hunt said that "_endymion_ had no versification."[ ] in its want of couplet and line units, this is not very far from the truth. writing of it again in , he says: "the great fault of _endymion_ next to its unpruned luxuriance, (or before it, rather, for it was not a fault on the right side,) was the wilfulness of its rhymes. the author had a just contempt for the monotonous termination of everyday couplets; he broke up his lines in order to distribute the rhyme properly; but going only upon the ground of his contempt, and not having settled with himself any principles of versification, the very exuberance of his ideas led him to make use of the first rhymes that offered; so that, by a new meeting of effects, the extreme was artificial, and much more obtrusive than the one under the old system. dryden modestly thought, that a rhyme had often helped him to a thought. mr. keats in the tyranny of his wealth, forced his rhymes to help him, whether they would or not; and they obeyed him, in the most singular manner, with equal promptitude and ungainliness."[ ] _endymion_ has been thought by some critics, to have been written under the metrical influence of chamberlayne's _pharronida_. in the number of run-on lines and couplets--a scheme nearer blank verse than the couplet--there is certainly a striking correspondence. mr. forman thinks that keats knew the poem. mr. colvin and mr. de selincourt can see no real likeness. there is no proof as yet discovered that keats ever heard of it. in _lamia_, after the extreme reaction in _endymion_, keats approached nearer to the classic form of the couplet used by dryden, but still with greater freedom in structure than appears in either dryden or hunt. from the evidence of brown it is probable that keats imitated dryden directly and not through the medium of hunt's work, but it is very likely that hunt directed him there in the first instance for a model. mr. palgrave says of the metre of _lamia_ that keats "admirably found and sustained the balance between a blank verse treatment of the 'heroic' and the epigrammatic form carried to such perfection by pope."[ ] leigh hunt said that "the lines seem to take pleasure in the progress of their own beauty like sea nymphs luxuriating through the water."[ ] in conclusion, keats's early and late employment of the couplet was marked always by greater freedom in the use of run-on couplets and lines, and in the handling of the cæsura than dryden's or hunt's; he was at first slower than hunt to employ the triplet and the alexandrine, but he later adopted them in a larger measure; and he introduced the run-on paragraph and the hemistich independently of hunt. chapter iii shelley finnerty case--correspondence of hunt and shelley--their political and religious sympathy--hunt's defense of shelley--hunt's italian journey--shelley's death--hunt's criticism--literary influence--shelley's estimate of hunt. the friendship of shelley and leigh hunt is the simple story of an intimacy founded on a common endowment of independence of thought and of capacity for self-sacrifice. although both were sensitive and shrinking by nature, and preferred to dwell in an isolated world of books and dreams, yet for the sake of abstract principles and for love of humanity, both expended much time and endured much pain in the arena of public strife. in _the examiners_ of february and , , appeared articles by hunt on the finnerty case. peter finnerty, hunt's successor as editor of _the statesman_, had been prosecuted and imprisoned on the charge of libelling lord castlereagh. hunt's defense drew shelley's attention to the case and may have inspired him, it has been suggested, to write his _political essay on the existing state of things_. the proceeds went to finnerty.[ ] on march shelley subscribed to the finnerty fund and, on the same day, wrote hunt, whom he had never met, a letter from oxford, congratulating him on his acquittal from a third charge of libel and proposing that an association should be formed to establish "rational liberty," to resist the enemies of justice, and to protect each other.[ ] shelley's political creed was, in the main, that of william godwin, with an admixture of holbach, volney and rousseau at first hand.[ ] in english philosophic literature he knew berkeley, hume, reid and locke. his watchword was the cry of the french revolution, liberty, equality and fraternity, to be gained, not by violence and bloodshed, but by a steady and unyielding resistance of the masses against the corrupt institutions of church and state. like godwin, he believed man capable of his own redemption and, with tradition and tyranny overthrown and reason and nature enthroned, he hoped for universal justice and ultimate perfectibility of mankind. his poetry and his prose represent a development from the impassioned and imaginative enthusiasm of an uncompromising youth, who would single-handed revolutionize the world in the twinkling of an eye, to the saner hope of a man who took somewhat into account the necessarily gradual nature of ethical evolution. his chief fallacy lay in the failure to recognize evil as an inherent force in human nature and to acknowledge sect and state, to which he attributed the origin of all error, as inventions of man's ingenuity. neither did he perceive the necessity of certain restrictions on the individual for the preservation of law and order. he believed in no distinctions of rank except those based on individual talent and virtue. he wrote in : "i am no aristocrat, nor '_crat_' at all, but vehemently long for the time when men may dare to live in accordance with nature and reason--in consequence with virtue, to which i firmly believe that religion and its establishments, polity and its establishments, are the formidable though destructible barriers."[ ] shelley knew of leigh hunt first as a political writer of considerable importance. in this respect he never ceased to admire him or to be influenced by _the examiner_ in the campaign against government corruption. yet his own equipment of mind and training, visionary as his theories seem, gave him a power of speculation and grasp of situation that ignored the limitations of time and space, while hunt, with his narrower view, never got beyond the petty and immediate details of one nation or of one age. the social improvements which shelley advocated were catholic emancipation, brought about later, as has been pointed out by symonds, by the very means which shelley foresaw and prophesied; reform of parliamentary representation[ ] similar to that carried into effect in , and ; freedom of the press[ ] and repeal of the union of great britain and ireland; the abolition of capital punishment and of war.[ ] during the fourteen years of hunt's editorship, among the reforms for which he fought in _the examiner_ were the first three of these measures. he denounced capital punishment and war in the same paper and later in his poem _captain sword and captain pen_.[ ] shelley's moral code was based on an idealized sense of justice, and was a kind of "natural piety."[ ] with one marked exception, he seems to have been true to the pursuit of it, both in his standards of conduct and in his relations with others. his life was a model of generosity, purity of thought, and unselfish devotion. hunt reported shelley as having said: "what a divine religion might be found out, if charity were really the principle of it, instead of faith."[ ] he was atheist only in the sense of discarding the dogmas of theology and of superstition, and in his spirit of scientific inquiry. he did not deny the existence in nature of an all-pervading spirit. hunt thought the popular misconception of shelley's opinions was due to his misapplication of the names of the deity and to his identification of them with vulgar superstitions. of shelley's attitude he wrote: "his want of faith in the letter, and his exceeding faith in the spirit of christianity, formed a comment, the one on the other, very formidable to those who chose to forget what scripture itself observes on that point."[ ] whether or not shelley believed in immortality is still a vexed question and is likely to remain so, since he had not reached convictions sufficiently stable to permit a formal statement on his part. many of the passages in _adonais_ would lead one to believe that he did; certainly he did, like hunt, cling to the idea of the persistence, in some form or other, of the good and the beautiful. the close conformity of their views is seen in the latter's two sonnets in _foliage_[ ] addressed to shelley, where the poet condemns the degrading notions so prevalent concerning the deity and celebrates the spirit of beauty and goodness in all things. but, in religion as in politics, shelley was bolder and more speculative than hunt. the fine of £ , and imprisonment of the hunt brothers in drew from shelley a vehement protest. in a letter to hogg[ ] he lamented the inadequacy of lord brougham's defense and fairly boiled with indignation at "the horrible injustice and tyranny of the sentence" and pronounced hunt "a brave, a good, and an enlightened man." he started a subscription with twenty pounds, and later he must have offered to pay the entire fine, for hunt recorded in his _autobiography_ that shelley had made him "a princely offer,"[ ] which he declined, as he did not need it. the offer was actuated solely by a hatred of oppression, for the two men had little or no personal knowledge of each other at the time. it is impossible to decide the exact date of their first meeting. hunt says that it took place before the indictment for libel on the prince regent.[ ] this evidence would make it fall sometime between march, , the date of shelley's letter mentioned above, and february, , the beginning of the incarceration. but a letter from shelley to hunt dated december , , demanding if he had made the statement that milton had died an atheist, from its very formal tone, leads one to believe that they had not met up to that time and that hunt, writing from memory many years afterwards, made a mistake. thornton hunt gives as the immediate cause of the two men coming together, shelley's application to mr. rowland hunter, the publisher and stepfather of mrs. hunt, for advice regarding the publication of a poem. he referred shelley to leigh hunt. the next meeting was in surrey street gaol. thornton hunt, in a delightful reminiscence of shelley,[ ] says that he had no recollection of him among his father's visitors in prison, but he remembered perfectly the latter's description of his "angelic" appearance, his classic thoughts, and his dreams for the emancipation of mankind. the real intimacy began after shelley's return from the continent in when shelley, in search of a house before he settled at marlow, was the guest of hunt at hampstead during a part of december.[ ] a close companionship followed uninterruptedly for two years until shelley went to italy, and there are recorded in the letters and journals of each many pleasant evenings at hampstead and at marlow, filled with poetry and music, with talks on art and trials of wit, with dinners and theater parties. mary shelley and mrs. hunt became as great friends as their husbands. when harriet committed suicide and shelley went up to london to institute proceedings for possession of their children, hunt remained constantly with him and gave him as much sympathy and support as it is possible for one fellow-being to extend to another whom all the world has deserted.[ ] he attended the chancery suit and stated shelley's position in _the examiner_.[ ] this sympathy and support, given shelley in his hour of greatest need and desolation, have never been sufficiently valued in a comparative estimate of the relative indebtedness of the two men. if shelley gave freely of his money, hunt, devoid of worldly goods, gave unstintingly, to the detriment of his reputation, of those things which money cannot purchase. that he incurred the displeasure of men in power, and ran the risk of being misunderstood by the public in befriending shelley, did not deter him for an instant. during shelley made the acquaintance, through hunt, of the cockney circle, including keats, reynolds, hazlitt, brougham, novello and horace smith. the last-named became one of shelley's most trusted friends.[ ] these new friends enlarged his list of acquaintances considerably, for up to this time he seems to have had no friends except godwin, hogg and peacock. in the early spring of , the shelleys went to italy, melancholy with the thought of separation from the hunts.[ ] the letters from shelley to hunt during the next four years form an important part of shelley's correspondence. the part played by shelley in the invitation extended to hunt to join lord byron and himself in italy and to become one of the editors of a periodical will be treated minutely in the next chapter. it is sufficient here to say that he was actuated by a desire to better hunt's finances and to enjoy his society--a pleasure he had been pining for ever since they had been separated, and, in case of a return to england, regarded as the one joy "among all the other sources of regret and discomfort with which england abounds for me.... shaking hands with you is worth all the trouble; the rest is clear loss."[ ] further, he knew that hunt longed for italy, and he wished to help byron in the cause of liberalism. to bring both ends about, he shouldered a burden that he was ill able to bear. an annuity of £ for the support of his two children, an annuity of £ to peacock, perpetual demand for large sums from godwin, occasional assistance rendered the gisbornes, partial support of jane claremont, loans to byron, and the support of his family, were the drains already upon him--met, in the main by money raised on _post obits_ at half value. the amount of hunt's indebtedness to shelley can be estimated only approximately. the first reference to a financial transaction between them after the "princely offer"[ ] is to be found in mary shelley's letter of december , , in which she wondered that hunt had not acknowledged the "receipt of so large a sum." professor dowden thinks this may be an allusion to shelley's response to an appeal for the poor of spitalfields which had appeared in _the examiner_ five days previously.[ ] shelley's offers to hunt to borrow £ from byron[ ] and to stand security for a loan from charles cowden clarke,[ ] and an attempt to borrow from samuel rogers[ ] are not developed by any further facts, but it is necessary to take note of them in a general estimate. before leaving england, shelley arranged with ollier for a loan of £ for hunt, a debt which was later liquidated by the sale of the _literary pocket book_.[ ] at some time before leaving england, shelley also gave hunt in one year £ , [ ] for the liquidation of his debts, which money was, medwin says, borrowed from horace smith.[ ] unfortunately for shelley, the sum was insufficient to extricate hunt from his difficulties. miss mitford gives the amount as £ , , instead of £ , , and adds that shelley's furniture and bedding were swept off to pay hunt's creditors;[ ] the inaccuracy of the first statement and the lack of any evidence to support the second, lead one to doubt the story. but it is true that shelley's income at the time was only £ , . even when so far away as italy, hunt's money troubles weighed heavily upon shelley in a continual regret that he could not set him entirely free from his creditors;[ ] he feared that the incredible exertions hunt was making on _the indicator_ and on _the examiner_, and the privations that he endured, would undermine his health.[ ] when hunt finally decided to go to italy, shelley assumed, as a matter of course, the chief responsibility of providing the means. as early as , when shelley and byron met in venice, the matter of the journal was discussed between them and broached to hunt. december , , shelley wrote him that byron wished him to come to italy and that, if money considerations prevented, byron would lend him £ or £ . he added that hunt should not feel uncomfortable in accepting the offer, as it was frankly made, and that his society would give byron pleasure and service.[ ] hunt does not seem to have seriously considered the proposition, for there are few references to it in his correspondence of this year. on the renewal of the plan in , shelley would never have called on byron for assistance for hunt if he himself could have provided otherwise, for his opinion of byron had changed in the meantime.[ ] january , , shelley sent £ for the expenses of the voyage, "within or pounds of what i have contrived to scrape together";[ ] and again on february , £ ,[ ] borrowed with security from byron. yet shelley's own exchequer at the time was so low that mary shelley wrote in the spring: "we are drearily behindhand with money at present. hunt and our furniture has swallowed up more than our savings."[ ] on april shelley stated that he was trying to finish _charles the first_ in order that he might earn £ for hunt. in round numbers it may be calculated that the sum total of hunt's indebtedness, exclusive of the yearly bequest of £ paid by shelley's son, was about £ , , a very large sum in the light of shelley's limited resources and other obligations. but it was as ungrudgingly given as it was graciously received. between the two men there was no distinction of _meum_ and _tuum_. more remarkable still, mary shelley gave as willingly as her husband. if one is inclined to marvel at such an unusual state of affairs, it must be recalled that both men were under the spell of william godwin's theories of community of property. shelley gave as his duty and hunt received as his due. that the effort involved much deprivation and distress of mind on the part of the giver mars the justice of acceptance by the recipient, retrieved only in part by the belief that hunt probably did not know the full extent of shelley's sacrifice, and the knowledge that the former would gladly have endured as much if the conditions had been reversed. the element of self-sacrifice and delicacy on the part of shelley in concealing it, in after years only added to the beauty of the gift in hunt's eyes, and even at the time he cannot be accused of indifference.[ ] jeaffreson makes the absurd suggestion that shelley gave the money as a bribe to the editor of a powerful and flourishing literary journal.[ ] he thinks dodging creditors was a strong bond of mutual interest between the two men. there is evidence that hunt was in difficulty at the time and that shelley left a surgeon's bill unpaid,[ ] but there is no proof extant of deliberate mutual protection. on the contrary, it is most unlikely. the hunts sailed from england in november, , and reached leghorn nearly nine months after first setting out on a voyage which, in its delays and dangers, byron compared to the "periplus of hanno the carthaginian, and with much the same speed";[ ] peacock to that of ulysses.[ ] of shelley's suggestion to make the trip by sea, hunt wrote: "if he had recommended a balloon, i should have been inclined to try it."[ ] hogg, with his characteristic humour, remarked that a journey by land would have taken equally long, since hunt would have stopped to gather all the daisies by the wayside from paris to pisa. both men looked forward to many years together[ ] and shelley, in his letter of welcome, wrote that wind and waves parted them no more,[ ] an assertion which now sounds like a knell of doom. from leghorn shelley conveyed the party to pisa and installed them in the lower floor of byron's dwelling, the lanfranchi palace.[ ] to shelley fell the difficult task of keeping lord byron in heart for the new undertaking and of reviving hunt's drooping spirits. hunt's funds were all gone and in their place was a debt of sixty crowns. the next few days were full of grave anxiety and foreboding for the future, broken only by a delightful sunday spent in seeing the cathedral and the tower. of this day hunt wrote: "good god! what a day was that, compared with all that have followed it! i had my friend with me, arm-in-arm, after a separation of years: he was looking better than i had ever seen him--we talked of a thousand things--we anticipated a thousand pleasures."[ ] then came the fatal monday with its shipwreck of many hopes--in its tragic sequel too well known to need repetition here. hunt's last services to his friend were his assistance rendered at the cremation and his contribution of the now famous latin epitaph "_cor cordium_."[ ] with shelley perished hunt's chief hope in life; in the opinion of his son, he was never the same man again. in , at his period of darkest depression, he wrote: "if you ask me how it is that i bear all this, i answer, that i love nature and books, and think well of the capabilities of human kind. i have known shelley, i have known my mother."[ ] in he claimed as his proudest title, the "friend of shelley."[ ] the first printed notice of shelley was in _the examiner_ of december , . therefore to hunt belongs in this case, as in that of keats, the credit of discovery. it is difficult to account for hunt's tardiness of recognition,[ ] coming as it did six years after shelley first wrote him, five years after the finnerty poem, three years after _queen mab_, and two years after the visit in prison.[ ] also shelley had sent contributions to _the examiner_, which hunt had not accepted, but which he vaguely recalled at the time of writing his first review on shelley. it was inspired by the announcement of _alastor_, and consisted of about ten lines, embodied in the article on keats and reynolds already referred to. hunt pronounced shelley "a very striking and original thinker." shelley's reply to a letter from hunt, telling him of the notice, pictures him anxiously scouring the countryside about bath for the sight of a copy and buoyed up at last by the news of one five miles distant. this notice was followed by the publication of the _hymn to intellectual beauty_ in _the examiner_ of january , ; a notice of the chancery suit, january and february ; and an extract from _laon and cythna_, november . a review of the _revolt of islam_ ran through three numbers, january , february and , . shelley's system of charity and his crusade against tyranny, as set forth in the preface, hunt loudly applauded. many extracts were italicized for the guidance of the public. the beauties of the poem were pronounced to be its mysticism, its wildness, its depth of sentiment, its grandeur of imagery, and its varied and sweet versification. in the boldness of speculation and in the love of virtue hunt saw a resemblance to lucretius, while in the gloom and imagination of certain passages, particularly in the grandeur of the supernatural architecture, he was reminded of dante. the defects were pronounced to be obscurity of narrative and sameness of image and metaphor. the review closed with the prophecy "we have no doubt he is destined to be one of the leading spirits of the age." the _quarterly review_ of may, , accused shelley[ ] of atheism and of dissolute conduct in private life; the same journal of april, , reviewing the _revolt of islam_ on the basis of the suppressed version of _laon and cythna_, though it did not fail to appreciate the genius and beauty of the poem, charged shelley with a predilection for incest and with a frantic dislike for christianity. it called the support of _the examiner_ "the sweet undersong of the weekly journal."[ ] the two attacks were met by a strong protest from hunt,[ ] particularly in regard to the part dealing with shelley's life. he denied the propriety of such discussion in public criticism and declared that he had never known shelley to "deviate, notwithstanding his theories, even into a single action which those who differ with him might think blameable." his life at marlow was described as spent in "beautiful charity and generosity" and was likened to that of plato. in an attack on shelley by hazlitt was met by an angry warning from hunt and a threat to become his public enemy, if the offense were repeated.[ ] hunt's reason for taking this defensive attitude was that he knew that shelley suffered greatly from such malignant exploitations and that he would not defend himself; therefore he made his friend's cause his own and wrote: "i reckon upon your leaving your personal battles to me,"[ ] much in the same manner as shelley had assumed his money troubles. following the review of the _revolt of islam_, a notice of _rosalind and helen_ and of _lines written among the euganean hills_[ ] appeared in _the examiner_ of may , . attention was called to the poet's optimism and to his great love of nature: "the beauty of the external world has an answering heart, and the very whispers of the wind a meaning." _the cenci_, published in , contained in its dedication a glowing tribute to hunt, an honour in shelley's opinion only in a small degree worthy of his friend.[ ] hunt was intoxicated with the honour and wrote: "i feel as if you had bound, not only my head, but my very soul and body with laurels."[ ] on the subject of the tragedy he was equally enthusiastic: "what a noble book, shelley, have you given us! what a true, stately, and yet affectionate mixture of poetry, philosophy, and human nature, horror, and all redeeming sweetness of intention, for there is an undersong of suggestion through it all, that sings, as it were, after the storm is over, like a brook in april."[ ] in a public expression of his opinion in _the examiner_ of march , , hunt pronounced _the cenci_ the greatest dramatic production of the day. writing of the drama again in the same journal of july and , , he called shelley "a framer of mighty lines" and continued: "majesty and love do sit on one throne in the lofty buildings of his poetry; and they will be found there, at a late and we trust a happier day, on a seat immortal as themselves." one of hunt's most perfect poems, _jaffár_, is inscribed to the memory of shelley. the praise of _jaffár_ and his friend's undying loyalty immediately suggest to the reader that hunt may have been celebrating his own and shelley's friendship. the last review to appear during shelley's lifetime by hunt was that of _prometheus unbound_ in three numbers of _the examiner_ of . a projected review of _adonais_ alluded to in a letter of hunt's does not seem to have seen the light of publication, but a reference in a letter at the time is worth noting: "it is the most delphic poety i have seen in a long while: full of those embodyings of the most subtle and airy imaginations,--those arrestings and explanations of the most shadowy yearnings of our being."[ ] the well-known account of shelley's rescue of a woman on hampstead heath was told in _the literary examiner_ of august , .[ ] the same magazine of september of the same year[ ] contained the following _sonnet to percy shelley_, given here because of its general inaccessibility: "hast thou from earth, then, really passed away, and mingled with the shadowy mass of things which were, but are not? will thy harp's dear strings no more yield music to the rapid play of thy swift thoughts, now turned thou art to clay? hark! is that rushing of thy spirit's wings, when (like the skylark, who in mounting sings) soaring through high imagination's way, thou pour'dst thy melody upon the earth, silent for ever? yes, wild ocean's wave hath o'er thee rolled. but whilst within the grave thou sleepst, let me in the love of thy pure worth one thing foretell,--that thy great fame shall be progressive as time's flood, eternal as the sea!" in _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_ appeared the first biographical memoir of shelley, a sketch of some seventy pages.[ ] it shows great appreciation of the fine and gentle qualities of his rare genius and defends some of the weak points of his career. the description of his personal appearance, of the life at marlowe, and the few anecdotes are often quoted. but on the whole, it lacks the bold strokes of vivid portraiture and it is very disappointing.[ ] there was probably no one, with the exception of his wife, who knew shelley so well as hunt and who was, therefore, in a position to give as complete and intimate an idea of him. it was mrs. shelley's wish that hunt should be her husband's biographer, for she thought that he, "perhaps above all others, understood his nature and his genius."[ ] hunt, in _the spectator_ of august , , gave as his reason for not writing shelley's life that he "could not survive enough persons." but it is to be questioned if he were fitted for the task. his son did not think that he was because of his attention to details and his irresistible tendency to analysis: "a mind, in short, like that of hamlet, cultivated rather than corrected by the trials of life, was scarcely suited to comprehend the strong instincts, indomitable will, and complete unity of idea which distinguished shelley."[ ] in the _tatler_ of august , , hunt wrote that "mr. shelley was a platonic philosopher, of the acutest and loftiest kind," and that he belonged to the school of plato and Æschylus, as keats belonged to that of spenser and milton. following _the tatler_ was the preface to _the mask of anarchy_,[ ] published in , originally designed for _the examiner_ in , but laid aside by the editor because he thought the public not discerning enough "to do justice to the sincerity and kindheartedness of the spirit that walked in this flaming robe of verse." the preface eulogizes the poet's spiritual nature and his "seraphic purpose of good." in _the seer_, , shelley's qualities of heart were pronounced more enduring than his genius.[ ] _imagination and fancy_ contained an essay and selections from his poems. here hunt makes the curious statement that little in the poems is purely poetical, but rather moral, political, and speculative. it is noteworthy that he predicts, probably for the first time, that, had shelley lived, he would have been the greatest dramatic writer since the days of elizabeth, if not, indeed, actually so, through what he did accomplish; a statement often repeated. he says: "if coleridge is the sweetest of our poets, shelley is at once the most ethereal and gorgeous, the one who has clothed his thought in draperies of the most evanescent and most magnificent words and imagery.... shelley ... might well call himself ariel."[ ] in connection with shelley's ethereal qualities, mrs. james t. fields quotes hunt as having said on another occasion that shelley always seemed to him as if he were "just alit from the planet mercury, bearing a winged wand tipped with flame."[ ] in _imagination and fancy_, hunt continues: "not milton himself is more learned in grecisms, or nicer in entomological propriety; and nobody, throughout, has a style so orphic and primeval." it is a touching circumstance that hunt's last letter bore reference to shelley, and that his last effort as a public writer, made only a few days before his death, was in vindication of shelley's character.[ ] the publication of the _shelley memorials_, , in which hunt had a part, provoked an unfavorable review in _the spectator_. hunt replied in the next number[ ] of the same paper. in particular he asserted shelley's truthfulness, which had been assailed in respect to his story of the attempted assassination in wales. he held that shelley was not a man to be judged by ordinary rules, but that he was the highest possible exponent of humanity--an approach to divinity. hunt's literary relation with shelley falls into two divisions; publications written for hunt's periodicals, and received by hunt in order to give shelley an outlet of expression denied him in the more conservative papers; and second, positive literary imitation. besides the poems quoted in hunt's criticisms of shelley, the first includes a review of godwin's _mandeville_,[ ] a letter of protest regarding the second edition of _queen mab_,[ ] _marianne's dream_,[ ] _song on a faded violet_,[ ] _the sunset_,[ ] _the question_,[ ] _good night_,[ ] _sonnet, ye hasten to the grave_,[ ] _to ---- (lines to a reviewer)_,[ ] _november, _,[ ] _love's philosophy_,[ ] and the contributions designed by shelley for _the liberal_ and published after his death.[ ] productions which were written for hunt's papers, but were not accepted, were _peter bell the third_, _the mask of anarchy_, _julian and maddalo_, a letter on the persecution of richard carlile,[ ] letters on italy, and a review of peacock's _rhododaphne_. hunt's failure to accept what was sent him greatly discouraged shelley at times: "mine is a life of failures; peacock says my poetry is composed of day dreams and nightmares, and leigh hunt does not think it good enough for _the examiner_." _on a fete at carlton house_, an attack on the prince regent, though perhaps directly inspired by the account in the dailies of the ball at carlton house on june , , was doubtless influenced by the continued attacks of _the examiner_. as there are extant only two or three lines of the poem,[ ] it is impossible to judge of the extent of the influence, but in shelley's letters to hogg and to edward graham describing the poem, there is resemblance in tone and epithet to _the examiner_. a letter from shelley to lord ellenborough on the occasion of eaton's sentence for publishing the third part of paine's _age of reason_ followed a long series of articles by hunt on the prerogative of liberty of speech.[ ] a meeting of reformers at manchester on the sixteenth of august, , for the purpose of discussing quietly the annual meeting of parliament, universal suffrage, and voting by ballot, was dispersed by military force. articles setting forth the long sufferings of the reformers, charging the authorities with wanton bloodshed, and ridiculing the absurd trial of the offenders, appeared in _the examiner_ of august , , september , and . _the mask of anarchy_, written on the occasion of the massacre at manchester, was sent to leigh hunt for publication sometime before the first of november, . the sentiment of both men is the same regarding the affair. accounts of the death of the princess charlotte and of the executions for high treason at derby of brandreth, ludlam and turner, after a horrible imprisonment, two articles in _the examiner_ of november , , inspired shelley's _address to the people on the death of the princess charlotte_, sometimes known as _we pity the plumage, but forget the dying bird_, dated november of the same year. hunt followed with a second article, _death of the princess charlotte and indecent advantage taken of it_, november , . both writers called attention to the disposition of the public to forget the sufferings of the poor, while it mourned hysterically with royalty; they declared that the administration of justice and the events leading to such crimes were of much greater importance. three articles in _the examiner_ of october , and , , on the trial of richard carlile for libel, were followed by an open letter on the same case from shelley to hunt dated november , . by scattered references it can be seen that shelley fully agreed with hunt in his opinion of the prince regent and of the ministers, in his attitude toward the corruption of the court and of the army; and in his proposed regulation of taxes and of the public debt. _oedipus tyrannus or swellfoot the tyrant_, begun august, , succeeded a series of articles, beginning in _the examiner_ of june , , and continuing throughout nineteen numbers,[ ] on the subject of george iv's attempt to divorce his wife.[ ] abhorrence of the king's perfidy and of his ministers' support, sympathy for queen caroline, and minor details parallel closely hunt's version in _the examiner_. this passage occurs in the article of june : "an animal sets himself down, month after month, at milan, to watch at her doors and windows, to intercept discarded servants and others who know what a deposition might be worth, and thus to gather poison for one of those venomous green bags, which have so long infected and nauseated the people, and are now to infect the queen." this seems to be the germ of the passage in shelley's poem beginning: "behold this bag! it is the poison bag of that green spider huge, on which our spies sulked in ovation through the streets of thebes, when they were paved with dead." then follows the plot to throw the contents upon the queen. the handling of the heroic couplet, employed in the _letter to maria gisborne_ and in _epipsychidon_, as well as in _julian and maddalo_,[ ] has been already discussed in its relationship to hunt's use of the same. shelley, in a letter to hunt, explains his position in regard to the language of _julian and maddalo_: "you will find the little piece, i think, in some degree consistent with your own ideas of the manner in which poetry ought to be written. i have employed a certain familiar style of language to express the actual way in which people talk to each other, whom education and a certain refinement of sentiment have placed above the use of vulgar idioms. i use the word _vulgar_ in its most extensive sense. the vulgarity of rank and fashion is as gross, in its way, as that of poverty, and its cant terms equally expressive of base conceptions, and therefore, equally unfit for poetry. not that the familiar style is to be admitted in the treatment of a subject wholly ideal, or in that part of any subject which relates to common life, where the passion, exceeding a certain limit, touches the boundary of that which is ideal. strong passion expresses itself in metaphor, borrowed alike from subjects remote or near, and casts over all the shadow of its own greatness."[ ] _rosalind and helen_, the _letter to maria gisborne_, _swellfoot the tyrant_, and _peter bell the third_[ ] show a similar influence. _the letter to maria gisborne_ bears a resemblance to hunt's epistolary style, and was written, mr. forman thinks, for circulation in the hunt circle only.[ ] it was through hunt, so shelley states in the dedication, that he knew the _peter bells_ of wordsworth and of john hamilton reynolds. shelley's qualified adoption in these poems of hunt's theory of poetic language is seen in the choice of a vocabulary in dialogue nearer everyday usage than the more remote one of his other poems. yet the result does not bear any great resemblance to hunt. shelley's unvarying refinement and sensibility kept him from committing the same errors of taste, but his work suffered rather than gained by an innovation which was probably a concession to his friendship for hunt and not a strong conviction. with the exception of the descriptive passages, the keynote of these poems is on a lower poetic pitch. on subjects of italian art and literature the friends held much the same opinion. at times shelley seems to have been led by hunt's judgment, as in his conclusions regarding raphael and michaelangelo.[ ] one passage on the italian poets indicates a possible borrowing of thought and figure on shelley's part when he wrote of boccaccio that he was superior to ariosto and to tasso, "the children of a later and colder day.... how much do i admire boccaccio! what descriptions of nature are those in his little introduction to every new day! it is the morning of life stripped of that mist of familiarity which makes it obscure to us."[ ] hunt wrote: "petrarch, boccaccio and dante are the morning, noon and night of the great italian day."[ ] poems which refer directly to hunt are the fourteen lines in the _letter to maria gisborne_;[ ] possibly the fragment, beginning, "for me, my friend, if not that tears did tremble."[ ] a cancelled passage of the _adonais_ describes hunt thus: and then came one of sweet and carnal looks, those soft smiles to his dark and night-like eyes were as the clear and ever-living brooks are to the obscure fountains whence they rise, showing how pure they are; a paradise of happy truth upon his forehead low lay, making wisdom lovely, in the guise of earth-awakening morn upon the brow of star-deserted heaven, while ocean gleams below, * * * * * his song, though very sweet, was low and faint, a single strain--[ ] the thirty-fifth strophe of the present version refers to hunt. shelley's last letter had reference to hunt.[ ] his last literary effort was a poem comparing hunt to a firefly and welcoming him to italy, just as hunt's last letter and last public utterance bore reference to shelley--strange coincidence, but striking testimony to their mutual devotion. an instance of shelley's overestimation of hunt's ability is seen in a passage where he says that hunt excels in tragedy in the power of delineating passion and, what is more necessary, of connecting and developing it, "the last an incredible effort for himself but easy for hunt."[ ] he greatly valued and trusted hunt's affection, at times calling him his best[ ] and his only friend.[ ] if the tender solicitude and veneration of a beautiful spirit for a man of vastly inferior abilities seems strange, it is but a witness to the humility of true genius. chapter iv. byron's politics and religion--his sympathy with hunt in prison--his impression of the man--hunt's defense of byron and criticism of his works--_the liberal_--_lord byron and some of his contemporaries_. it is not strange that lord byron, son of an english father and a scotch mother, born of a long line of adventurous and warlike sailors and illustrious and loyal knights, with a strain of royalty and madness on one side and eccentricity and immorality on the other, should have fallen heir in an unusual degree to a nature whose virtues and vices were complex and contradictory. its singularities are nowhere more apparent than in the mutations of his friendships. prior to his acquaintance with hunt, byron had taken his seat in the house of lords and had made speeches against the framebreakers of nottingham and in behalf of catholic emancipation. a month after their meeting he made a third speech introducing major cartwright's petition for reform in parliament. the second and third of these measures, in particular, were warmly advocated by _the examiner_, with which paper byron was familiar, as references in his letters show. it is therefore not hazardous to surmise that his sympathy with liberal policies, alien to his tory blood and aristocratic spirit, was due, in part at least, to this influence. byron's political principles on the whole were as evanescent and intermittent as a will-o'-the-wisp.[ ] his chief tenets were the assertion of the individual; antagonism against all authority; a striving after freedom. brandes, elze and treitscke agree in attributing his political enthusiasm to the intense passion of his nature rather than to his moral convictions.[ ] his religious convictions were as fugitive as his political and, like those of hunt and other advanced thinkers of the age, seem to have been without deference to any existing creed or dogma. at his gloomiest moments he confessed that he denied nothing but doubted everything. hunt says of byron's religion that he "did not know what he was.... he was a christian by education, he was an infidel by reading. he was a christian by habit, but he was no christian upon reflection."[ ] the phrase, "i am of the opposition" applies to his religion as well as to his politics, as indeed it serves as the key-note to almost every action of his life. leigh hunt has given a characteristic account of his first sight of byron "rehearsing the part of leander," in the river thames sometime before he went to greece in : "i saw nothing in lord byron at that time, but a young man, who, like myself, had written a bad volume of poems; and though i had sympathy with him on this account, and more respect for his rank than i was willing to suppose, my sympathy was not an agreeable one; so, contenting myself with seeing his lordship's head bob up and down in the water, like a buoy, i came away. lord byron when he afterwards came to see me in prison, was pleased to regret that i had not stayed. he told me, that the sight of my volume at harrow had been one of his incentives to write verses, and that he had had the same passion for friendship which i had displayed in it. to my astonishment he quoted some of the lines, and would not hear me speak ill of them."[ ] hunt's _juvenilia_, beyond having served as one of the incentives to the writing of byron's _hours of idleness_, does not seem to have affected it. for hunt's undercurrent of friendship and cheerfulness were substituted byron's prevailing notes of amorousness and melancholy. the actual acquaintance of the two men did not begin until , when thomas moore, since a staunch admirer of hunt's political courage and of his literary talent, and one of the visitors welcomed to surrey gaol, mentioned the circumstances of his imprisonment to lord byron, likewise a sympathizer with the attitude of _the examiner_ towards the prince regent. mr. cordy jeaffreson[ ] thinks that it was this reckless sympathy with the libeller of the prince regent that led byron to reprint with _the corsair_, eight lines addressed in to the princess charlotte, _weep, daughter of a royal line_. the retaliation of one of the tory papers goaded byron to write in return an article which strongly resembles hunt's famous libel[ ] on the prince regent. byron expressed a wish to call on hunt with moore, and a visit followed on may , .[ ] five days later hunt wrote: "i have had lord b. here again. he came on sunday, by himself, in a very frank, unceremonious manner, and knowing what i wanted for my poem [_story of rimini_] brought me the last new _travels in italy_ in two quarto volumes, of which he requests my acceptance, with the air of one who did not seem to think himself conferring the least obligation. this will please you. it strikes me that he and i shall become _friends_, literally and cordially speaking: there is something in the texture of his mind and feelings that seems to resemble mine to a thread; i think we are cut out of the same piece, only a little different wear may have altered our respective naps a little."[ ] with the pride of a sycophant in the presence of a lord hunt relates that byron would not let the footman carry the books but gave "you to understand that he was prouder of being a friend and a man of letters than a lord. it was thus by flattering one's vanity he persuaded us of his own freedom from it: for he could see very well, that i had more value for lords than i supposed."[ ] in june of the same year hunt invited byron, moore and mitchell to dine with him in prison. among several others who came in during the evening was mr. john scott, later a severe critic of byron in _the champion_.[ ] many years after moore, in his _life of byron_, wrote of the gathering with venom, recalling scott as an assailant of byron's "living fame, while another [hunt] less manful, would reserve the cool venom for his grave."[ ] byron esteemed hunt greatly during the first year of their acquaintance. his advances show a desire for intimacy which goes far toward contradicting the statements sometimes made that the overtures were on hunt's side only.[ ] byron expressed himself thus at the time: "hunt is an extraordinary character and not exactly of the present age. he reminds me more of the pym and hampden times--much talent, great independence of spirit, and an austere, yet not repulsive, aspect. if he goes on _qualis ab incepto_, i know few men who will deserve more praise or obtain it. i must go and see him again--a rapid succession of adventures since last summer, added to some serious uneasiness and business, have interrupted our acquaintance; but he is a man worth knowing; and though for his own sake, i wish him out of prison, i like to study character in such situations. he has been unshaken and will continue so. i don't think him deeply versed in life:--he is the bigot of virtue (not religion) and enamoured of the beauty of that 'empty name,' as the last breath of brutus pronounced and every day proves it. he is perhaps, a little opinionated, as all men who are the _center of circles_, wide or narrow--the sir oracles--in whose name two or three are gathered together--must be, and as even johnson was: but withal, a valuable man, and less vain than success and even the consciousness of preferring 'the right to the expedient,' might excuse." december , , he wrote to hunt: "it is my wish that our acquaintance, or, if you please to accept it, friendship, may be permanent.... i have a thorough esteem for that independence of spirit which you have maintained with sterling talent, and at the expense of some suffering."[ ] cordial intercourse between the two men continued after hunt's removal from surrey gaol to lodgings in edgeware road, where byron became one of his most frequent visitors and correspondents. in the hunt household byron laid aside his ordinary reserve. there are records of his riding the children's rocking horse; of presents of game; loans of books; letters presented from a paris correspondent for _the examiner_; and gifts of boxes and tickets for drury lane theatre, of which he was one of the managers. this last hunt would not accept for fear of sacrificing his critical independence. in _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, hunt claims that this familiarity proceeded from an "instinct of immeasureable distance."[ ] it was not until byron's matrimonial difficulties in that hunt, inert and depressed from his long confinement, bestirred himself to return a single one of the calls. byron's separation from his wife in and the subsequent scandal aroused in hunt that instinctive protection and active loyalty for friends abused, already discussed in a review of his relations with keats and shelley. the conjugal troubles and libertinism of the prince regent had brought forth only scorn and vituperation from the editor of _the examiner_, but difficulties of equal notoriety at closer range in the lives of his friends evoked only sympathy and protection. he asserted that there was no positive knowledge as to the cause of the trouble and much depraved speculation, envy and falsehood, yet "had he [byron] been as the scandal-mongers represented him, we should nevertheless, if we thought our arm worth his using, have stood by him in his misfortunes to the last."[ ] a prophecy of a near reconciliation and a too-gushing picture of renewed domesticity are somewhat grotesque in the light of later events. for this defense byron was very grateful. january , , he wrote that scott, jeffrey and leigh hunt "were the only literary men of numbers whom i know (and some of whom i have served,) who dared venture even an anonymous word in my favour, just then ... the third was under no kind of obligation to me."[ ] hunt's opinion in the matter underwent a transformation after the fateful italian visit; he then declared that byron wooed with genius, married for money, and strove for a reconciliation because of pique.[ ] the _story of rimini_, which had been submitted to byron from time to time and which was dedicated to him, appeared likewise in . byron seems to have accepted the familiar tone of the inscription at the time in all good faith "as a public compliment and a private kindness"[ ] although _blackwood's_ of march, , states, perhaps not seriously, that byron in his copy had substituted for hunt's name "impudent varlet." as late as april , , byron wrote from italy that he expected to return to venice by ravenna and rimini that he might take notes of the scenery for hunt.[ ] but a letter to moore from venice, june , , seems to mark a disillusionment on the part of byron: "hunt's letter is probably the exact piece of vulgar coxcombry that you might expect from his situation. he is a good man with some practical element in his chaos, but spoilt by the christ church hospital and a sunday newspaper to say nothing of the surrey gaol, which converted him into a martyr.... of my friend hunt, i have already said that he is anything but vulgar in his manners [a statement repeated again in [ ]]; and of his disciples, therefore, i will not judge of their manners from their verses. they may be honourable and gentlemanly men for what i know; but the latter quality is studiously excluded from their publications."[ ] hunt did not see or hear from byron from until . no further mention of hunt occurs in byron's writings during this period except the reference to his influence on barry cornwall's _sicilian story_ and _marcian colonna_,[ ] and another to the cockney school in byron's controversy with bowles. in explanation of this break in the intercourse hunt said, in , that "byron had become not very fond of his reforming acquaintances."[ ] hunt's criticism of byron's writings was not an important factor in his early literary development, as was the case with shelley and keats. yet it deserves brief attention. _the examiner_ of october , , contained the address of byron on the opening of the drury lane theatre and a commendation of its "natural domestic touch" and of its independence. hunt's _feast of the poets_ as it appeared first in _the reflector_ contained no mention of byron. the separate edition of devoted seven pages of the added notes to a wordy discussion of his work and to personal advice. byron in a letter of february , , thanked hunt for the "handsome note." the next mentions of bryon were in _the examiner_: a notice of his ode on napoleon april , ; _illustrations of lord byron's works_ on september of the same year; an elegy, _oh snatched away in beauty's bloom_, april , ; _the renegade's feelings among the tombs of heroes_, march , ; and finally, an announcement of an opera founded on _the corsair_, august , . a review of the first and second cantos of _don juan_ appeared in _the examiner_ of october , . byron's extraordinary variety and sudden transition of mood, his power in wielding satire and humor, his knowledge of human nature in its highest and lowest passions, his contribution to the mock-heroic and the sincere, the "strain of rich and deep beauty" in the descriptions were pointed out. any immoral tendency is denied: "the fact is at the bottom of these questions, that many things are made vicious which are not so by nature; and many things made virtuous, which are only so by calling and agreement; and it is on the horns of this self-created dilemma, that society is continually writhing and getting desperate!" _the examiner_ of august , containing a critique of the third and fourth cantos of _don juan_, condemned the "careless contempt of canting moralists." january , , there was a notice in _the examiner_ telling of byron's munificence to a shoemaker; in comment _the examiner_ said: "his lordship's virtues are his own. his frailties have been made for him, in more respects than one, by the faults and follies of society." january , , appeared a reprint of _my boat is on the shore_; april , the two stanzas from childe harold beginning, _italia, oh! italia_; april , _byron's letters on bowles's strictures on pope_; may , a review of two of bowles's letters to byron; july , an article entitled _sketches of the living poets_.[ ] the last gave a biographical account of byron. the general traits of his poety were said to be passion, humour, and learning. it criticized the narrative poems as "too melodramatic, hasty and vague." hunt's summary of the dramas and of _don juan_ shows excellent judgment: "for the drama, whatever good passages such a writer will always put forth, we hold that he has no more qualifications than we have; his tendency being to spin every thing out of his own perceptions, and colour it with his own eye. his _don juan_ is perhaps his best work, and the one by which he will stand or fall with readers who see beyond time and toilets. it far surpasses, in our opinion, all the italian models on which it is founded, not excepting the far famed _secchia rapita_."[ ] on june , , _the examiner_ reviewed _cain_. the article is chiefly a discussion of the origin of evil. the issue of september contained a reprint of _america_; that of november denied byron's authorship of _anastasius_. from july , , to november of the same year, there appeared in the _literary examiner_ friendly criticisms of the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth cantos of _don juan_. the reviews consisted chiefly of extracts and a summary of the narrative. the liberal. a letter from lord byron dated december , , had proposed to thomas moore to set up secretly, on their return to london, a weekly newspaper for the purpose of giving "the age some new lights upon policy, poesy, biography, criticism, morality, theology, and all other ism, ality and ology whatsoever. why, man, if we were to take to this in good earnest, your debts would be paid off in a twelvemonth, and by dint of a little diligence and practice, i doubt not that we could distance the common-place blackguards who have so long disgraced common sense and the common reader. they have no merit but practice and imprudence, both of which we may acquire; and, as for talent and culture, the devil's in't if such proofs as we have given of both can't furnish out something better than the 'funeral baked meats' which have coldly set forth the breakfast table of great britain for so many years."[ ] moore cautiously refused the offer and the idea lay dormant in byron's mind until he met shelley at ravenna in . he then proposed that they should establish a radical paper with leigh hunt as editor, the three to be equal partners. power, money, and notoriety were byron's chief objects. he frankly acknowledged a desire for enormous gains. he designed to use his proprietory privileges to publish those of his writings that murray dared not. at the same time byron had, without doubt, a desire to reform home government and to repay hunt for his public defense in .[ ] he may have wished to please shelley by asking hunt.[ ] undoubtedly he valued hunt's wide journalistic experience. moore asserts that in extending the invitation, byron inconsistently admitted hunt "not to any degree of confidence or intimacy but to a declared fellowship of fame and interest."[ ] this, like other of moore's statements regarding hunt, is not very plausible in view of the past intimacy. the most discussed question regarding byron's motives in inviting hunt is the extent of his relation to _the examiner_ at that time, and byron's knowledge of it. trelawny states that when byron "_consented_ to join leigh hunt and others in writing for the 'liberal,' i think his principal inducement was in the belief that john and leigh hunt were proprietors of the 'examiner';--so when leigh hunt at pisa told him that he was no longer connected with that paper, byron was taken aback, finding that hunt would be entirely dependent upon the success of their hazardous project, while he himself would be deprived of that on which he had set his heart,--the use of a weekly paper in great circulation."[ ] moore heard indirectly in that byron, shelley and hunt were to "_conspire_ together" in _the examiner_[ ]--a plan nowhere mentioned in the writings of the three men concerned and most unlikely. what trelawney "thought" conflicts with what moore "heard." the suggestions of both are open to doubt. byron was most assuredly the projector of _the liberal_ and did not "_consent_ to join leigh hunt and others." besides, granting that trelawney's opinion was based on a statement of byron's, even that would not be convincing, since byron made a number of mis-statements about the matter after he grew weary of it. questionable as the assertion is, it has been made the basis of accusations against hunt of deliberate deceit and of breach of contract. had it been true that there was an understanding of coöperation between the two papers, byron and moore would have made much of the charge. trelawney's opinion, first noticed by _blackwood's_ in march, , has been elaborated by jeaffreson,[ ] and accepted by leslie stephen[ ] and kent.[ ] elze, who seems to have labored under the impression that harold skimpole was a faithful portraiture of hunt, states that his connection with byron began with a falsehood.[ ] r. b. johnson says, in defense of hunt, that the accusation "is quite unreasonable and contrary to all the evidence."[ ] monkhouse thinks that it is doubtful if byron reckoned on the support of the london paper.[ ] j. ashcroft noble says that byron had much to say about the hunts in his letters, "and made the most of all kinds of trivial or imaginary grievances; it is simply incredible that had a grievance of such reality and magnitude as this really existed he would have refrained from mentioning it." as proof against it, he quotes byron's belief in hunt's honesty as late as september ; and he points out the "obvious absurdity of the idea that in the year a weekly newspaper could be conducted successfully, or at all, by an editor in pisa or genoa."[ ] the strong probability, gathered from all the extant evidence, is that byron and shelley, in inviting hunt to italy, expected, and very naturally, that he would continue to share in the profits of _the examiner_. shelley, indeed, in a letter dated as late as january , , urged hunt not to leave england without a regular income from that journal[ ]--an injunction which hunt unfairly disregarded. it is also likely that his connection with _the examiner_ was one of byron's reasons in extending the partnership to include hunt. but it is practically certain that there was no contract nor even understanding as regards the coöperation of _the liberal_ and the london paper. the question does not therefore, involve hunt's honor at all. if byron expected to profit by the influence of _the examiner_, his silence shows a manliness that noble does not credit him with. hunt, in accepting byron's offer, was actuated by motives both selfish and unselfish. the fine of £ , imposed at the time of his conviction of libel was not all paid; _the indicator_ had been abandoned; _the examiner_ was on its last legs; his health was broken by overwork undertaken in the effort not to call upon his friends for aid;[ ] an invalid wife and seven children were to be supported by his pen; his brother john was in prison. from january, , to august of the same year he had been unable to write. in accepting byron's offer he thought to recover his health in a southern climate, to regain his political influence which had been on the decrease during the last four or five years, and at the same time to aid aggressively the liberal movement.[ ] moreover, he was flattered immensely by the prospective public association with lord byron. he had little to lose and a prospect of large gain. hunt should have weighed more gravely such a step before he embarked on such a hazardous venture with so large a family, but, with a buoyancy and irresponsibility in practical affairs peculiar to himself, he clutched at the new proposition as a way out of all difficulties and did not look beyond immediate necessities. he pictured himself and his family healthy and wealthy in a land he had always sighed for. if the skies lowered, he fancied shelley always at hand. his description of preparations for the voyage is as airy as his pocketbook was light: "my family, therefore, packed up such goods and chattels as they had a regard for, my books in particular, and we took, with strange new thoughts and feelings, but in high expectation, our journey by sea."[ ] the part shelley played in the invitation to hunt is more difficult of interpretation. the original proposition to become an equal partner in the transaction he never seriously entertained. he consented to become a contributor only. his reasons for his refusal he gave to others, but, for fear of endangering hunt's prospects, withheld from byron; for the same reason he dissembled at times concerning his real feelings. yet he was equally responsible with byron in extending the invitation to hunt, as will be shown later. although shelley could not have foreseen the full consequences of such a course of action, he was deficient in frankness toward byron and undoubtedly sacrificed him somewhat in the transaction to his affection for hunt. while byron continued to hold the highest opinion of shelley, between the time of their meeting in switzerland and at ravenna, shelley had experienced three separate revulsions of feeling.[ ] at the time in question his distrust had returned. hunt's pecuniary troubles made their relations still more difficult. this state of affairs between byron and shelley must have given hunt great concern, and shelley suspecting his distress wrote march , : "the aspect of affairs has somewhat changed since the date of that in which i expressed a repugnance to a continuance of intimacy with lord byron as close as that which now exists; at least it has changed so far as regards you and the intended journal."[ ] in january, , mrs. hunt wrote mary shelley, begging that they might come to italy. the subject was thus revived and a formal invitation was conveyed in a letter of august , , from shelley to hunt. it proves beyond a doubt that byron was the chief projector of the journal: "he (byron) proposes that you should come out and go shares with him and me, in a periodical work, to be conducted here; in which each of the contracting parties should publish all their original compositions and share the profits.... there can be no doubt that the _profits_ of any scheme in which you and lord byron engage, must, from various, yet co-operating reasons, be very great. as for myself, i am, for the present, only a sort of link between you and him, until you can know each other and effectuate the arrangement; since (to entrust you with a secret which, for your sake, i withhold from lord byron), nothing would induce me to share in the profits, and still less, in the borrowed splendor of such a partnership. you and he, in different manners, would be equal, and would bring, in a different manner, but in the same proportion, equal stocks of reputation and success.... i did not ask lord byron to assist me in sending a remittance for your journey; because there are men, however excellent, from whom we would never receive an obligation, in the worldly sense of the word; and i am as jealous for my friend as for myself.... he has many generous and exalted qualities, but the canker of aristocracy wants to be cut out."[ ] hunt's answer was full of expectation and hope. he wrote that "are there not three of us?... we will divide the world between us, like the triumvirate, and you shall be the sleeping partner, if you will."[ ] to shelley's reply of october , thanking him for coming, hunt answered: "you say, shelley, you thank me for coming. the pleasure of being obliged by those we love is so great that i do not wonder that you continue to muster up some obligation to me, but if you are obliged, how much am i?"[ ] from the beginning of the enterprise thomas moore and john murray scented trouble and made more. they continued their intermeddling after _the liberal_ was launched, and doubtless ministered to byron's vacillation. hunt and murray had disagreed over the _story of rimini_[ ] and an attack on southey in _the examiner_ of may and , , had included murray as well. moreover, murray saw in john hunt,[ ] the publisher of the new periodical, a dangerous future rival in his business relations with byron. after matters became unpleasant in italy, murray took his revenge by making public byron's letters containing ill-natured remarks about hunt.[ ] the relations of moore and hunt had been very friendly[ ] but at this juncture both became too proud of having a "noble lord" for a friend.[ ] moore, writing to byron in the latter part of , said: "i heard some time ago that leigh hunt was on his way to genoa with all of his family; and the idea seems to be, that you and shelley and he are to _conspire_ together in _the examiner_. i cannot believe this--and deprecate such a plan with all my might. _alone_ you may do anything, but partnerships in fame, like those in trade, make the strongest party answerable for the deficiencies or delinquencies of the rest, and i tremble even for you with such a bankrupt company.... they are both clever fellows, and shelley i look upon as a man of real genius; but, i must say again, you could not give your enemies (the ... s 'et hoc genus omne') a greater triumph than by joining such an unequal and unholy alliance,"[ ] an astounding statement from a man of pronounced liberal views. byron's answer of january was indefinite and perhaps intentionally misleading: "be assured that there is no such coalition as you apprehend."[ ] february , moore advised byron not to discuss religious matters in the new work, but to confine himself to political theories; "if you have any political catamarans to explode this (london) is your place."[ ] after _the liberal_ was begun, moore wrote: "it grieves me to urge anything so much against hunt's interest, but i should not hesitate to use the same language to himself were i near him. i would, if i were you, serve him in every possible way but this--i would give him (if he would accept of it) the profits of the same works, published separately--but i would not mix myself up in this way with others. i would not become a partner in this sort of miscellaneous '_pot au feu_' where the bad flavour of one ingredient is sure to taint all the rest. i would be, if i were _you_, alone, single-handed and as such, invincible."[ ] the hunts started for italy november , , but on account of various setbacks and delays did not really leave the coast of england until may , . in the ten months which elapsed between the invitation to hunt and his arrival, it is not surprising that byron's enthusiasm had cooled. he would have withdrawn if he could have done so, although byron, trelawny says, was at first more eager than shelley for hunt's arrival.[ ] as has already been stated above, affairs between byron and shelley had been very strained in january. in the letter of march , already referred to, shelley informed hunt that matters had improved between byron and himself and that byron expressed the "greatest eagerness to proceed with the journal, he dilates with impatience on the delay, and he disregards the opinion of those who have advised him against it." shelley thought that their strained relations would in no way interfere with hunt's prospects, and, with what looks a little like double-dealing, that it would be possible for him to preserve what influence he had over the "proteus" until hunt arrived: "it will be no very difficult task to execute that you have assigned me--to keep him in heart with the project until your arrival."[ ] april , shelley wrote again to hunt of byron's eagerness for his arrival: "he urges me to press you to depart." but a reference to the state of affairs in the two households in italy carries a foreboding note: "lord byron has made me bitterly feel the inferiority which the world has presumed to place between us, and which subsists nowhere in reality but in our own talents, which are not our own but nature's--or in our rank, which is not our own but fortune's." with his usual humility, shelley closes the letter with an apology for carrying his jealousy of byron into hunt's relations with him, and says: "you in the superiority of a wise and tranquil nature have well corrected and justly reproved me ... you will find much in me to correct and reprove."[ ] during the summer shelley continued to shrink more than ever from byron; june he declared to hunt that he would not be the link between them for byron is the "nucleus of all that is hateful." his one dread was that he might injure hunt's prospects.[ ] between april and july byron's enthusiasm had again cooled. trelawny relates that shelley when he went to leghorn to meet hunt, was greatly depressed by lord byron's "shuffling and equivocating," and, "but for imperilling hunt's prospects," that shelley would have abruptly terminated their intercourse.[ ] on july shelley wrote to mary from pisa that "things are in the worst possible situation with respect to poor hunt.... 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."[ ] this dual attitude of shelley has been variously viewed. professor dowden thinks it a "triumph of diplomacy,"[ ] while jeaffreson deems it a conspiracy of hunt and shelley against the innocent and unsuspecting byron. hunt gave the following ominous description of his first call upon lord byron: "the day was very hot; the road to mount nero was very hot, through dusty suburbs; and when i got there i found the hottest looking house i ever saw. it was salmon colour. think of this, flaring over the country in a hot italian sun! but the greatest of all the heats was within. upon seeing lord byron, i hardly knew him, he was grown so fat; and he was longer in recognizing me, i had grown so thin."[ ] hunt wrote to england that byron received him with marked cordiality[ ] but shelley's friend williams, in his last letter to his wife, stated that byron treated hunt vilely and "actually said as much that he did not wish his name to be attached to the work, and of course to theirs"; that his treatment of mrs. hunt was "most shameful"; and that his "conduct cut h. to the soul."[ ] the hunt family was quickly quartered on the ground floor of byron's palace, which byron had furnished at a cost of £ .[ ] shelley's sensible suggestions to hunt about his furniture,[ ] about the income from _the examiner_, and worse still, his delicately given advice that it was not possible for him to bring _all_ of his family, had been ignored.[ ] with shelley's tragic death a few days after their arrival, the only "link of the two thunderbolts,"[ ] as he had called himself, was broken. hunt was left in an awkward position which no one could have foreseen. a few days later he wrote to friends at home of byron's kindness.[ ] in he gave a different version: "lord byron requested me to look upon him as standing in mr. s.'s place. my heart died within me to hear him; i made the proper acknowledgment, but i knew what he meant, and i more than doubted whether even in that, the most trivial part of the friendship, he could resemble mr. shelley, if he would. circumstances unfortunately rendered the matter of too much importance to me at the moment. i had reason to fear:--i was compelled to try:--and things turned out as i had dreaded. the public have been given to understand that lord byron's purse was at my command, and that i used it according to the spirit with which it was offered. _i did so._ stern necessity and a family compelled me."[ ] with the magazine scarcely likely to yield an income for some time, it was absolutely necessary for hunt to get money from somewhere for living expenses and, shelley gone, there was no one left to tide over the interval but byron. the latter did not relish the position of sole banker to a family of nine and doled out £ in small doses through his steward, hunt says, just as if his "disgraces were being counted."[ ] he was embittered by his position as suppliant and dependent, though there is nothing to show that he was ever refused what he asked for or requested to pay back what he owed.[ ] hunt's entire money obligation to byron has been comprehensively calculated by galt at £ : £ for the journey from england, £ at pisa for living expenses, the cost of the journey from pisa to genoa, and £ from genoa to florence. galt thought the use of the ground floor a small favor since byron could use only one floor for himself. such practices were very common, italian palaces often being built for that purpose.[ ] it is likely that until the step was irrevocable byron did not correctly gauge hunt's resources and the responsibility which he was assuming in transporting a large family to a foreign country. if he did, he expected to share the burden with shelley. had hunt been financially independent, it is probable that he and byron would have remained on amicable enough terms, for the former asserts that the first time he was treated with disrespect was when byron knew he was in want.[ ] yet that neither shelley nor byron were wholly ignorant of what to expect before hunt's arrival in italy is apparent from shelley's letter to byron, february , : "hunt had urged me more than once to ask you to lend him this money. my answer consisted in sending him all i could spare, which i have now literally done. your kindness in fitting up a part of your own home for his accommodation i sensibly felt, and willingly accept from you on his part, but, believe me, without the slightest intention of imposing, or, if i could help it, of allowing to be imposed, any heavier task on your purse. as it has come to this in spite of my exertions, i will not conceal from you the low ebb of my own money affairs in the present moment,--that is, my absolute incapacity of assisting hunt further. i do not think poor hunt's promise to pay in a given time is worth very much, but mine is less subject to uncertainty, and i should be happy to be responsible for any engagement he may have proposed to you."[ ] mrs. hunt seems to have widened further the breach between the two men.[ ] she did not speak italian and the countess guiccioli, the head of byron's establishment, did not speak english. neither made any linguistic efforts and consequently there was no intercourse between the families of the two households. this, hunt later says, was the first cause of diminished cordiality between byron and himself. the hunt children were a further cause of trouble. byron wrote of them to mrs. shelley: "they were dirtier and more mischievous than yahoos. what they can't destroy with their feet they will with their fingers."[ ] again he described them as "six little blackguards ... kraal out of the hottentot country."[ ] the question of rank was a thorn in the flesh, particularly to hunt. while in open theory he had no respect for titles, in actual practice he groveled before them. pride, as he thought, had made him decline all advances from men of rank, but it was more with the air of being afraid to trust himself than with real indifference. his exception, made in the case of lord byron, is thus explained: "but talents, poetry, similarity of political opinion, flattery of early sympathy with my boyish writings, more flattering offers of friendship and the last climax of flattery, an earnest waiving of his rank, were too much for me in the person of lord byron."[ ] on the renewal of the acquaintance in italy, the very familiar attitude seen in the dedication of the _story of rimini_, which hunt himself had decided was "foolish," was changed at the advice of shelley to an extremely formal manner of address. hunt says that byron did not like the change.[ ] as a matter of fact, six years of separation had brought about other more important changes: byron had grown more selfish and avaricious, hunt more helpless and vain. three months were spent in pisa after shelley's death. in september the two families left for genoa, travelling in separate parties and, on their arrival, settling in separate homes, the hunts with mrs. shelley. from this time on there was little intercourse between byron and hunt. october , , byron wrote to england and denied that all three families were living under one roof. he said that he rarely saw hunt, not more than once a month.[ ] hunt to the contrary said that they saw less of each other than in genoa yet "considerable."[ ] although at no time was there an open breach, yet cordiality and sympathy were wholly lost on both sides in the strain of the financial situation. they failed of agreement even on impersonal matters. byron had looked forward with great pleasure to hunt's companionship. before they met he had written: "when leigh hunt comes we shall have banter enough about those old _ruffiani_, the old dramatists, with their tiresome conceits, their jingling rhymes, and endless play upon words."[ ] this pleasant anticipation was not realized, for hunt's sensitiveness in petty matters and byron's scorn of hunt's affectation and of his ill-bred personal applications,[ ] or so the hearer interpreted them, reduced safe topics to boswell's _life of johnson_. even a mutual admiration of pope and dryden was forgotten. literary jealousy and vanity fed the flames. hunt was unable to appreciate manhood of byron's virile type, and he did not try to conceal the fact from one who was hungry for praise. on the other hand, byron did not render to hunt the homage he was accustomed to receive from the cockney circle and had nothing but contempt for all his works except the _story of rimini_. a statement in the anonymous _life of lord byron_, published by iley, that the misunderstanding was the result of a criticism by hunt of _parisina_ in the leghorn and lucca newspapers and that byron never spoke to him after the discovery[ ] is a fabrication as unsubstantial as the greater part of the other statements in the same book. hunt denied the charge. his sole connection with _parisina_ was that he supplied the incident of the heroine talking in her sleep,[ ] a device that he had already made use of in _rimini_. on his arrival in italy hunt wrote back to england that byron entered into _the liberal_ with great ardor, and that he had presented the _vision of judgment_ to his brother and himself for their mutual benefit.[ ] yet four days later in a letter to moore byron wrote: "hunt seems sanguine about the matter but (entre nous) i am not. i do not, however, like to put him out of spirits by saying so, for he is bilious and unwell. do, pray, answer _this_ letter immediately. do send hunt anything in prose or verse of yours, to start him handsomely--and lyrical, _iri_cal, or what you please."[ ] at the time of trelawny's first visit after the work had begun, byron said impatiently: "it will be an abortion," and again in trelawny's presence he called to his bull-dog on the stairway, "don't let any cockneys pass this way."[ ] sometime previous to october his endurance must have given way completely, for in that month hunt wrote that byron was _again_ for the plan.[ ] in january byron urged john hunt to employ good writers for _the liberal_ that it might succeed.[ ] march , , byron, in a letter to john hunt, said that he attributed the failure of _the liberal_ to his own contributions and that the magazine would stand a better chance without him. he desired to sever the partnership if the magazine was to be continued.[ ] his constant vacillation in part supports the charge made by hunt that byron under protest contributed his worse productions in order to make a show of coöperation.[ ] insinuations from moore and murray had fallen on fertile ground and had persuaded byron that the association jeopardized his reputation. hobhouse, byron's friend, joined his dissenting voice to theirs, and "rushed over the alps" to add to his disapproval.[ ] hazlitt's account of the conspiracy of byron's friends against _the liberal_ is very fiery.[ ] the first number of _the liberal_ appeared october , . there were three subsequent numbers. byron's contributions were his brilliant and masterly satire, the _vision of judgment_, _heaven and earth_, _a letter to the editor of my grandmother's review_, _the blues_, and his translation of the first canto of pulci's _morgante maggiore_. murray had withheld the preface to the _vision of judgment_ and this omission, combined with an unwise announcement in _the examiner_ of september , , by john hunt, made the reception even worse than it might otherwise have been. hunt said the _vision of judgment_ "played the devil with all of us."[ ] shelley had made ready for the forthcoming magazine his exquisite translation of goethe's _may day night_ and a prose narrative, _a german apologue_. these appeared in the first number. hunt's best contributions were two poems, _lines to a spider_ and _mahmoud_. _letters from abroad_ are good in spots only. his two satires, _the dogs_ and _the book of beginners_, are pale reflections in meter and tone of _don juan_ and _beppo_ combined. the _florentine lovers_ is a good story spoiled. _rhyme and reason_, _the guili tre_, and the rest are purely hack work, with the possible exceptions of the translation from ariosto and the modernization of the _squire's tale_. hazlitt contributed _pulpit oratory_, _on the spirit of monarchy_, a pithy dissertation _on the scotch character_, and a delightful reminiscence of coleridge in _my first acquaintance with poets_. mrs. shelley wrote _a tale of the passions_, _mme. d'houdetot_, and _giovanni villani_, all rather stilted and heavy. charles browne contributed _shakespear's fools_. a number of unidentified prose articles and poems, many of the latter translations from alfieri, completed the list. the causes of the failure of _the liberal_ were very complex, but quite obvious. there was no definite political campaign mapped out, no proportion outlined for the various departments, no assignments of individual responsibility, no attempt to cater to the public appetite or to mollify the public prejudices for expediency's sake, and an utter want of harmony among its supporters. each contributor rode his own hobby. each vented his private spleen without regard to the common good. it was a vague, up-in-the-air scheme, wholly lacking in coördination and common sense. byron's fickleness and want of genuine interest in a small affair among many other greater ones; the disappointment of both byron[ ] and hunt in not realizing the enormous profits that they had looked forward to--although hunt wrote later that the "moderate profits" were quite enough to have encouraged perseverance on the part of byron; hunt's ill-health and unhappy situation which rendered it difficult for him to write; john hunt's inexperience as a bookseller; the general unpopularity of the editor, the publisher, and the contributors; and last, the pent-up storm of rage from the press which greeted the first number of _the liberal_,[ ] were other reasons that contributed to its ultimate downfall. in seeking hunt for the editor of such a venture, as gait had pointed out,[ ] byron had mistaken his political notoriety for solid literary reputation. hunt, notwithstanding his confession[ ] of an inability to write at his best and of his brother's inexperience, throws the burden of failure solely on byron. he asserts that _the liberal_ had no enemies and, worst of all, that byron when he foresaw hostility and failure, gave him and his brother the profits that they might carry the responsibility of an "ominous partnership"[ ]--a statement ungenerously distorted by bitter memories, for when john hunt was prosecuted for the publication of the _vision of judgment_, byron offered to stand trial in his stead. neither does hunt state that byron's contributions were _gratis_ and that the "moderate profits" enabled him and his brother to pay off some of their old debts.[ ] byron, strong with the prescience of failure, likewise shifted the blame to other shoulders and with the aid of a strong imagination tried to persuade himself and his friends that the hunts had projected the affair and that he had consented in an evil hour to engage in it;[ ] that they were the cause of the failure; that his motives throughout had been philanthropic only in nature;[ ] and that he was sacrificing himself for others. such statements are inventions born of self-accusation and of self-defense. the worst that can be said of byron from beginning to end of the affair is that he was not conscientious in his endeavors to make the journal a success; that, after it failed, he evaded financial responsibility by placing barriers of coldness and ungraciousness between hunt and himself. on october , , he wrote to moore that he had done all he could for hunt "but in the affairs of this world he himself is a child";[ ] "as it is, i will not quit them (the hunts) in their adversity, though it should cost me my character, fame, money, and the usual et cetera.... had their journal gone on well, and i could have aided to make it better for them, i should then have left them; after my safe pilotage off a lee shore, to make a prosperous voyage by themselves. as it is, i can't, or would not, if i could, leave them amidst the breakers. as to any community of feeling, thought, or opinions between l. h. and me, there is little or none; we meet rarely, hardly ever; but i think him a good-principled and able man.[ ]... you would not have had me leave him in the street with his family, would you? and as to the other plan you mention, you forget how it would humiliate him--that his writings should be supposed to be dead weight! think a moment--he is perhaps the vainest man on earth, at least his own friends say so pretty loudly; and if he were in other circumstances i might be tempted to take him down a peg; but not now--it would be cruel.[ ]... a more amiable man in society i know not, nor (when he will allow his sense to prevail over his sectarian principles) a better writer. when he was writing his _rimini_ i was not the last to discover its beauties, long before it was published. even then i remonstrated against its vulgarisms; which are the more extraordinary, because the author is anything but a vulgar man."[ ] during april, , the countess of blessington had a conversation with byron in which he said that while he regretted having embarked in _the liberal_, yet he had a good opinion of the talents and principles of hunt, despite their diametrically opposed tastes.[ ] on april , , he wrote that hunt was incapable or unwilling to help himself; that he could not keep up this "genuine philanthropy" permanently; and that he would furnish hunt with the means to return to england in comfort.[ ] there is no proof that byron ever made such an offer to hunt. the purchase money of hunt's journey home was _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_. on july , , byron went to greece. the hunts, provided by him with £ for the trip, left genoa about the same time for florence, where they were literally stranded, in ill-health and without sufficient means for support,[ ] until their departure for england in september, . the suffering there and the foul calumny at home magnified in hunt's mind[ ] the indignity and injustice that had been put upon him and warped his sense of gratitude and honor in the whole affair. he wrote from florence: "the stiffness of age has come into my joints; my legs are sore and fevered; and i sometimes feel as if i were a ship rotting in a stagnant harbour."[ ] mrs. shelley protested to byron concerning his treatment of hunt[ ] but she received no further satisfaction than the statement that he had engaged in the journal for good-will and respect for hunt solely.[ ] the publisher colburn in made hunt an advance of money for the return journey, to be repaid by a volume of selections from _his own writings preceded by a biographical sketch_.[ ] an irresistible longing for england and a crisis in the disagreement with john hunt regarding the proprietary rights of _the examiner_ and the publication of the _wishing cap papers_ in that paper, made hunt seize at the first opportunity by which he might return home. from paris, on his way to england, he wrote: "if i delayed i might be pinned forever to a distance, like a fluttering bird to a wall, and so die in helpless yearning. i have been mistaken. during my strength my weakness perhaps, was only apparent; now that i am weaker, indignation has given a fillip to my strength."[ ] from his severance with _the examiner_ and the publication of _bacchus in tuscany_ in , hunt was idle until . then, pressed by his obligation to colburn and stung by the misrepresentations of the press regarding his relations with byron in italy, he scored even, as he thought, by producing _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, the blunder of his life and the one blot upon his honor. in addition to the part dealing with byron, it contained autobiographical reminiscences and memoirs of shelley, keats, moore, lamb and others. it went rapidly through three editions. the body of the work is a discussion of the defects of byron's character and a detailed analysis of his actions. in brief, he is charged with insincerity in the cause of liberty; an impatience of any despotism save his own; a vain pride of rank, although his friends were of humble origin; a "libelling all around" of friends; an ignorance of real love, consanguineous or sexual; coarseness in speaking of women or to them;[ ] a voluptuous indolence; weak impulses; a habit of miscellaneous confidences and exaggeration; untruthfulness; susceptibility to influence; avarice even in his patriotism and debauchery; a willingness to receive petty obligations; jealousy of the great and small; no powers of conversation and a want of self-possession; bad temper and self-will; an inordinate desire for flattery; egotism and love of notoriety. more petty accusations are excess in his eating and drinking, though hunt complains that byron would not "drink like a lord"; his fondness for communicating unpleasant tidings; his inclination to the mock heroic; his effeminacy and old-womanish superstition; his easily-aroused suspicions; his imitativeness in writing poetry; his slight knowledge of languages; his physical cowardice. the virtues of this monster, small in number and grudgingly allowed, were admitted to be good horsemanship, good looks, a delicate hand, amusing powers of mimicry, pleasantry in his cups, masterly swimming. unfortunately these statements were usually damned with a "but" or "yet." while it is now generally believed that many of the accusations made by hunt were true,[ ] inasmuch as they are confirmed in large part by contemporary evidence, and as truthfulness was one of hunt's dominant traits, yet, on the other hand, it is quite necessary to make large allowance for the point of view and the color given by prejudice and bitterness of spirit. that hunt told only the truth does not justify the injury in the slightest, for he had slept under byron's roof and eaten of his bread. the obligations conferred were not exactly those of benefactor to suppliant; they were perhaps no more than hunt's due in the light of the responsibility voluntarily assumed by byron; yet they could not be destroyed or forgotten because of a refusal to acknowledge them. worse still, hunt's motives proceeded from impecuniosity and revenge. such petty gossip of private affairs was worthy of a smaller and meaner soul. that hunt did not have the sanction of his own judgment and conscience is clearly seen in the preface to the first edition where he confesses an unwilling hand and gives as a reason for the change of scheme a too long holiday taken after the advance of money from colburn. he says that the book would never have been written at all, or consigned to the flames when finished, if he could have repaid the money.[ ] his one poor defense is that "byron talked freely of me and mine," that the public had talked, and that byron knew how he felt.[ ] the book had a very large circulation. but hunt, who had hoped to defend himself in this manner from the calumnies afloat since the failure of _the liberal_, brought down a storm of abuse from the press that resulted in his degradation and byron's canonization. moore's welcome was a poem, _the living dog and the dead lion_.[ ] hunt's friends replied with _the giant and the dwarf_.[ ] in his life of byron published some years later, moore speaks reservedly of the book, merely saying it had sunk into deserved oblivion.[ ] hunt's public apology and reparation, in so far as such lay in his power, were first made in in _a saunter through the west end_: "no. (formerly no. of what was piccadilly terrace) was the last house which byron inhabited in england. nobody needs to be told what a great wit and fine poet he was: but everybody does not know that he was by nature a genial and generous man spoiled by the most untoward circumstances in early life. he vexed his enemies, and sometimes his friends; but his very advantages have been hard upon him, and subjected him to all sorts of temptations. may peace rest upon his infirmities, and his fame brighten as it advances."[ ] in , he wrote in praise of the ave maria stanza in _don juan_.[ ] and finally and completely in his _autobiography_ he apologized for the heat and venom of _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_: "i wrote nothing which i did not feel to be true, or think so. but i can say with alamanni, that i was then a young man, and that i am now advanced in years. i can say, that i was agitated by grief and anger, and that i am now free from anger. i can say, that i was far more alive to other people's defects than to my own, and that i am now sufficiently sensible of my own to show to others the charity which i need myself. i can say, moreover, that apart from a little allowance for provocation, i do not think it right to exhibit what is amiss, or may be thought amiss, in the character of a fellow-creature, out of any feeling but unmistakable sorrow, or the wish to lessen evils which society itself may have caused. "lord byron, with respect to the points on which he erred and suffered (for on all others, a man like himself, poet and wit, could not but give and receive pleasure), was the victim of a bad bringing up, of a series of false positions in society, of evils arising from the mistakes of society itself, of a personal disadvantage (which his feelings exaggerated), nay, of his very advantages of person, and of a face so handsome as to render with strong tendencies of natural affection," and declared that his fickleness had been "nurtured by an excessively bad training." in exoneration of hunt he said that if "disappointment and the fervour of a new literary work--which often draws the pen beyond its original intention--led leigh hunt into a book that was too severe, perhaps too one-sided in its views, he himself afterwards corrected the one-sidedness, and recalled to mind the earlier and undoubtedly the more correct impression he had had of lord byron." i, - . him an object of admiration. even the lameness, of which he had such a resentment, only softened the admiration with tenderness. "but he did not begin life under good influences. he had a mother, herself, in all probability, the victim of bad training, who would fling the dishes from table at his head, and tell him he would be a scoundrel like his father. his father, who was cousin to the previous lord, had been what is called a man upon town, and was neither rich nor very respectable. the young lord, whose means had not yet recovered themselves, went to school, noble but poor, expecting to be in the ascendant with his title, yet kept down by the inconsistency of his condition. he left school to put on the cap with the gold tuft, which is worshipped at college:--he left college to fall into some of the worst hands on the town:--his first productions were contemptuously criticised, and his genius was thus provoked into satire:--his next were overpraised, which increased his self-love:--he married when his temper had been soured by difficulties, and his will and pleasure pampered by the sex:--and he went companionless into a foreign country, where all this perplexity could repose without being taught better, and where the sense of a lost popularity could be drowned in license. "i am sorry i ever wrote a syllable respecting lord byron which might have been spared. i have still to relate my connection with him, but it will be related in a different manner. pride, it is said, will have a fall; and i must own, that on this subject i have experienced the truth of the saying. i had prided myself--i should pride myself now if i had not been thus rebuked--on not being one of those who talk against others. i went counter to this feeling in a book; and to crown the absurdity of the contradiction, i am foolish enough to suppose that the very fact of my so doing would show that i had done it in no other instance! that having been thus public in the error, credit would be given me for never having been privately so! such are the delusions inflicted on us by self-love. when the consequence was represented to me as characterized by my enemies, i felt, enemies though they were, as if i blushed from head to foot. it is true i had been goaded to the task by misrepresentation:--i had resisted every other species of temptation to do it:--and, after all, i said more in his excuse, and less to his disadvantage, than many of those who reproved me. but enough. i owed the acknowledgment to him and to myself; and i shall proceed on my course with a sigh for both, and i trust in the good will of the sincere."[ ] chapter v characteristics of the "cockney school"--reasons for tory enmity--establishment of _blackwood's magazine_ and the _quarterly review_--their methods of attack--other targets--authorship of anonymous articles--members of the cockney group--byron--hunt--keats--shelley-- hazlitt. the word "cockney" says bulwer-lytton, signifies the "archetype of the londoner east of temple bar, and is as grotesquely identified with the bells of bow as quasimodo with those of notre dame."[ ] the epithet remains doubtful in origin but is proverbially significant of odium and of ridicule. r. h. horne asserts that, in its first application, it meant merely "pastoral, minus nature."[ ] the word did not long carry so harmless a connotation. it was first applied to hunt by the tory journals in and, in the phrase "cockney school," was gradually extended until it included most of his associates. the group of men thus arbitrarily banded together did not form a _school_ or cult, and themselves resented such a classification. they differed widely in their fundamental principles of life and art. they were not all of one vocation. on the other hand they had certain superficial points in common which made them collectively vulnerable to the dart of the enemy. they were londoners[ ] by birth or by adoption; with the exception of shelley they may all be said to have belonged to the middle class; the most cockneyfied of them had certain vulgar mannerisms; they egotistically paraded their personal affairs in public; they praised each other somewhat fulsomely in dedications and elsewhere, though not always to the full satisfaction of everybody concerned; they presented each other with wreaths of bay, laurel, and roses, and with locks of hair; they agreed in liking thomas moore and in disliking southey; they moved with complacency within a limited circle to the exclusion of a large city; in general they were liberal in politics and in religion; they were in revolt against french criticism; they chose elizabethan or italian models, and, as a rule, they conceitedly ignored or contemned contemporary writers. the gatherings of the coterie have been nowhere better described than by cowden clarke: "evenings of mozartian operatic and chamber music at vincent novello's own house, where leigh hunt, shelley, keats and the lambs were invited guests; the brilliant supper parties at the alternate dwellings of the novellos, the hunts and the lambs, who had mutually agreed that bread and cheese, with celery, and elia's immortalized 'lutheran beer' were to be the sole cates provided; the meetings at the theatres, when munden, dowton, liston, bannister, elliston and fanny kelly were on the stage; the picnic repasts enjoyed together by appointment in the fields that lay spread in green breadth and luxuriance between the west end of oxford street and the western slope of hampstead hill--are things never to be forgotten."[ ] miss mitford relates a ludicrous incident of one of these meetings: "leigh hunt (not the notorious mr. henry hunt, but the fop, poet and politician of the 'examiner') is a great keeper of birthdays. he was celebrating that of haydn, the great composer--giving a dinner, crowning his bust with laurels, berhyming the poor dear german, and conducting an apotheosis in full form. somebody told mr. haydon they were celebrating _his_ birthday. so off he trotted to hampstead, and bolted into the company--made a very fine animated speech--thanked him most sincerely for what they had done him and the arts in his person."[ ] at one time the set became violently vegetarian. the enthusiasm came to a sudden end, as narrated by joseph severn: "leigh hunt most eloquently discussed the charms and advantages of these vegetable banquets, depicting in glowing words the cauliflowers swimming in melted butter, and the peas and beans never profaned with animal gravy. in the midst of his rhapsody he was interrupted by the venerable wordsworth, who begged permission to ask a question. 'if,' he said, 'by chance of good luck they ever met with a caterpillar, they thanked their stars for the delicious morsel of animal food.' this absurdity all came to an end by an ugly discovery. haydon, whose ruddy face had kept the other enthusiasts from sinking under their scanty diet--for they clung fondly to the hope that they would become like him, although they increased daily in pallor and leanness--this haydon was discovered one day coming out of a chop-house. he was promptly taxed with treachery, when he honestly confessed that every day after the vegetable repast he ate a good beef-steak. this fact plunged the others in despair, and leigh hunt assured me that on vegetable diet his constitution had received a blow from which he had never recovered. with shelley it was different, for he was by nature formed to regard animal food repulsively."[ ] the causes of the enmity of the press were political rather than literary or personal and have already been sufficiently dwelt upon in the preceding chapters. the strong rivalry between edinburgh and london as publishing strongholds intensified the strife. hunt in particular had centered attention upon himself by his persistent and violent attacks on gifford and southey for several years previous to . besides _the examiner's_ persistent allusions to these two unregenerates, a savage diatribe had appeared in the _feast of the poets_, which alluded to gifford's humble origin and mediocre ability, charged him with being a government tool, and continued: "but a vile, peevish temper, the more inexcusable in its indulgence, because he appears to have had early warning of its effects, breaks out in every page of his criticism, and only renders his affected grinning the more obnoxious ... i pass over the nauseous epistle to peter pindar, and even notes to his baviad and moeviad, where though less vulgar in his language, he has a great deal of the pert cant and snip-snap which he deprecates."[ ] during , _the examiner_ had concerned itself particularly with southey. he had been called an apostate, a hypocrite, and almost every other name in hunt's abusive vocabulary. sir walter scott had not been spared. his politics were said to be easily estimated by the "simple fact, that of all the advocates of charles the second, he is the least scrupulous in mentioning his crimes, because he is the least abashed;" his command of prose was declared equal to nothing beyond "a plain statement or a brief piece of criticism;" his poetry "a little thinking conveyed in a great many words."[ ] hunt thus secured to himself, through offensive and aggressive abuse, the hostility of the tories both in england and in scotland. his weaknesses and affectations made him a conspicuous and assailable target for the inevitable return fire.[ ] the establishment by the tories of the _quarterly review_ in and of _blackwood's magazine_ in was with the view of opposing and, if possible, of suppressing the _edinburgh review_ and _the examiner_. the brunt of the hostility fell upon the latter, for hunt, by reason of his extreme social and religious policy, could not always rally the _edinburgh review_ to his support. with the founding of the _london magazine_ in he had a new ally in its editor, john scott, but the war had then already raged for three years, and scott fell a victim to it in two years' time.[ ] by a process of elimination scott fixed the identity of "z"--such was the only signature of the articles on the cockney school in _blackwood's_--upon lockhart. he also asserted that lockhart was the editor of the magazine. lockhart demanded an apology. his friend christie took up the quarrel. in the duel which followed scott was fatally wounded. his death followed keats's within four days. the method of attack with the _quarterly_ and with _blackwood's_ was much the same. they differed chiefly in the style of approach. the former may be compared to heavy artillery, slow, cumbrous and crushing. the reviews indeed often verge on dullness and stupidity. neither gifford nor southey seemed to have been blessed with the saving grace of humor in dealing with the cockney school. _blackwood's_, on the other hand, had too much, for whenever one of the so-called cockneys was mentioned, its contributors wallowed in the mire of coarse buffoonery and cruel satire, disgusting scandal and vulgar parody. the only counter-irritant to such a dose is the clever joking and keen humor; but even when this is clean, which is rare, the whole is rendered unpalatable by the thought of its cruelty and of its frequent falsity. furthermore, _blackwood's_ was more merciless in its persecution than the _quarterly_ in that it was untiring. it was perpetually discharging a fresh fusilade. both magazines disguised their real motives under a cloak of religious zeal and monarchical loyalty. while hunt did much to bring the hornet's nest about his ears, he was not wholly deserving of the amount, and not at all of the kind, of stinging calumny that he had to endure. neither were the members of the cockney school the only ones who provoked such antagonism from the same magazine. other famous libels of _blackwood's_ that should be mentioned to show the disposition of its controllers were the _chaldee manuscript_; the _madonna of dresden_ and other effusions of the "_baron von lauerwinckel_"; the _diary_ and _horæ sinicæ of ensign o'doherty_; and the _diary of william wastle, blackwood and dr. morris_. _letter to sir walter scott, bart., on the moral and other characteristics of the ebony and shandrydan school_,[ ] cites a full list of _blackwood's_ victims. these, besides those of the cockney school, were said to be jeffrey, professor playfair, professor dugald stewart, professor leslie, james macintosh, lord brougham, moore, professor david ricardo, wordsworth, coleridge, pringle, dalzell, cleghorn, graham, sharpe, jameson, and hogg, the ettrick shepherd. the characters in _noctes ambrosianæ_, ticklers, scorpions and shepherds, were said by the pamphleteer to respectively tickle, sting and stultify, and to make a business "of insulting worth, offending delicacy, caluminating genius, and outraging the decencies and violating all the sanctities of life." their weapons were "loathsome billingsgate and brutality," and "sublime bathos." an interesting statement, not elsewhere found, is made by the anonymous author of the pamphlet that the proprietor of the black bull inn imputed the death of his wife to the first volume of _peter's letters to his kinsfolk_, a series similar to the _noctes ambrosianæ_. sir walter scott is told that he cannot remain innocent if he remains indifferent to the machinations of the "ebony and shandrydan school"--as the writer pleases to call the _blackwood's_ group. another interesting pamphlet of like nature is _the scorpion critic unmasked; or animadversions on a pretended review of "fleurs, a poem, in four books," which appeared in blackwood's edinburgh magazine for june, , in a letter to a friend_.[ ] _blackwood's_ had called nathaniel john hollingsworth, the author of the poem, and others of his type, the "leg of mutton school."[ ] nothing in fact seems to have given this magazine so much malicious delight as to create schools, perhaps in a spirit of rivalry with the "lake school" of the _edinburgh review_. in the preceding april the "manchester school" had been presented by _blackwood's_ to the public. hollingsworth in turn created the "scorpion school" in order to deride _blackwood's_. other pamphlets of the same kind were _rebellion again gulliver; or r-d-c-l-sm in lilliput_. _a poetical fragment from a lilliputian manuscript_, an anonymous publication which appeared in edinburgh in ; _aspersions answered: an explanatory statement, advanced to the public at large, and to every reader of the quarterly review in particular_;[ ] and _another article for the quarterly review_;[ ] both by william hone in reply to the charge of irreligion made by the _quarterly_ against him. william blackwood, john wilson or "christopher north," lockhart, and perhaps maginn, share the blame severally of _blackwood's_; while in the case of the _quarterly_, to gifford and southey, already mentioned, must be added sir walter scott and croker. the two last certainly countenanced the actions of the others, even if they took no more active part. there seems to be no way of determining the individual authorship of the various articles. it was a secret jealously guarded at the time and it is unlikely that any further disclosures will come to light. the victims themselves hazarded as many guesses as more recent critics with no greater degree of certainty. leigh hunt thought that the articles were written by sir walter scott;[ ] hazlitt said, "to pay those fellows _in their own coin_, the way would be to begin with walter scott _and have at his clump foot_;"[ ] charles dilke thought that the articles were written by lockhart with the encouragement of scott;[ ] haydon thought that "z" was terry the actor, an intimate of the blackwood party, who had been exasperated because hunt had failed to notice him in _the examiner_;[ ] shelley fancied that the articles in the _quarterly_ were by southey, and, on his denial, attributed them to henry hart milman.[ ] mrs. oliphant in her two ponderous volumes, _william blackwood and his sons_, practically asserts that "z" was lockhart.[ ] if the extent of her research is to be the gauge of its value, her opinion is a very valuable one. mr. colvin advances the theory that "z" was wilson or lockhart, possibly revised by william blackwood.[ ] mr. courthope thinks that croker was the author of the articles on _endymion_ in the _quarterly_.[ ] mr. herford thinks that the whole campaign against the cockney school was "largely worked out" by lockhart.[ ] * * * * * hunt, shelley, hazlitt and keats were the chief targets in the cockney school. the attacks on each of these are of such length as to require separate discussion and will be returned to later. those who attained lesser notoriety were charles lamb, haydon, barry cornwall, john hamilton reynolds, cornelius webb, charles wells, charles dilke, charles lloyd, p. g. patmore and john ketch (abraham franklin). those who moved within the same circle and who may by attraction be considered cockneys are charles cowden clarke and his wife, vincent novello, charles armitage brown, the olliers, horace and james smith, douglas jerrold, joseph severn, laman blanchard, thomas noon talfourd, thomas love peacock, and perhaps thomas hood. charles lamb was first attacked in . he had written essays somewhat in the manner of hunt and he was a contributor to the _london magazine_, which had blundered by censuring castlereagh, canning, and wilberforce. the much-despised hazlitt was another of its force. accordingly, "elia" was pronounced a "cockney scribbler," _christ's hospital_ an essay full of offensive and reprehensible personalities,[ ] and _all fool's day_ "mere inanity and very cockneyism."[ ] in april, , _blackwood's_ returned to the attack but with more than usual good nature. in _noctes ambrosianæ_ of that month tickler is made to say: "elia in his happiest moods delights me; he is a fine soul; but when he is dull, his dullness sets human stupidity at defiance. he is like a well-bred, ill-trained pointer. he has a fine nose, but he can't or won't range. he always keeps close to your foot, and then he points larks or tit-mice. you see him snuffing and snoking and brandishing his tail with the most impassioned enthusiasm, and then drawn round into a semi-circle he stands beautifully--dead set. you expect a burst of partridges, or a towering cock-pheasant, when lo, and behold, away flits a lark, or you discover a mouse's nest, or there is absolutely nothing at all. perhaps a shrew has been there the day before. yet if elia were mine, i would not part with him, for all his faults." a few years later lamb became one of _blackwood's_ contributors. two attacks on lamb proceeded from the _quarterly_. the _confessions of a drunkard_, the writer says, "affords a fearful picture of the consequences of intemperance which we have reason to know is a true tale."[ ] in his _progress of infidelity_, southey asserted that elia's volume of essays wanted "only sounder religious feeling, to be as delightful as it is original."[ ] lamb's wrath had been slowly gathering under the strain of repeated attacks on hunt, hazlitt and himself. it culminated with southey's article. in the _london magazine_ of october, , he repudiated at considerable length the compliments thrust upon him at the expense of his friends, and denied the arraignment of drunkenness and heterodoxy. matters were then smoothed over between him and southey through an explanation which his unfailing good nature could not resist. haydon was nick-named the "raphael of the cockneys."[ ] until the exhibition of _christ's entry into jerusalem_ in edinburgh in , he underwent the same kind of persecution as his friends. his "greasy hair" was about as notorious as hazlett's "pimpled face." but the picture converted _blackwood's_ crew. they apologized and confessed that their misapprehensions had been due to the absurd style of laudation in _the examiner_. henceforward they acknowledged him to be "a high tory and an aristocrat, and a sound christian."[ ] bryan waller procter, or barry cornwall, was satirized in _blackwood's_ for his so-called effeminacy. in october, , the following facetious passage occurs: "the merry thought of a chick--three tea-spoonsfulls of peas, the eighth part of a french roll, a sprig of cauliflower, and an almost imperceptible dew of parsley" would dine the author of _the deluge_. the article on shelley's _posthumous poems_ in the _edinburgh_ of july, , was attributed to procter by _blackwood's_ and assailed in a most disgusting manner. the article was by hazlitt. john hamilton reynolds was a friend of keats, one of the _young poets_ reviewed by hunt in _the examiner_, and a contributor to the _london magazine_. his two poems, _eden of the imagination_ and _fairies_, showed hunt's influence. in the former he had even dared to praise hunt in the notes. cornelius webb was the author of numerous poems which exhibit in a marked degree the huntian peculiarities of diction pointed out in the first chapter. he is moreover responsible for the unfortunate lines so often quoted in derision by blackwood's: "keats the muses' son of promise! and what feats he yet may do." his sonnets in the _literary pocket book_ were thus reviewed in _blackwood's_ of december, : "now, cornelius webbe is a jaw-breaker. let any man who desires to have his ivory dislodged, read the above sonnet to march. or shall we call cornelius, the grinder? after reading aloud these fourteen lines, we called in our odontist, and he found that every tooth in our head was loosened, and a slight fracture in the jaw. 'my dearest christopher', said the odontist, in his wonted classical spirit, 'beware the ides of march.' so saying, he bounced up in our faces and disappeared." charles wells was a friend of hazlitt and of keats. in true cockney fashion he sent the latter a sonnet and some roses and thus began the acquaintance. dilke was a friend of keats, a radical, and an independent critic in the manner of hunt. charles lloyd was lamb's friend, one of the contributors to the _literary pocket book_ of , and a poet of sentimental and descriptive propensities. p. g. patmore was "count tims, the cockney."[ ] although he was a correspondent of _blackwood's_, his son has remarked that he was not _persona grata_, but was employed to secure news from london; and permitted to write only when he did not defend his friends too much.[ ] "john ketch" (abraham franklin) is mentioned by lord byron as one of the "cockney scribblers."[ ] thomas hood, as brother-in-law of reynolds, as assistant editor of the _london magazine_, and as an imitator in a small degree in his early work of lamb and of hunt may be enumerated among the cockneys, although he is not usually included. laman blanchard was the friend of procter, lamb and hunt. he imitated procter's _dramatic sketches_ and lamb's _essays_. talfourd was a member of the circle and the friend and biographer of lamb. he defended edward moxon when he was prosecuted for publishing _queen mab_. peacock was the friend of shelley. the ollier brothers, publishers, introduced keats, shelley, hunt, lamb and procter to the public.[ ] although byron was frequently at war with _blackwood's_ and the _quarterly_, and although he was closely associated with shelley and hunt, he was never stigmatized as a member of the cockney school. yet through his alliance with them he came in for some opprobrium that he would otherwise have escaped. _blackwood's_ strove through ridicule to prevent any growth of familiarity with hunt or his fraternity. its attitude towards the dedication to byron of the _story of rimini_ has already been mentioned. hunt's statement already quoted on p. that "for the drama, whatever good passages such a writer will always put forth, we hold that he (byron) has no more qualification than we have" was a choice morsel for the scotch birds of prey, enjoyed to the fullest extent in a review of _lyndsay's dramas of the ancient world_: "prigs will be preaching--and nothing but conceit cometh out of cockaigne. what an emasculated band of dramatists have deployed upon our boards. a pale-faced, sallow set, like the misses of some cockney boarding-school, taking a constitutional walk, to get rid of their habits of eating lime out of the wall.... but it was reserved to the spirit of atheism of an age, to talk of a cockney writing a tragedy. when the mind ceases to believe in a providence, it can believe in anything else; but the pious soul feels that while to dream, even in sleep, that a cockney had written a successful tragedy, would be repugnant to reason; certainly a more successful tragedy could not be imagined, from the utter destruction of cockaigne and all its inhabitants. an earthquake or a shower of lava would be too complimentary to the cockneys; but what do you think of a shower of soot from a multitude of foul chimneys, and the smell of gas from exploded pipes. something might be made of the idea.... the truth is, that these mongrel and doggerel drivellers have an instinctive abhorrence of a true poet; and they all ran out like so many curs baying at the feet of the pegasus on which byron rode ... and the eulogists of homely, and fireside, and little back-parlour incest, what could they imagine of the unseduceable spirit of the spotless angiolina?... when elliston, ignorant of what one gentleman owes to another, or driven by stupidity to forget it, brought the doge on the stage, how crowed the bantam cocks of cockaigne to see it damned!... but manfred and the doge are not dead; while all that small fry have disappeared in the mud, and are dried up like so many tadpoles in a ditch, under the summer drowth. 'lord byron,' quoth mr. leigh hunt, 'has about as much dramatic genius as _ourselves_!' he might as well have said, 'lucretia had about as much chastity as my own heroine in rimini;' or, 'sir phillip sidney was about as much of the gentleman as myself!'"[ ] byron's attitude toward the cockney school was expressed in a letter written to john murray during the bowles controversy: "with the rest of his (hunt's) young people i have no acquaintance, except through some things of theirs (which have been sent out without my desire), and i confess that till i had read them i was not aware of the full extent of human absurdity. like garrick's 'ode to shakespeare,' _they_ '_defy criticism_.' these are of the personages who decry pope.... mr. hunt redeems himself by occasional beauties; but the rest of these poor creatures seem so far gone that i would not 'march through coventry with them, that's flat!' were i in mr. hunt's place. to be sure, he has 'led his ragamuffins where they will be well peppered'; but a system-maker must receive all sorts of proselytes. when they have really seen life--when they have felt it--when they have travelled beyond the far distant boundaries of the wilds of middlesex--when they have overpassed the alps of highgate, and traced to its sources the nile of the new river--then, and not till then, can it properly be permitted to them to despise pope.... the grand distinction of the under forms of the new school of poets is their _vulgarity_. by this i do not mean that they are coarse, but 'shabby-genteel,' as it is termed. a man may be _coarse_ and yet not _vulgar_, and the reverse.... it is in their _finery_ that the new school are _most_ vulgar, and they may be known by this at once; as what we called at harrow "a sunday blood" might be easily distinguished from a gentleman, although his clothes might be the better cut, and his boots the best blackened of the two:--probably because he made the one or cleaned the other, with his own hands.... in the present case, i speak of writing, not of persons. of the latter i know nothing; of the former i judge as it is found."[ ] byron's opinion of keats is too well known to need repetition. he thought there was hope for barry cornwall if "he don't get spoiled by green tea and the praises of pentonville and paradise row. the pity of these men is, that they never lived in _high life_ nor in _solitude_: there is no medium for the knowledge of the _busy_ or the _still_ world. if admitted into high life for a season, it is merely as _spectators_--they form no part of the mechanism thereof."[ ] _blackwood's_ of december, , in a review of _the liberal_, advised byron to "cut the cockney"--"by far the most unaccountable of god's works." hunt is denominated "the menial of a lord." when byron notwithstanding its advice continued his "conjunction with these deluded drivellers of cockaigne" _blackwood's_ grew savage towards the peer himself: it is said that he suffered himself "to be so enervated by the unworthy delilahs which have enslaved his imagination, as to be reduced to the foul office of displaying blind buffooneries before the philistines of cockaigne ... i feel a moral conviction that his lordship must have taken the examiner, the liberal, the rimini, the round table, as his model, and endeavored to write himself down to the level of the capacities and the swinish tastes of those with whom he has the misfortune, originally, i believe, from charitable motives, to associate. this is the most charitable hypothesis which i can frame. indeed there are some verses which have all the appearance of having been interpolated by the king of the cockneys."[ ] when byron and hunt had separated, _blackwood's_ attempted to reinstate byron in his former position by declaring that he had been disgusted beyond endurance on hunt's arrival in italy and that he had cut him very soon in a "paroxysm of loathing."[ ] * * * * * the declaration of war between the cockneys and the tory press was made with a review of the _story of rimini_ in the _quarterly_ of january, . from this time on hunt was the choice prey of the two magazines, and others were attacked principally on account of him, or reached through him. hunt's writings were termed "eruptions of a disease" with which he insists upon "inoculating mankind;" his language "an ungrammatical, unauthorized, chaotic jargon." _blackwood's_ of october, , contained the first of the long series of abusive articles which appeared in its columns. hazlitt in the _edinburgh review_ in june of the preceding year had acclaimed the _story of rimini_ to be "a reminder of the pure and glorious style that prevailed among us before french modes and french methods of criticism." in it he had discovered a resemblance to chaucer, to the voluptuous pathos of boccaccio and to the laughing graces of ariosto. to offset such statements _blackwood's_ dubbed the new school the "cockney school" and made hunt its chief doctor and professor. (later, in , _blackwood's_ proudly claimed the honor of christening and said that the _quarterly_ used the epithet only when it had become a part of english criticism.) it declared the dedication to byron an insult and the poem the product of affectation and gaudiness and continued: "the beaux are attorney's apprentices, with chapeau bras and limerick gloves--fiddlers, harp teachers, and clerks of genius: the belles are faded, fan-twinkling spinsters, prurient vulgar misses from school, and enormous citizen's wives. the company are entertained with luke-warm negus, and the sounds of a paltry piano forte.... his poetry resembles that of a man who has kept company with kept-mistresses. his muse talks indelicately like the tea-sipping milliner's girl. some excuse for her there might have been, had she been hurried away by imagination or passion; but with her, indecency seems a disease, she appears to speak unclean things from perfect inanition." hunt "would fain be always tripping and waltzing, and he is very sorry that he cannot be allowed to walk about in the morning with yellow breeches and flesh-colored silk stockings. he sticks an artificial rosebud in his button hole in the midst of winter. he wears no neckcloth, and cuts his hair in imitation of the prints of petrarch." nature in the eyes of a cockney was said to consist only of "green fields, jaunty streams, and o'er-arching leafiness;" no mountains were higher than highgate-hill nor streams more pastoral than the serpentine river.[ ] _blackwood's_ was near the truth in its criticism of hunt's conception of nature. while his appreciation was very genuine, it was restricted to rural or suburban scenes, "of the town, towny."[ ] the scale was that of the window garden or a flower pot. who but he could rhapsodize over a cut flower or a bit of green; or could speak in spring "of being gay and vernal and daffodilean?"[ ] yet he produced some delightful rural poetry. take this for instance: "you know the rural feeling, and the charm that stillness has for a world-fretted ear, 'tis now deep whispering all about me here, with thousand tiny bushings, like a swarm of atom bees, or fairies in alarm or noise of numerous bliss from distant spheres."[ ] the general characteristics of the school, briefly summarized, were said to be ignorance and vulgarity, an entire absence of religion, a vague and sour jacobinism for patriotism, admiration of chaucer and spenser when they resemble hunt, and extreme moral depravity and obscenity. november, , of _blackwood's_ contained the notorious accusation against the _story of rimini_ of immorality of purpose.[ ] the poem was called "the genteel comedy of incest." francesca's sin was declared voluntary and her sufferings sentimental. the changes from the historical version, an espousal by proxy instead of betrothal, the omission of deformity, the substitution of the duel for murder, and the happy opening, were pronounced wilful perversions for the furtherance of corruption. ford's treatment of the same theme much more elevated. hunt's defense was that the catastrophe was francesca's sufficient punishment.[ ] in may, , the same charge was repeated: "no woman who has not either lost her chastity, or is desirous of losing it, ever read the 'story of rimini' without the flushings of shame and of self-reproach." _the examiner_ of november and , , quoted extracts from the first of these articles and called upon the author to avow himself; otherwise to an "utter disregard of _truth_ and decency, he adds the height of meanness and cowardice."[ ] as might have been expected, this demand brought forth nothing more than a disavowal from the london publishers who handled _blackwood's_ of all responsibility in the matter. june , , _the examiner_ assailed the editor of the _quarterly_ as a government critic who disguised a political quarrel in literary garb, as a sycophant to power and wealth: "grown old in the service of corruption, he drivels on to the last with prostituted impotence, and shameless effrontery; salves a meagre reputation for wit, by venting the driblets of his spleen and impertinence on others; answers their arguments by confuting himself; mistakes habitual obtuseness of intellect for a particular acuteness, not to be imposed upon by shallow pretensions; unprincipled rancor for zealous loyalty; and the irritable, discontented, vindictive, and peevish effusions of bodily pain and mental infirmity, for proofs of refinement of taste and strength of understanding." this condescension to a use of his enemies' weapons only weakened hunt's position. yet in the light of the secrecy maintained at the time and the mystery surrounding the matter ever since, it is interesting to read _blackwood's_ contorted reply to hunt's demand for an open fight, written as late as january, : "nor let it be said that, either on this or any other occasion, the moral satyrists (sic) in this magazine ever wished to remain unknown. how, indeed, could they wish for what they well knew was impossible? all the world has all along known the names of the gentlemen who have uttered our winged words. nor did it ever, for one single moment, enter into the head of any one of them to wish--not to scorn concealment. to gentlemen, too, they at all times acted like gentlemen; but was it ever dreamt by the wildest that they were to consider as such the scum of the earth? 'if i but knew who was my slanderer,' was at one time the ludicrous skraigh of the convicted cockney. why did he not ask? and what would he have got by asking? shame and confusion of face--unanswerable argument and cruel chastisement. for before one word would have been deigned to the sinner, he must have eaten--and the bitter roll is yet ready for him--all the lies he had told for the last twenty years, and must either have choked or been kicked." in january, , _blackwood's_ issued a manifesto of their future campaign. the keatses, shelleys, and webbes, were to be taken in turn. the charges of profligacy and obscenity against hunt's poem were repeated, but it was emphatically stated that there was no implication made in reference to his private character--an ominous statement that any one with any knowledge of _blackwood's_ usual methods could only construe into a warning that such an implication would speedily follow. the article was signed "z," a shadowy personage who sorrowfully called himself the "present object" of hunt's resentment and dislike. he seems to have expected gratitude and affection in return for articles that would compare favorably with the most scurrilous billingsgate of any of the humanistic controversies. in may, , with due ceremony, hunt was proclaimed "king of the cockneys" and editor of the cockney court-gazette. his kingdom was the "land of cockaigne," a borrowing, most probably, from the thirteenth century satire by that name. keats's sonnet containing the line "he of the rose, the violet, the spring" became the official cockney poem--by an "amiable but infatuated bardling." john hunt was made prince john. with the lapse of time hunt's crimes seem to have multiplied. he is called a lunatic, a libeller, an abettor of murder and of assassination, a coward, an incendiary, a jacobin, a plebeian and a foe to virtue. he is instructed, if sickened with the sins and follies of mankind, to withdraw "to the holy contemplation of your own divine perfections, and there 'perk up with timid mouth' 'and lamping eyes' (as you have it) upon what to you is dearer and more glorious than all created things besides, till you become absorbed in your own identity--motionless, mighty, and magnificent, in the pure calm of cockneyism ... instead of rousing yourself from your lair, like some noble beast when attacked by the hunter, you roll yourself round like a sick hedgehog, that has crawled out into the 'crisp' gravel walk round your box at hampstead, and oppose only the feeble pricks of your hunch'd-up back to the kicks of any one who wishes less to hurt you, than to drive you into your den." the _quarterly_ of the same month contained the notorious review of _foliage_. southey, in a counterfeited cockney style, contorts hunt's devotion to his leafy luxuries, his flowerets, wine, music and other social joys into epicureanism[ ] and like unsound principles. he even goes so far as to accuse him of incest and adultery in his private life. there are disguised but unmistakable references to keats and to shelley; the latter is credited with evil doings that fall little short of machinations with the devil. the volume of poems, which was the ostensible pretext for this parade of foul slander, not a word of which was true, has, southey says, richness of language and picturesqueness of imagery.[ ] the july number of _blackwood's_ went a step beyond southey and identified the characters of the _story of rimini_ with hunt and his sister-in-law, elizabeth kent. after ostentatiously giving currency to the scandal, "z" then proceeds to deny the rumor--which had no existence save in the minds of hunt's vilifiers--in order to preserve immunity from libel. at the time that lamb replied to southey in he took up these charges made against hunt in . he said: "i was admitted to his household for several years, and do most solemnly aver that i believe him to be in his domestic relations as correct as any man. he chose an ill-judged subject for a poem.... in spite of 'rimini,' i must look upon its author as a man of taste and a poet. he is better than so; he is one of the most cordial-minded men that i ever knew, and matchless as a fireside companion. i do not mean to affront or wound your feelings when i say that in his more genial moods, he has often reminded me of you."[ ] a facetious bit of prose _on sonnet writing_ and a _sonnet on myself_ in _blackwood's_ of april, , parodied excellently the cockney conceit and mannerisms. the september number contrasted henry hunt, the representative of the cockney school of politics, with leigh hunt, of the cockney school of poetry; resenting loudly the claim of the two to prominence for "even douglasses never had more than one bell-the-cat at a time." while henry hunt "the brawny white feather of cockspur-street" addresses street mobs, the other hunt, "the lank and sallow hypochondriac of the 'leafy rise' and 'farmy fields' of hampstead," "the whining milk-sop sonneteer of the examiner" is said to speak to a "sorely depressed remnant of 'single gentlemen' in lodgings, and single ladies we know not where--a generation affected with headaches, tea-drinking and all the nostalgia of the nerves." it is hardly necessary to add that there was no connection whatsoever between the two men. _blackwood's_ of october, , announced _foliage_ to be a posthumous publication of hunt's, presented to the public by his three friends, keats, haydon and novello. an affecting picture is drawn of the now-departed hunt in his once familiar costume of dressing-gown, yellow breeches and red slippers, sipping tea, playing whist and writing sonnets. his statement in the preface that a "love of sociability, of the country, and the fine imagination of the greeks" had prompted the poems is greatly ridiculed. the first is said to have caused his death by an over-indulgence in tea-drinking; his feeling for nature is said to be limited to the lawns, stiles and hedges of hampstead and his knowledge of the imagination of the greeks to quotations. the _sonnet on receiving a crown of ivy from keats_ came in for especial derision--"a blister clapped on his head" would have been considered more appropriate. hunt's _literary pocket books_ for and were reviewed in _blackwood's_ in december, , in a remarkably kind article. they are recommended as worth three times the price. the reviewer, who was no other than "christopher north," stated that he had purchased six copies. _blackwood's_ of september, , reviewed _the indicator_; of december, , the _literary pocket book_; the last contained coarse and unkind allusions to hunt's health. it declared the production of sonnets in london and its suburbs about equal to the number of births and deaths. in reply, _the examiner_ of december , , in an article entitled _modern criticism_, italicised extracts from _blackwood's_ to bring out peculiarities of grammar and diction. _blackwood's_ of january, , contained a sonnet which it was pretended was hunt's new year's greeting, but which was instead a clever parody on his sonnet-style. the issue of the next month announced the triumvirate of _the liberal_ and, through byron's "noble generosity," hunt's departure with his wife and "little johnnys" upon a "perilous voyage on the un-cockney ocean.... he and his companions will now, like his own nereids, turn and toss upon the ocean's lifting billows, making them _banks and_ pillows, upon whose _springiness_ they lean and ride; some with an _inward back_; some _upward-eyed_, feeling the sky; and some with _sidelong hips_, o'er which the surface of the water slips." the first number of the _noctes ambrosianæ_ appeared in march. the following passage refers to the launching of _the liberal_ in a dialogue between the editor and o'doherty: o. hand me the lemons. this holy alliance of pisa will be a queer affair. _the examiner_ has let down its price from a tenpenny to a sevenpenny. they say the editor here is to be one of that faction, for they must publish in london, of course. ed. of course, but i doubt if they will be able to sell many. byron is a prince, but these dabbling dogglerers destroy every dish they dip in. o. apt alliteration's artful aid. ed. imagine shelly [sic], with his spavin, and hunt, with his staingalt, going in harness with such a caperer as byron, three-a-breast. he'll knock the wind out of them both the first canter. o. 'tis pity keats is dead.--i suppose you could not venture to publish a sonnet in which he is mentioned now? the _quarterly_ (who killed him, as shelly says) would blame you. ed. let's hear it. is it your own? o. no; 'twas written many months ago by a certain great italian genius, who cuts a figure about the london routs--one fudgiolo. ed. try to recollect it. (here follows the sonnet.) _blackwood's_ of december, , had passages on the cockney school in _noctes ambrosianæ_. number vii. of the series of articles on its members reviewed hunt's _florentine lovers_, or, in their phrasing, his _art of love_, the story of which is wilfully misrepresented. hunt is declared "the most irresistible knight-errant errotic extant ... the most contemptible little capon of the bantam breed that ever vainly dropped a wing, or sidled up to a partlet. he can no more crow than a hen. byron makes love like sir peter, moore like a tom-tit and hunt like a bantam." the writer then charges hunt with irreligion, indecency, sensuality and licentiousness. he is called "a fool" and an "exquisite idiot." such a burst of rage on the part of the anti-cockneys, after their wrath had begun to cool as seen in the review of the _literary pocket book_, was doubtless due to hunt's association in _the liberal_ with byron: "what can byron mean by patronizing a cockney?... by far the most unaccountable of god's works ... a scavenger raking in the filth of the common sewers and stews, for a few gold pieces thrown down by a nobleman.... but that satan should stoop to associate with an incubus, shows that there is degeneracy in hell." the tirade closes with a poem of six stanzas of which this is a fair sample: "the kind cockney monarch, he bids us farewell taking his place in the leghorn-bound smack-- in the smack, in the smack--ah! will he ne'er come back?" at the appearance of the last number of _the liberal_, _blackwood's_ rejoiced thus: "their hum, to be sure, is awfully subdued. they remind me of a mutchkin of wasps in a bottle, all sticking to each other--heads and tails--rumps glued with treacle and vinegar, wax and pus--helpless, hopeless, stingless, wingless, springless--utterly abandoned of air--choked and choking--mutually entangling and entangled--and mutually disgusting and disgusted--the last blistering ferment of incarnate filth working itself into one mass of oblivion in one bruised and battered sprawl of swipes and venom."[ ] _blackwood's_ of october, , declared hazlitt to be the most loathsome and hunt the most ludicrous of the group. before the close of the year hunt threatened the magazine with a suit for libel. this threat did not prevent in january a notice of hunt's _ultra-crepidarius_, a satire on gifford much in the vein and style of the _feast of the poets_. mercury and venus come to earth in search of the former's lost shoe. on their arrival they discover that it has been converted by command of the gods into a man named gifford. the satire is facetiously attributed by _blackwood's_ to master hunt, aged ten; a "small, smart, smattering satirist of an air-haparent ... cockney chick." the parent is reproached for putting a child in such a position. "had leigh hunt, the papa, boldly advanced on any great emergency, at the peril of his life and crown, to snatch the legitimate issue of his own loins from the shrivelled hands of some blear-eyed old beldam, into whose small cabbage-garden maximilian had headed a forlorn hope, good and well, and beautiful; but not so, when a stalwart and cankered carl like mr. gifford, with his quarter-staff, belabours the shoulders of his majesty, and sire shoves son between himself and the pounder ... such pusillanimity involves forfeiture of the crown, and from this hour we declare leigh dethroned, and the boy-bard of _ultra-crepidarius_ king of cockaigne." wearying of this make-believe, the reviewer discards such a possibility of authorship and considers hunt's grandfather, a legendary personage whose age is put at ninety-six and who is given the name of zachariah hunt: "what a gross, vulgar, leering old dog it is! was ever the couch of the celestials so profaned before! one thinks of some aged cur, with mangy back, glazed eye-balls dropping rheum, and with most disconsolate muzzard muzzling among the fleas of his abominable loins, by some accident lying upon the bed where love and beauty are embracing and embraced." as a final potentiality the reviewer deliberates whether hunt by any possibility could have been the author and closes with this peroration: "there he goes soaking, and swaling, and straddling up the sky, like daniel o'rouke on goose back!... toes in if you please. the goose is galloping--why don't you stand in the stirrups?... alas pegasus smells his native marshes; instead of making for olympus, he is off in a wallop to the fens of lincolnshire! bellerophon has lost his seat--now he clings desperately by the tail--a single feather holds him from eternity." article viii of the regular series, reviewing hunt's _bacchus in tuscany_, appeared in _blackwood's_ of august, . his allegiance to apollo in cockaigne is declared to have been changed to bacchus in tuscany, and his usual beverage of weak tea to a diet of wine on which he swills like a hippopotamus. he is depicted as jupiter tonans and his manner to hebe is compared with a "natty bagman to the barmaid of the hen and chickens." the same number noticed sotheby's translation of homer. the opportunity was not lost to refer unfavorably to hunt's translations of the same in _foliage_. _the rebellion of the beasts_; or _the ass is dead! long live the ass!!! by a late fellow of st. john's college, cambridge_, with the motto "a man hath pre-eminence above a beast," was published anonymously by j. & h. l. hunt in london in . there is every reason to believe that it was by hunt, although he does not mention it elsewhere. it is an exceedingly clever satire on monarchy and far surpasses anything else of the kind that he ever did. had the tories of edinburgh suspected the author it would probably have made them apoplectic with rage. with _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_ the rage of the two periodicals reached a grand climax and seemingly exhausted itself. the _quarterly_ in march of the same year in which it appeared said: "the last wiggle of expiring imbecility appears in these days to be a volume of personal reminiscences." it characterized the book as a melancholy product of coxcombry and cockneyism: as "dirty gabble about men's wives and men's mistresses--and men's lackeys, and even the mistresses of the lackeys:" as "the miserable book of a miserable man; the little airy fopperies of its manner are like the fantastic trip and convulsive simpers of some poor worn-out wanton, struggling between famine and remorse, leering through her tears." _blackwood's_ of the same month pictured hunt riding in the tourney lists of cockaigne to the tune of cock-a-doodle-doo. it accused him, besides those misdemeanors many times previously exploited, of clumsy casuistry, of falsehood regarding his transaction with colburn, of ill-breeding in dragging his wife into such a book. the following is the culmination of the author's anger: "mr. hunt, who to the prating pertness of the parrot, the chattering impudence of the magpie--to say nothing of the mowling malice of the monkey--adds the hissiness of the bill-pouting gander, and the gobble-bluster of the bubbly-jock--to say nothing of the forward valour of the brock or badger--threatens death and destruction to all writers of prose or verse, who shall dare to say white is the black of his eye, or that his book is not like a vase lighted up from within with the torch of truth ... frezeland bantam is the vainest bird that attempts to crow; and by and by our feverish friend comes out into the light, and begins to trim his plumage! his toilet over he basks on the ditch side, and has not the smallest doubt in the world that he is a bird of paradise." the _literary gazette_ joined in the hue-and-cry against "the pert vulgarity and miserable low-mindedness of cockney-land," against "the disagreeable, envious, bickering, hating, slandering, contemptible, drivelling and be-devilling wretches."[ ] _blackwood's_ of february, , in a review of moore's _life, letters and journals of lord byron_, satirizes the conversational habits of the cockneys "who all keep chattering during meals and after them, like so many monkeys, emulous and envious of each other's eloquence, and pulling out with their paws fetid observations from their cheek-pouches, which are nuts to them, though instead of kernel, nothing but snuff." not only did the articles in _blackwood's_ cease after this last, but in a full and complete apology was tendered hunt by christopher north: "and shelley truly loved leigh hunt. their friendship was honorable to both, for it was as disinterested as sincere; and i hope gurney will let a certain person in the city understand that i treat his offer of a reviewal of mr. hunt's _london journal_ with disdain. if he has anything to say against us or that gentleman, either conjunctly or severally, let him out with it in some other channel; and i promise him a touch and taste of the crutch. he talks to me of _maga's_ desertion of principle; but if he were a christian--nay, a man--his heart and his head would tell him that the animosities are mortal, but the humanities live for ever--and that leigh hunt has more talent in his little finger than the puling prig, who has taken upon himself to lecture christopher north in a scrawl crawling with forgotten falsehoods."[ ] professor wilson's invitation to hunt to contribute to his magazine was declined politely but firmly. leigh hunt wrote to charles cowden clarke: "_blackwood's_ and i, poetically, are becoming the best friends in the world. the other day there was an ode in _blackwood_ in honour of the memory of shelley; and i look for one of keats. i hope this will give you faith in glimpses of the golden age."[ ] nowhere does hunt show resentment or malice for the sufferings of years. yet mrs. oliphant, in her advocacy of the blackwood group, goes the length of saying that he displayed "feebleness of mind and body," "petty meannesses," "unwillingness or incapacity to take a high view even of friends or benefactors," a lightheartedness and frivolity, and "enduring spite." she grudgingly admits his "almost feminine grace and charm." she says that he thought his friends deserved only "casual thanks when they did what was but their manifest duty ... bitter and spiteful satire when they attended to their own affairs instead." she makes a radically false statement when she says that he defended byron, shelley, keats, moore, and many others in _the examiner_, but found an opportunity to say an evil word of most of them afterwards; and that when _blackwood's_ or the _quarterly_ attacked him, he was convinced that "it must be really one of his friends who was being struck at through him."[ ] the _quarterly_ delayed longer in assuming a friendly attitude. it remained silent until , when bulwer, in a comparison of hunt and hazlitt, conceded to the former a gracefulness and kindliness of disposition, a smoothness of tone and delicacy of finish in his writing. there was no formal apology as in the case of _blackwood's_. carlyle says that hunt suffered an "obloquy and calumny through the tory press--perhaps a greater quantity of baseness, persevering, implacable calumny, than any other living writer has undergone; which long course of hostility ... may be regarded as the beginning of his worst distresses, and a main cause of them down to this day."[ ] macaulay said: "there is hardly a man living whose merits have been so grudgingly allowed, and whose faults have been so cruelly expiated."[ ] for a period of more than a quarter of a century, from the beginning of the crusade against him until about , partly as the result of the misrepresentation of the press, and partly as a natural consequence of his own foibles and early blunders, a pretty general antagonism existed against him. at the end of that time his honesty and talents were recognized and rewarded publicly by the government. and the public has come more and more to esteem his personal character. * * * * * the _quarterly_ of april, , contained the stupid and savage review of _endymion_, provoked almost solely by the keats's offence in being the friend and public protégé of leigh hunt. the simple and manly preface[ ] was misconstrued into a formula for huntian poetry, and its allusion to a "london drizzle or a scotch mist" into a "deprecation of criticism in a feverish manner." leigh hunt asked years afterwards how "anybody could answer such an appeal to the mercy of strength with the cruelty of weakness. all the good for which mr. gifford pretended to be zealous, he might have effected with pain to no one, and glory to himself; and therefore all the evil he mixed with it was of his own making."[ ] the general trend of the article and the reviewer's acknowledgment that he had read only the first book of the poem are well known. the following passage refers directly to keats's connection with hunt: "the author is a copyist of mr. hunt, but he is more unintelligible, almost as rugged, twice as diffuse, and ten times more tiresome and absurd than his prototype; who, though he impudently presumed to seat himself in the chair of criticism, and to measure his own poetry by his own standard, yet generally had a meaning. but mr. keats advanced no dogmas which he was bound to support by examples; his nonsense is therefore quite gratuitous; he writes it for his own sake, and, being bitten by mr. leigh hunt's insane criticism, more than rivals the insanity of his poetry."[ ] _blackwood's_ followed the _quarterly's_ lead in august, reviewing keats's first volume at the same time with _endymion_. he is reproached with madness, with metromania, with low origin, with perversion of talents suited only to an apprenticeship, all because he admired hunt sufficiently to adopt some of his theories and because he had been called in _the examiner_ one of "two stars of glorious magnitude." the sonnet _written on the day that mr. leigh hunt left prison_, the _sonnet to haydon_, and _sleep and poetry_, are anathematized. in the last keats is said to speak with "contempt of some of the most exquisite spirits that the world ever produced, merely because they did not happen to exert their faculties in laborious affected descriptions of flowers seen in window-pots, or cascades heard at vauxhall; in short, because they chose to be wits, philosophers, patriots, and poets, rather than to found the cockney school of versification, morality and politics, a century before its time. after blaspheming himself into a fury against boileau, etc., mr. keats comforts himself and his readers with a view of the present more promising state of affairs; above all, with the ripened glories of the poet of _rimini_." the denunciation of the "calm, settled, drivelling idiocy" of _endymion_ in the same article is famous, but in a discussion of the cockney school it is well to recall the following: "from his prototype hunt, john keats has acquired a sort of vague idea, that the greeks were a most tasteful people, and that no mythology can be so finely adopted for the purpose of poetry as theirs. it is amusing to see what a hand the cockneys make of this mythology; the one confesses that he never read the greek tragedians and the other knows homer only from chapman; and both of them write about apollo, pan, nymphs, muses, and mysteries, as might be expected from persons of their education. we shall not, however, enlarge at present upon this subject, as we mean to dedicate an entire paper to the classical attainments and attempts of the cockney poets." the versification is said to expose the defects of hunt's system ten times more than hunt's own poetry. the mocking close is as follows: "it is a better and a wiser thing to be a starved apothecary than a starved poet; so back to the shop, mr. john, back to 'plasters, pills, and ointment boxes,' etc. but, for heaven's sake, young sangrado, be a little more sparing of extenuatives and soporifics in your practice than you have been in your poetry." the delusion that these articles were the direct cause of keats's death, an impression given wide currency by the passages in _adonais_[ ] and _don juan_,[ ] has long since been dispelled by the evidence of hunt,[ ] fanny brawne, c. c. clarke and, most important of all, keats's own letters.[ ] it is not likely that he was affected by them as much as either hunt or hazlitt, for he showed more indifference and greater dignity under fire than either. his courage and his craving for future fame do not seem to have wavered during the year in which they appeared. joseph severn has testified that he never heard keats mention _blackwood's_ and that he considered what his friend endured from the press as "one of the least of his miseries"; that he knew so little about the whole matter that when he met sir walter scott in rome many years after he was at a loss to understand scott's embarrassment when keats's name was mentioned; and it was not until a friend afterwards explained that scott was connected with one of the magazines which was popularly supposed to have caused keats's death that he could fathom it.[ ] it would have been impossible for a more obtuse man than leigh hunt not to have realized from the import of these two articles that keats was abused largely because of the association with himself and, but for that, might have remained in peaceful obscurity. hunt therefore wisely refrained from further defense as it would only have made matters worse. during the year only one notice of keats appeared in _the examiner_.[ ] during the same year three sonnets to keats appeared in _foliage_. yet it has been several times stated that hunt forsook keats at this time. keats, under the hallucination of disease himself, accused hunt of neglect, yet there were three reasons which made a persistent defense on the part of hunt not to be expected. first, he was unaware, according to his own statement, of the extent of the defamation; second, he realized that his championship and friendship had been the original cause of wrath in the enemies' camp against keats and that any activity on his part would only incense them further,[ ] and third, he did not approve of keats's only publication of that year and could not give it his support, as he frankly told keats himself. mr. forman and mr. rossetti both scout the idea of disertion and disloyalty. yet mr. hall caine has made much[ ] of a charge which has been denied by hunt and ultimately repudiated by keats. he has, moreover, overlooked the fact that hunt's bitter satire, _ultra-crepidarius_, was written in _ _ as a reply to keats's critics but was withheld from publication, presumably only for reasons of prudence, until . when keats's feeling on the subject was brought to his knowledge years later, hunt wrote: "keats appears to have been of opinion that i ought to have taken more notice of what the critics said against him. and perhaps i ought. my notices of them may not have been sufficient. i may have too much contented myself with panegyrizing his genius, and thinking the objections to it of no ultimate importance. had he given me a hint to another effect, i should have acted upon it. but in truth, as i have before intimated, i did not see a twentieth part of what was said against us; nor had i the slightest notion, at that period, that he took criticism so much to heart. i was in the habit, though a public man, of living in a world of abstractions of my own; and i regarded him as of a nature still more abstracted, and sure of renown. though i was a politician (so to speak), i had scarcely a political work in my library. spensers and arabian tales filled up the shelves; and spenser himself was not remoter, in my eyes, from all the common-places of life, than my new friend. our whole talk was made up of idealisms. in the streets we were in the thick of the old woods. i little suspected, as i did afterwards, that the hunters had struck him; and never at any time did i suspect that he could have imagined it desired by his friends. let me quit the subject of so afflicting a delusion."[ ] the _edinburgh review_ of august, , discussed _endymion_ and the volume. while it lamented the extravagances and obscurities, the "intoxication of sweetness" and the perversion of rhyme, it gave keats due credit for his genius and his appreciation of the spirit of poetry. hunt's review of _lamia_[ ] and the other poems of the volume appeared in _the indicator_ of the same month. _blackwood's_ answered the next month, abusing hunt roundly and faintly praising the poems. the following proves that their chief object was to strike hunt through keats: "it is a pity that this young man, john keats, author of _endymion_, and some other poems, should have belonged to the cockney school--for he is evidently possessed of talents that, under better direction, might have done very considerable things. as it is, he bids fair to sink himself beneath such a mass of affectation, conceit, and cockney pedantry, as i never expected to see heaped together by anybody, except the first founder of the school.... there is much merit in some of the stanzas of mr. keats's last volume, which i have just seen; no doubt he is a fine feeling lad--and i hope he will live to despise leigh hunt and be a poet." hazlitt, in may of the next year wrote of the persecution of keats in the _edinburgh review_: "nor is it only obnoxious writers on politics themselves, but all their friends and acquaintances, and those whom they casually notice, that come under their sweeping anathema. it is proper to make a clear stage. the friends of caesar must not be suspected of an amicable intercourse with patriotic and incendiary writers. a young poet comes forward; an early and favourable notice appears of some boyish verses of his in the _examiner_, independently of all political opinion. that alone decides fate; and from that moment he is set upon, pulled in pieces, and hunted into his grave by the whole venal crew in full cry after him. it was crime enough that he dared to accept praise from so disreputable a quarter." in a letter from hunt in italy to _the examiner_, july , , an inquiry is made why mr. gifford has never noticed keats's last volume: "that beautiful volume containing _lamia_, the story from boccaccio, and that magnificent fragment _hyperion_?" _blackwood's_ of august replied to these two defenses in a tirade of twenty-two pages against the _edinburgh review_, hazlitt, and hunt. the _noctes ambrosianæ_ of october continued in the same strain and, though the grave should have protected keats from such banter, revived the old allusions to the apothecary and his pills. in self defense against the charge, that its attacks and those of the _quarterly_ had broken keats's heart, _blackwood's_ in january, , said that it alone had dealt with keats, shelley and procter with "_common sense_ or _common feeling_"; that, seeing keats in the road to ruin with the cockneys, it had "tried to save him by wholesome and severe discipline--they drove him to poverty, expatriation and death." the most remarkable part of this remarkable justification is this: "keats outhunted hunt in a species of emasculated pruriency, that, although invented in little britain, looks as if it were the prospect of some imaginative eunuch's muse within the melancholy inspiration of the haram" (_sic_). in march, , in a review of _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, the _quarterly_ seized the opportunity to revert to the author's friendship for keats in its old hostile manner; and, in a criticism of coleridge's poems in august, , to speak of his "dreamy, half-swooning style of verse criticised by lord byron (in language too strong for print) as the fatal sin of mr. john keats." finally in march, , in _journalism in france_, there is another feeble effort at defense; a resentment of the "twaddle" against the _quarterly_ "when they had the misfortune to criticise a sickly poet, who died soon afterwards, apparently for the express purpose of dishonoring us." one of hunt's utterances in regard to keats and his critics disposes finally of the matter: "his fame may now forgive the critics who disliked his politics, and did not understand his poetry."[ ] * * * * * from italy shelley wrote to peacock: "i most devoutly wish i were living near london.... my inclination points to hampstead; but i do not know whether i should not make up my mind to something more completely suburban. what are mountains, trees, heaths, or even glorious and ever beautiful sky, with such sunsets as i have seen at hampstead, to friends? social enjoyment, in some form or other, is the alpha and the omega of existence. all that i see in italy--and from my tower window i now see the magnificent peaks of the apennine half enclosing the plain--is nothing. it dwindles into smoke in the mind, when i think of some familiar forms of scenery, little perhaps in themselves, over which old remembrances have thrown a delightful colour."[ ] the attacks of the _quarterly_ of may, , on shelley's private life and of april, , on the _revolt of islam_, and the reply of _the examiner_, have already been discussed on p. of the third chapter. the assault was renewed in october, . the dominating characteristic of shelley's poetry is said to be "its frequent and total want of meaning." in _prometheus unbound_ there were said to be many absurdities "in defiance of common sense and even of grammar ... a mere jumble of words and heterogeneous ideas, connected by slight and accidental associations, among which it is impossible to distinguish the principal object from the accessory." the poem is declared to be full of "flagrant offences against morality and religion" and the poet to have gone out of his way to "revile christianity and its author." as a final verdict the reviewer says: "mr. shelley's poetry is, in sober sadness, _drivelling prose run mad_.... be his private qualities what they may, his poems ... are at war with reason, with taste, with virtue, in short, with all that dignifies man, or that man reveres." the _london literary gazette_ joined its forces to the _quarterly_ and scored _prometheus unbound_ in , _queen mab_ in . _the examiner_ of june , and july , , contained hunt's answer to the two onslaughts. he accused the writer in the _quarterly_ of having used six stars to indicate an omission, in order to imply that the name of christ had been blasphemously used; of having put quotation marks to sentences not in the author criticised and of having intentionally left out so much at times as to make the context seem absurd. at the same time hunt stated that he agreed that shelley's poetry was of "too abstract and metaphysical a cast ... too wilful and gratuitous in its metaphors"; and that it would have been better if he had kept metaphysics and polemics out of poetry. but at the same time he asserted that shelley had written much that was unmetaphysical and poetically beautiful, as _the cenci_, the _ode to a skylark_ and _adonais_. of the second he wrote: "i know of nothing more beautiful than this,--more choice of tones, more natural in words, more abundant in exquisite, cordial, and most poetic associations." he characterized southey's reviews as cant, gifford's as bitter commonplace and croker's as pettifogging. _blackwood's_ reviewed _adonais_ and _the cenci_ in december, . the della cruscans were reported to have come again from "retreats of cockney dalliance in the london suburbs" and "by wainloads from pisa." the cockneys were said to hate everything that was good and true and honorable, all moral ties and christian principles, and to be steeped in desperate licentiousness. _adonais_ is fifty-five stanzas of "unintelligible stuff" made up of every possible epithet that the poet has been able to "conglomerate in his piracy through the lexicon." the sense has been wholly subordinated to the rhymes. the author is a "glutton of names and colours" and has accomplished no more than might be done on such subjects as mother goose, waterloo or tom thumb. two cruel and loathsome parodies follow: _wouther the city marshal broke his leg_ and an _elegy on my tom cat_, which, it is claimed, are less nonsensical, verbose and inflated than _adonais_. _the cenci_ is "a vulgar vocabulary of rottenness and reptilism" in an "odiferous, colorific and daisy-enamoured style." it is regretted by the writer that it is impossible to believe that shelley's reason is unsettled, for this would be the best apology for the poem.[ ] when _the liberal_ was organized shelley was spoken of thus: "but percy bysshe shelly has now published a long series of poems, the only object of which seems to be the promotion of _atheism_ and _incest_; and we can no longer hesitate to avow our belief, that he is as worthy of co-operating with the king of cockaigne, as he is unworthy of co-operating with lord byron. shelley is a man of genius, but he has no sort of sense or judgment. he is merely 'an inspired idiot.' leigh hunt is a man of talents, but vanity and vulgarity neutralize all his efforts to pollute the public mind. lord byron we regard not only as a man of lofty genius, but of great shrewdness and knowledge of the world. what can he seriously hope from associating his name with such people as these?"[ ] as in the case of keats, _blackwood's_ did not have the decency to desist from its indecent articles after shelley's death. september, , this vulgar ridicule of the two dead poets appeared in answer to bryan waller procter's review of shelley's poems in the preceding number of the _edinburgh review_: "mr. shelley died, it seems, with a volume of mr. keats's poetry grasped with the hand in his bosom--rather an awkward posture, as you will be convinced if you try it. but what a rash man shelley was, to put to sea in a frail boat with jack's poetry on board. why, man, it would sink a trireme. in the preface to mr. shelley's poems we are told that his 'vessel bore out of sight with a favorable wind;' but what is that to the purpose? it had endymion on board, and there was an end. seventeen ton of pig iron would not be more fatal ballast. down went the boat with a 'swirl'! i lay a wager that it righted soon after evicting jack." in the face of these articles against it as evidence, _blackwood's_, as early as january, , had the audacity to claim--perhaps with the expectation that its audience was gifted with a sense of subtle humor--that shelley had been praised in its pages for his fortitude, patience, and many other noble qualities, and that this praise had irritated the other cockneys and made the whole trouble. if keats suffered at the hands of the edinburgh dictators for his association with hunt the balance weighed in the other direction in the case of shelley. all the crimes and opinions of which he was deemed guilty were passed on to hunt. but hunt gladly suffered for shelley. hazlitt, although of irish descent and a native of shropshire, and of such independence as to belong to no school whatsoever, came in for a share of abuse second only in virulence to that showered on hunt.[ ] in the _quarterly_ of april, , in a review of the _round table_, probably in retaliation for his abuse of southey in _the examiner_, hazlitt's papers are denominated "vulgar descriptions, silly paradoxes, flat truisms, misty sophistry, broken english, ill-humour and rancorous abuse." his characterizations of pitt and burke are "vulgar and foul invective," and "loathsome trash." the author might have described washerwomen forever, the reviewer asserts, "but if the creature, in his endeavours to see the light, must make his way over the tombs of illustrious men, disfiguring the records of their greatness with the slime and filth which marks his tracks, it is right to point out that he may be flung back to the situation in which nature designed that he should grovel." the _characters of shakespeare's plays_ was made an excuse for dissecting the morals and understanding of this "poor cankered creature."[ ] the _lectures on the english poets_ is characterized as a "third predatory incursion on taste and common sense ... either completely unintelligible, or exhibits only faint and dubious glimpses of meaning ... of that happy texture that leaves not a trace in the mind of either reader or hearer."[ ] the _political essays_ was said to mark the writer as a death's head hawk-moth, a creature already placed in a state of damnation, the drudge of _the examiner_, the ward of billingsgate, the slanderer of the human race, one of the plagues of england.[ ] later, in a discussion of _table talk_,[ ] he becomes a "slang-whanger" ("a gabbler who employs slang to amuse the rabble"). hazlitt's _letter to gifford_, , was a reply to all previous attacks of the _quarterly_. for a pamphlet of eighty-seven pages on such a subject it is "lively reading," for hazlitt, like burke, as mr. birrell has remarked, excelled in a quarrel.[ ] he calls gifford a cat's paw, the government critic, the paymaster of the band of gentleman pensioners, a nuisance, a "dull, envious, pragmatical, low-bred man.... grown old in the service of corruption, he drivels on to the last with prostituted impotence and shameless effrontery; salves a meagre reputation for wit, by venting the driblets and spleen of his wrath on others; answers their arguments by confuting himself; mistakes habitual obtuseness of intellect for a particular acuteness; not to be imposed upon by shallow appearances; unprincipled rancour for zealous loyalty; and the irritable, discontented, vindictive, peevish effusions of bodily pain and mental imbecility for proofs of refinement of taste and strength of understanding."[ ] _blackwood's_ had accepted abstracts of hazlitt's _lectures on the english poets_[ ] from p. g. patmore without comment and even managed a lengthy comparison of jeffrey and hazlitt with an approach to fair dealing. but by august, , he had been identified with the "cockney crew" and he became "that wild, black-bill hazlitt," a "lounge in third-rate bookshops"; and as a critic of shakspere, a gander gabbling at that "divine swan." in april of the following year he was christened the "aristotle" of the cockneys. his _table talk_ provoked ten pages of vituperation,[ ] and _liber amoris_, two reviews as coarse as the provocation.[ ] in the first of these, apropos of his contributions to the _edinburgh review_ and in particular of his article on the _periodical press of britain_, the downfall of the magazine and its editor is announced as certain. hazlitt is called a literary flunky, a sore, an ulcer, a poor devil. in the second he is hunt's orderly, the "mars of the hampstead heavy dragoons." hazlitt found relief for his feelings by threatening _blackwood's_ with a lawsuit. yet in july, , appeared an elaborate comparison of hunt and hazlitt in _blackwood's_ choicest manner and in march, , a review of the _spirit of the age_. after the defamatory articles ceased entirely. in appeared what might be construed into an attempt at reparation by bulwer-lytton. hazlitt was still spoken of as the most aggressive of the cockneys, discourteous and unscrupulous, a bitter politician who would substitute universal submission to napoleon for established monarchial institutions; but he is credited with strong powers of reason, of judicial criticism and of metaphysical speculation, and with perception of sentiment, truth and beauty. chapter vi conclusion it is curious that, in the lives of three such geniuses as shelley, byron and keats a man of lesser gifts and of weaker fibre should have played so large a part as did leigh hunt. it is more curious in view of the fact that the period of intimate association in each case extended over only a few years. the explanation must be sought in the accident of the age and in the personality of the man himself. it was an era of stirring action and of strong feeling. men were clamoring for freedom from the trammels of the past and were pressing forward to the new day. through the union of some of the qualities of the pioneer and of the prophet, leigh hunt was thrust into a position of prominence that he might not have gained at any other time, for he lacked the vital requisites of true leadership. his personal quality was as rare as his opportunity. he had a personal ascendancy, a strange fascination born of the sympathy and chivalry, the sweetness and joyousness of his nature. an exotic warmth and glow worked its spell upon those about him. barry cornwall said that he was a "compact of all the spring winds that blew." his lovableness and very "genius for friendship" bound intimately to him those who were thus attracted. there was, besides, an elusiveness and an ethereality about him--as carlyle expressed it--"a fine tricksy medium between the poet and the wit, half a sylph and half an ariel ... a fairy fluctuating bark." the "vinous quality" of his mind, hazlitt said, intoxicated those who came in contact with him. in the case of shelley it was hunt the man, rather than the writer, that held him. charm was the magnet in a friendship that, in its perfection and deep intimacy, deserves to be ranked with the fabled ones of old--a love passing the love of woman. there is no single cloud of distrust or disloyalty in the whole story of their relations. second to the personal tie may be ranked hunt's influence on shelley's politics, greater in this instance than in the case of byron or keats. hunt's attitude was an important factor in forming shelley's political creed. with godwin, he drew shelley's attention from the creation of imaginary universes to the less speculative issues of earth. indeed, shelley's main reliance for a knowledge of political happenings during many years, and practically his only one for the last four years of his life, was _the examiner_. he was guided and moderated by it in his general attitude. in the specific instances already cited, the stimulus for poems or the information for prose tracts and articles can be directly traced to hunt. in regard to literary art hunt did not affect shelley beyond pointing the way to a freer use of the heroic couplet, and in a limited degree, in four or five of his minor poems, influencing him in the use of a familiar diction. only in his letters does shelley show any inclination to emphasize "social enjoyments" or suburban delights. that the literary influence was so slight is not surprising when shelley's powers of speculation and accurate scholarship are compared with hunt's want of concentration and shallow attainments. notwithstanding this intellectual gulf, strong convictions, with a moral courage sufficient to support them, and a congeniality of tastes and temperament, made possible an ideal comradeship. byron, like shelley, was attracted by hunt's charm of personality. an imprisoned martyr and a persecuted editor appealed to byron's love of the spectacular. political sympathy furthered the friendship. in a literary way, byron influenced hunt more than hunt influenced him. their intercourse is the story of a pleasant acquaintance with a disagreeable sequel and much error on both sides. with two men of such varying caliber and tastes, the "wren and eagle" as shelley called them, thrown together under such trying circumstances, it could hardly have been otherwise. their love of liberty and courage of opposition were the only things in common. byron recognized to the last hunt's good qualities and hunt, except for the bitter years in italy and immediately after his return, proclaimed byron's genius; but, for all that, they were temperamentally opposed. byron detested hunt's small vulgarities as much as hunt loathed byron's assumed superiority. the relation with keats was the reverse of that in the other two cases. it was an intellectual affinity throughout. at no time were keats and hunt very close to each other. nor, indeed, does keats seem to have had the capacity for intimate friendship, except with his brothers and, possibly, brown and severn. the intercourse of the two men had its disadvantages for keats in an injurious influence on his early work and in the public association of his name with that of hunt's; but the latter's literary patronage and loving interpretation when keats was wholly unknown, the friendships made possible for him with others, the open home and tender care whenever needed, the unfailing sympathy, encouragement and admiration so freely given, the new fields of art, music and books opened up, and the pleasantness of the connection at the first, should more than compensate for the attacks which keats suffered as a member of the cockney school. from this view it seems very ungrateful of george keats to have said that he was sorry that his brother's name should go down to posterity associated with hunt's. keats received far more than he gave in return. briefly stated, keats's early work shows the marked influence of hunt in the selection of subjects, in a love of italian and older english literature, in the "domestic" touch, in the colloquial and feeble diction, and in the lapses of taste. it is only fair to hunt to emphasize that this was not wholly a question of influence. it was due, as keats himself confessed, to a natural affinity of gifts and tastes, though the one was so much more highly gifted than the other. keats soon saw his mistake. _endymion_ showed a great improvement and the volume an almost complete absence of his own _bourgeois_ tendencies and of the effect of hunt's specious theories. yet it was undoubtedly through hunt that keats in his later poems began to imitate dryden. in connection with the work of all three poets, hunt's criticism is a more important fact of literary history than his services of friendship. he had, as bulwer-lytton has remarked, the first requisite of a good critic, a good heart. he had also wonderful sympathy with aspiring authorship. his insight was most remarkable of all in the appreciation of his contemporaries. with powers of critical perception that might be called an instinct for genius, he discovered shelley and keats and heralded them to the public. the same ability helped him to appreciate byron, hazlitt and lamb. browning, tennyson and rossetti were other young poets whom he encouraged and supported. he defended the lake school in when it still had many deriders. he anticipated arnold's judgment when he wrote that "wordsworth was a fine lettuce, with too many outside leaves." as early as he wrote of the "wonderful works of sir walter scott, the remarkable criticism of hazlitt, the magnetism of keats, the tragedy and winged philosophy of shelley, the passion of byron, the art and festivity of moore." to value correctly such criticism it is necessary to remember that the romantic movement was still in its first youth at the time. his criticism of the three men in question, like his criticisms in general, is distinguished by great fairness and absence of all personal jealousy, by a delicacy of feeling that will not be fully felt until scattered notes and buried prefaces are gathered together. he was animated chiefly by an inborn love of poetry and enjoyment of all beautiful things. if he sometimes fell short in understanding homer, dante and shakespeare, he was perfectly sincere and independent, and pretended nothing that he did not feel. his range of information was truly remarkable, though not deep and accurate. his style was slipshod. with the exception of the essay _what is poetry_, he fails in concentration and generalization. he never clinched his results, but was forever flitting from one sweet to another. his method was impressionistic in its appreciation of physical beauty. there is no comprehension whatsoever of mystical beauty. it is the curious instance of a man of almost ascetic habits who revelled and luxuriated in the sensuous beauties of literature. the reader of such books as _imagination and fancy_ and the half dozen others of the same kind will see his wonderful power of selection. his attempt to interpret and "popularize literature"--a cause in which he laboured long and steadfastly--was one of the greatest services he rendered his age, even if his habit of italicization and running comment for the purpose of calling attention to perfectly patent beauties irritated some of his readers. his critical taste, when exercised on the work of others, was almost faultless. the occasional vulgarities of which he was guilty in his original work do not intrude here; they were superficial and were not a part of the man. through his criticism he discovered and championed illustrious contemporaries; he instituted the italian revival in creative literature in the early part of the century; he assisted in resuscitating the interest in sixteenth and seventeenth century literature. hunt's services of friendship to byron, shelley and keats, his able criticism and just defense of them, have found their reward in the inseparable association of his name with their immortal ones. they easily surpassed him in every department of writing in which they contested, yet the _man_ was strong and alluring enough in his relations with them to prove a determining and, on the whole, beneficent influence in their lives. bibliography the following list includes only the most important contributions to the present study. where the indebtedness consists merely of one or two references, such indebtedness is acknowledged in a footnote. alden, raymond macdonald. english verse. new york, . andrews, a. the history of british journalism. london, . arnold, matthew. essays in criticism. london and new york, . beers, h. a. history of english romanticism in the nineteenth century. new york, . blessington, countess of. conversations of lord byron with the countess of blessington. london, . blackwood's edinburgh magazine. byron, george gordon noel. the works of lord byron. a new, revised and enlarged edition, with illustrations. poetry. ed. by ernest hartley coleridge. vols. letters and journals. ed. by rowland e. prothero. vols. london and new york, . letters and journals of lord byron: with notices of his life, by thomas moore. vols. london, . brandes, george. main currents in nineteenth century literature. vols. new york, . caine, t. hall. cobwebs of criticism. "the cockney school," pp. - . london, . carlyle, thomas. early letters of thomas carlyle. ed. by charles eliot norton. vols. london and new york, . letters of thomas carlyle. ed. by charles eliot norton. vols. london and new york, . new letters of thomas carlyle. ed. by alexander carlyle. vols. london and new york, . clarke, charles and mary cowden. recollections of writers. london, . collins, j. churton. byron. in the quarterly review, cii, p. ff. colvin, sidney. keats. (english men of letters.) london and new york, . dowden, edward. life of percy bysshe shelley. vols. london, . the french revolution and english literature. new york, . transcripts and studies. london, . the edinburgh review. elze, karl. lord byron. a biography with a critical essay on his place in literature. london, . fields, j. t. old acquaintance. barry cornwall and some of his friends. boston, . yesterdays with authors. boston, . fields, mrs. j. t. a shelf of old books. in scribner's magazine, vol. iii, pp. - . fox bourne, h. r. english newspapers. vols. london, . galt, john. the life of lord byron. london, . gosse, edmund. from shakespeare to pope. cambridge, . hancock, albert elmer. the french revolution and english poets. new york, . john keats. boston and new york, . haydon, benjamin robert. correspondence and table talk. edited with a memoir, by his son, frederic wordsworth haydon. vols. london, . life, letters and table talk. (sans souci series.) ed. by richard henry stoddard. new york, . life of benjamin robert haydon. ed. by tom taylor. vols. london, . hazlitt, william. the spirit of the age, or contemporary portraits. ed. by his son. london, . the plain speaker. vols. london, . herford, c. h. the age of wordsworth. london, . hogg, thomas jefferson. life of percy bysshe shelley. vols. london, . horne, r. h. a new spirit of the age. new york, . hunt, james henry leigh. autobiography. ed. by roger ingpen. vols. new york, . correspondence. ed. by his eldest son. vols. london, . the descent of liberty, a mask. london, . essays and poems. (temple library.) ed. by reginald brimley johnson. london, . the examiner, a sunday paper, on politics, domestic economy, and theatricals. london. editor - . contributor - . the feast of the poets; with notes and other pieces in verse, by the editor of the examiner. london, . foliage; or poems original and translated. london, . imagination and fancy; or selections from the english poets ... and an essay in answer to the question "what is poetry?" new york, . the indicator and the companion. vols. london, . juvenilia, or a collection of poems. fourth edition. london, . the liberal. vols. london, - . the literary examiner. london, . leigh hunt's london journal. vols. london, - . lord byron and some of his contemporaries, with recollections of the author's life, and of his visit to italy. vols. london, . men, women and books. london, . poetical works. london, . poetical works. ed. by s. adams lee. vols. boston, . leigh hunt as poet and essayist. (chandos classics.) ed. by w. c. m. kent, london, . the reflector, a quarterly magazine, on subjects of philosophy, politics, and the liberal arts. vols. london, - . the story of rimini. london, . ireland, alexander. list of the writings of leigh hunt and william hazlitt, chronologically arranged. london, . johnson, r. b. leigh hunt. london, . jeaffreson, cordy. the real lord byron. vols. london, . the real shelley. vols. london, . keats, john. poetical works. ed. by william t. arnold. london, . poems. (muses library.) ed. by g. thorn drury with an introduction by robert bridges. vols. london and new york, . the poetical works and other writings. edited by harry buxton forman. vols. london, . poetical works. (golden treasury series.) edited by francis t. palgrave. london and new york, . poems of john keats. ed. by e. de sélincourt. new york, . mac-carthy, denis florence. shelley's early life. london, n. d. martineau, harriet. autobiography. ed. by maria weston chapman. vols. boston, . masson, david. wordsworth, shelley, keats, and other essays. london, . meade, w. e. the versification of pope in its relation to the seventeenth century. leipsic, . medwin, thomas. the life of percy bysshe shelley. london, . journal of the conversations of lord byron. new york and philadelphia, . milnes, richard moncton. (lord houghton.) life, letters and literary remains of john keats. vols. london, . mitford, mary russell. recollections of a literary life. vols. london, . monkhouse, cosmo. life of leigh hunt. ("great writers.") london, . moore, thomas. memoirs, journal, and correspondence. ed. by the right honorable lord john russell, m. p. vols. london, . morley, john. critical miscellanies. london and new york, . nichol, john. byron. (english men of letters.) london and new york, . nicoll, w. robertson, and wise, thomas j. literary anecdotes of the nineteenth century. vols. london. noble, j. ashcroft. the sonnet in england and other essays. london and chicago, . oliphant, mrs. margaret. the literary history of england in the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century. vols. london, . patmore, coventry. memoirs and correspondence. ed. by basil champneys. vols. london, . patmore, p. g. my friends and acquaintance. vols. london, . procter, bryan waller. (barry cornwall.) an autobiographical fragment and biographical notes. london, . the quarterly review. rossetti, william michael. life of john keats. ("great writers.") london, . saintsbury, george. essays in english literature. ( - .) london, . a history of nineteenth century literature. ( - .) london and new york, . schipper, jakob m. englische metrik. bonn, . severn, joseph. life and letters. by william sharp. new york, . sharp, william. life of percy bysshe shelley. (great writers.) london, . shelley, percy bysshe. works. ed. by harry buxton forman. vols. london, . the complete poetical works. (centenary edition.) ed. by george edward woodberry. new york, . poetical works. ed. by mrs. shelley. vols. london, . smith, george barnett. shelley, a critical biography. edinburgh, . trelawney, e. j. recollections of the last days of shelley and byron. boston, . records of shelley, byron, and the author. london, . woodberry, george edward. makers of literature. new york, . studies in letters and life. boston and new york, . symonds, john addington. shelley. (english men of letters.) london and new york, . footnotes: [ ] _autobiography of leigh hunt_, i, p. . [ ] _correspondence of leigh hunt_, i, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, i, p. . compare the above quotation with shelley's description of his first friendship. (hogg, _life of percy bysshe shelley_, pp. - .) [ ] this early passion for friendship, which developed into a power of attracting men vastly more gifted than himself, brought about him besides byron, shelley and keats, such men as charles lamb, robert browning, carlyle, dickens, horace and james smith, charles cowden clarke, vincent novello, william godwin, macaulay, thackeray, lord brougham, bentham, haydon, hazlitt, r. h. horne, sir john swinburne, lord john russell, bulwer lytton, thomas moore, barry cornwall, theodore hook, j. egerton webbe, thomas campbell, the olliers, joseph severn, miss edgeworth, mrs. gaskell, mrs. browning and macvey napier. hawthorne, emerson, james russel lowell and william story sought him out when they were in london. [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] _ibid._, i, p. . [ ] _memoirs and correspondence of coventry patmore_, ed. basil champney, i, p. . [ ] _life, letters and table talk of benjamin robert haydon_, ed. by stoddard, p. . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] on once being accused of speculation hunt replied that he had never been "in a market of any kind but to buy an apple or a flower." (_atlantic monthly_, liv, p. .) nor did hunt admire money-getting propensities in others. he said of americans: "they know nothing so beautiful as the ledger, no picture so lively as the national coin, no music so animating as the chink of a purse." (_the examiner_, , p. .) [ ] dickens did hunt an irreparable injury in caricaturing him as harold skimpole. the character bore such an unmistakable likeness to hunt that it was recognized by every one who knew him, yet the weaknesses and vices were greatly multiplied and exaggerated. before the appearance of _bleak house_, dickens wrote hunt in a letter which accompanied the presentation copies of _oliver twist_ and the new american edition of the _pickwick papers_: "you are an old stager in works, but a young one in faith--faith in all beautiful and excellent things. if you can only find in that green heart of yours to tell me one of these days, that you have met, in wading through the accompanying trifles, with anything that felt like a vibration of the old chord you have touched so often and sounded so well, you will confer the truest gratification on your old friend, charles dickens." (_littell's living age_, cxciv, p. .) his apology after hunt's death was complete, but it could not destroy the lasting memory of an immortal portrait. he wrote: "a man who had the courage to take his stand against power on behalf of right--who in the midst of the sorest temptations, maintained his honesty unblemished by a single stain--who, in all public and private transactions, was the very soul of truth and honour--who never bartered his opinion or betrayed his friend--could not have been a weak man; for weakness is always treacherous and false, because it has not the power to resist." (_all the year round_, april , .) [ ] godwin, _enquiry concerning political justice_, book viii, chap. i. [ ] prof. saintsbury has very plausibly suggested that a similar attitude in godwin, coleridge and southey in respect to financial assistance was a legacy from patronage days. (_a history of nineteenth century literature_, p. .) the same might be said of hunt. [ ] s. c. hall, _a book of memories of great men and women of the age, from personal acquaintance_, p. . [ ] his feeling on the subject is set forth clearly in a letter where he is writing of the generosity of dr. brocklesby to johnson and burke: "the extension of obligations of this latter kind is, for many obvious reasons, not to be desired. the necessity on the one side must be of as peculiar, and, so to speak, of as noble a kind as the generosity on the other; and special care would be taken by a necessity of that kind, that the generosity should be equalled by the means. but where the circumstances have occurred, it is delightful to record them." (hunt, _men, women and books_, p. .) [ ] _correspondence_, ii, p. . [ ] _ibid._, ii, p. . [ ] hunt's work as a political journalist had begun in with _the statesman_, a joint enterprise with his brother. it was very short-lived and is now very scarce. perhaps it is due to this rarity that it is not usually mentioned in bibliographies of hunt. [ ] h. r. fox-bourne, _english newspapers_, i, p. . [ ] _harper's new monthly magazine_, xl, p. . [ ] redding, _personal reminiscences of eminent men_, p. , ff. [ ] contemporary dailies were the _morning chronicle_, _morning post_, _morning herald_, _morning advertiser_, and the _times_. in there were sixteen sunday weeklies. among the weeklies published on other days, the _observer_ and the _news_ were conspicuous. in all, there were in the year , fifty-six newspapers circulating in london. (andrews, _history of british journalism_, vol. ii, p. .) [ ] _the examiner_, january , . [ ] on the subject of military depravity _the examiner_ contained the following: "the presiding genius of army government has become a perfect falstaff, a carcass of corruption, full of sottishness and selfishness, preying upon the hard labour of honest men, and never to be moved but by its lust for money; and the time has come when either the vices of one man must be sacrificed to the military honour of the country, or the military honour of the country must be sacrificed to the vices of one man." (_the examiner_, october , .) [ ] _the examiner_, april , . [ ] maj. hogan, an irishman in the english army, unable to gain promotion by the customary method of purchase, after a personal appeal to the duke of york, commander-in-chief of the army, gave an account of his grievences in a pamphlet entitled, _appeal to the public and a farewell address to the army_. before it appeared mrs. clarke, the mistress of the duke of york, sent maj. hogan £ to suppress it. he returned the money and made public the offer. the subsequent investigation showed that mrs. clarke was in the habit of securing through her influence with the commander-in-chief promotion for those who would pay her for it. after these disclosures, the duke resigned. _the examiner_ sturdily supported maj. hogan as one who refused to owe promotion "to low intrigue or petticoat influence." it likened mrs. clarke to mme. du barry and called the duke her tool. [ ] _the examiner_, october , . [ ] _ibid._, march , . [ ] "surely it is too gross to suppose that the prince of wales, the friend of fox, can have been affecting habits of thinking, and indulging habits of intimacy, which he is to give up at a moment's notice for nobody knows what:--surely it cannot be, that the prince regent, the whig prince, the friend of ireland--the friend of fox,--the liberal, the tolerant, experienced, large-minded heir apparent, can retain in power the very men, against whose opinions he has repeatedly declared himself, and whose retention in power hitherto he has explicitly stated to be owing solely to a feeling of delicacy with respect to his father." (_the examiner_, february , .) [ ] _the examiner_, march , . the contention between canon ainger and mr. gosse in respect to charles lamb's supposed part in this libel is set forth in _the athenaeum_ of march , . mr. gosse's evidence came through robert browning from john forster, who first told browning as early as that lamb was concerned in it. [ ] mr. monkhouse says that it was then politically unjustifiable. (_life of leigh hunt_, p. .) [ ] brougham wrote of his intended defense, "it will be a thousand times more unpleasant than the libel." for a narration of his friendship for hunt, see _temple bar_, june, . [ ] _the examiner_, february , . [ ] _the examiner_, december , . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] _the reflector_, i, p. . [ ] monkhouse, _life of leigh hunt_, p. . [ ] patmore, _my friends and acquaintance_, iii, p. . [ ] the _edinburgh review_ of may, , in an article entitled _the periodical press_ ranked hunt next to cobbett in talent and _the examiner_ as the ablest and most respectable of weekly publications, when allowance had been made for the occasional twaddle and flippancy, the mawkishness about firesides and bonaparte, and the sickly sonnet-writing. [ ] mazzini wrote hunt: "your name is known to many of my countrymen; it would no doubt impart an additional value to the thoughts embodied in the league. [international league.] it is the name not only of a patriot, but of a high literary man and a poet. it would show at once that _natural_ questions are questions not of merely _political_ tendencies, but of feeling, eternal trust, and godlike poetry. it would show that poets understand their active mission down here, and that they are also prophets and apostles of things to come. i was told only to-day that you had been asked to be a member of the league's council, and feel a want to express the joy i too would feel at your assent." (_cornhill magazine_, lxv, p. ff.) [ ] _the reflector_, i, p. . [ ] hunt accepted the _monthly repository_ in as a gift from w. j. fox in order to free it from unitarian influence. carlyle, landor, browning and miss martineau were contributors. [ ] ( ) "besides, it is my firm belief--as firm as the absence of positive, tangible proof can let it be (and if we had that, we should all kill ourselves, like plato's scholars, and go and enjoy heaven at once), that whatsoever of just and affectionate the mind of man is made by nature to desire, is made by her to be realized, and that this is the special good, beauty and glory of that illimitable thing called space--in her there is room for everything." _correspondence_, ii, p. . ( ) and faith, some day, will all in love be shown. ("abraham and the fire-worshipper," _poetical works of leigh hunt_, , p. .) [ ] _a new spirit of the age_, ii, p. . [ ] hunt wrote two religious books, _christianism_ and _religion of the heart_. the second, which is an expansion of the first, contains a ritual of daily and weekly service. for the most part it contains reflections on duty and service. [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] bryan waller proctor (barry cornwall), _an autobiographical fragment and biographical notes_, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, i, p. - . [ ] _a morning walk and view_; _sonnet on the sickness of eliza_. [ ] it had appeared previously in _the reflector_, no. , article . in the separate edition it was expanded and pages of notes were added. [ ] _poetical works_, , preface, p. . [ ] byron, _letters and journals_, iii, p. , february , . [ ] the same volume contained a preface on the origin and history of masques and an _ode for the spring of _. byron said of the latter that the "expressions were _buckram_ except here and there." the masque, he thought, contained "not only poetry and thought in the body, but much research and good old reading in your prefatory matter." byron, _letters and journals_, iii, p. , june , . [ ] see chapter v, p. . [ ] nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes of the nineteenth century_, p. . [ ] who loves to peer up at the morning sun, with half-shut eyes and comfortable cheek, let him, with this sweet tale, full often seek for meadows where the little rivers run; who loves to linger with the brightest one of heaven (hesperus) let him lowly speak these numbers to the night, and starlight meek, or moon, if that her hunting be begun. he who knows these delights, and too is prone to moralize upon a smile or tear, will find at once religion of his own, a bower for his spirit, and will steer to alleys where the fir-tree drops its cone, where robins hop, and fallen leaves are seer. (_complete works of john keats_, ed by forman, ii, p. .) [ ] lowell said of hunt: "no man has ever understood the delicacies and luxuries of the language better than he." [ ] byron, _letters and journals_, iii, p. , october , . [ ] _ibid._, iii, p. . [ ] _ibid._, iii, p. , october , . [ ] _ibid._, iii, p. , february , . [ ] _ibid._, iv, p. , june , . [ ] _ibid._, iv, pp. - . [ ] medwin, _journal of the conversations of lord byron_, p. . [ ] in the preface to the _story of rimini_ (london, , p. ), hunt says that a poet should use an actual existing language, and quotes as authorities, chaucer, ariosto, pulci, even homer and shakespeare. he thought simplicity of language of greater importance even than free versification in order to avoid the cant of art: "the proper language of poetry is in fact nothing different from that of real life, and depends for its dignity upon the strength and sentiment of what it speaks, omitting mere vulgarisms and fugitive phrases which are cant of ordinary discourse." [ ] byron, _letters and journals_, iii, p. . [ ] mr. a. t. kent in the _fortnightly review_ (vol. , p. ), points out that leigh hunt in the preface to the _story of rimini_, avoided the mistake of wordsworth in "looking to an unlettered peasantry for poetical language," and quotes him as saying that one should "add a musical modulation to what a fine understanding might naturally utter in the midst of its griefs and enjoyments." kent says we have here "two vital points on which wordsworth, in his capacity of critic, had failed to insist." [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] to be found chiefly in the _feast of the poets_. [ ] in , in _stories in verse_, hunt changed his acknowledged allegiance from dryden to chaucer. [ ] canto, ii, ll. - . [ ] e. de selincourt gives these three last as examples of hunt's derivation of the abstract noun from the present participle (_poems of john keats_, p. ). [ ] de selincourt notes that these adverbs are usually formed from present participles. (_poems of john keats_, p. .) [ ] byron, _letters and journals_, iii, p. . [ ] "for ever since pope spoiled the ears of the town with his cuckoo-song verses, half up and half down, there has been such a doling and sameness,--by jove, i'd as soon have gone down to see kemble in love." (_feast of the poets._) hunt calls pope's translation of the moonlight picture from _homer_ "a gorgeous misrepresentation" (_ibid._, p. ) and the whole translation "that elegant mistake of his in two volumes octavo." (_foliage_, p. .) [ ] _feast of the poets_, p. . the same opinions are expressed in _the examiner_ of june , ; in the preface to _foliage_, . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] p. . [ ] saintsbury, _essays in english literature, - _, p. . [ ] hunt, _story of rimini_, london, , p. , lines beginning with top of page. in the lines of the poem, there are run-on couplets and run-on lines. there are alexandrines and triplets. in the edition of the number of triplets has been increased to . there are double rhymes. in a study of the cæsura based on the first lines there are medial, double cæsuras. the remaining lines have irregular or double cæsura. [ ] keats, _lamia_, bk. i, ll. - . in the lines of _lamia_, there are run-on couplets, run-on lines, alexandrines and triplets. the cæsura is handled with greater freedom than in the _story of rimini_. [ ] c. h. herford, _age of wordsworth_, p. . [ ] r. b. johnson, _leigh hunt_, p. . [ ] _leigh hunt as a poet, fortnightly review_, xxxvi: . [ ] sidney colvin, _keats_, p. . [ ] garnett, _age of dryden_, p. . [ ] from homer, theocritus, bion, moschus, anacreon, and catullus. [ ] p. . [ ] hunt, _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] byron, _letters and journals_, iv, p. . [ ] charles and mary cowden clarke, _recollections of writers_, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] hunt, _lord byron and some of his contemporaries; with recollections of the author's life and of his visit to italy_, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. - . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, pp. , . [ ] colvin, _keats_, p. . [ ] this refers to keats's first published poem, the sonnet _o solitude, if i must with thee dwell_, published (without comment) in _the examiner_ of may , . [ ] colvin, _keats_, p. . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. - . [ ] sharp, _life and letters of joseph severn_, p. . [ ] _works_, i, p. . [ ] mr. forman, after a systematic search has been able to find no proof in either direction. (_works_, iii, p. .) [ ] _works_, i, p. . [ ] _foliage_, p. . [ ] colvin, _keats_, p. . [ ] a further account of the disastrous effects of his partisanship will be found in the discussion of the cockney school, ch. v. [ ] the _century magazine_, xxiii, p. . [ ] palgrave, _poetical works of john keats_, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _works_, iv, p. . [ ] haydon and hunt had originally been very intimate, as is shown by the letters written by the former from paris during , and by his attentions to hunt in surrey gaol. a letter to wilkie, dated october , , gives an attractive portrait of hunt, and from this evidence it is inferred that the change in haydon's attitude came about in the early part of , and that a small unpleasantness was allowed by him to outweigh a friendship of long standing. after two weeks spent with hunt he had written of him as "one of the most delightful companions. full of poetry and art, and amiable humour, we argue always with full hearts on everything but religion and bonaparte.... though leigh hunt is not deep in knowledge, moral metaphysical or classical, yet he is intense in feeling and has an intellect forever on the alert. he is like one of those instruments on three legs, which, throw it how you will, always pitches on two, and has a spike sticking for ever up and ever ready for you. he "sets" at a subject with a scent like a pointer. he is a remarkable man, and created a sensation by his independence, his disinterestedness in public matters; and by the truth, acuteness and taste of his dramatic criticisms, he raised the rank of newspapers, and gave by his example a literary feeling to the weekly ones more especially. as a poet, i think him full of the genuine feeling. his third canto in _rimini_ is equal to anything in any language of that sweet sort. perhaps in his wishing to avoid the monotony of the pope school, he may have shot into the other extreme; and his invention of obscene [sic] words to express obscene feelings borders sometimes on affectation. but these are trifles compared with the beauty of the poem, the intense painting of the scenery, and the deep burning in of the passion which trembles in every line. thus far as a critic, an editor and a poet. as a man i know none with such an affectionate heart, if never opposed in his opinions. he has defects of course: one of his great defects is getting inferior people about him to listen, too fond of shining at any expense in society, and love of approbation from the darling sex bordering on weakness; though to women he is delightfully pleasant, yet they seem more to handle him as a delicate plant. i don't know if they do not put a confidence in him which to me would be mortifying. he is a man of sensibility tinged with morbidity and of such sensitive organization of body that the plant is not more alive to touch than he.... he is a composition, as we all are, of defects and delightful qualities, indolently averse to worldly exertion, because it harasses the musings of his fancy, existing only by the common duties of life, yet ignorant of them, and often suffering from their neglect." (haydon, _life, letters and table talk_, ed. r. h. stoddard, pp. - .) haydon said that the rupture came about because hunt insisted upon speaking of our lord and his apostles in a condescending manner, and that he rebelled against hunt's "audacious romancing over the biblical conceptions of the almighty." (haydon, _life, letters and table talk_, p. .) this view, in the light of haydon's general unreliability, may be mere romancing; for keats, writing on january , , gave the following explanation of the quarrel: "mrs. h. (hunt) was in the habit of borrowing silver from haydon--the last time she did so, haydon asked her to return it at a certain time--she did not--haydon sent for it--hunt went to expostulate on the indelicacy, etc.--they got to words and parted for ever." (keats, _works_, iv, p. ). [ ] _works_, iv, p. . [ ] milnes, _life, letters and literary remains of john keats_, ii, p. . [ ] _works_, iv, p. . [ ] _ibid._, v, p. . [ ] _life, letters and table talk_, p. . [ ] _works_, iv, p. . [ ] _ibid._, iv, p. . [ ] _ibid._, iv, pp. - . [ ] _ibid._, iv, p. , keats gives his argument in favor of a long poem. [ ] _ibid._, iv, p. . [ ] _ibid._, iv, p. . [ ] _ibid._, iv, p. . [ ] _ibid._, iv, pp. - . [ ] _ibid._, iv, p. . [ ] _ibid._, iv, p. . [ ] _ibid._, i, p. . [ ] _ibid._, v, p. . [ ] haydon attempted also to make trouble between wordsworth and hunt, by telling the former that hunt's admiration for him was only a "weather cock estimation" and by insinuations concerning his sincerity in friendships. (haydon, _life, letters and table talk_, p. .) [ ] j. ashcroft noble, _the sonnet in england, and other essays_, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _works_, v, p. . [ ] keats wrote haydon, "there are three things to rejoice at in this age the excursion, your pictures, and hazlitt's depth of taste." (_works_, iv, p. .) [ ] _works_, ii, p. . [ ] _ibid._, v, p. . [ ] _ibid._, v, p. . [ ] _ibid._, v, p. . [ ] _ibid._, v, p. . [ ] that he needed better attention than he could receive in lodgings is seen from an account of keats's condition given in _maria gisborne's journal_ (_ibid._, v, p. ), which says that when she drank tea there in july, keats was under sentence of death from dr. lamb: "he never spoke and looks emaciated." [ ] _works_, v, p. - . the quotation follows keats's punctuation. [ ] _ibid._, v, p. . [ ] _cornhill magazine_, . [ ] _works_, v, p. . [ ] _ibid._, v, p. . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] p. . [ ] _the examiner_, june st, july th, and th, . [ ] lines - . [ ] _works_, iv, p. . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] may , . [ ] cf. with poe's sonnet, _science, true daughter of old time thou art_. [ ] haydon, _life, letters and table talk_, p. . [ ] in connection with _hyperion_, it is interesting to note that the manuscript in keats's handwriting recently discovered, survived through the agency of leigh hunt. from him it passed into the ownership of his son thornton, and later to the sister of dr. george bird. it has been purchased from her by the british museum. (_athenæum_, march , .) [ ] this is, of course, a mistake. [ ] for other criticism of the poems by hunt, see _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, pp. - . [ ] _i stood tiptoe_, l. . [ ] _ibid._, l. . [ ] _ibid._, l. . [ ] _to some ladies_, l. . [ ] _ibid._, l. . [ ] _i stood tiptoe_, l. . [ ] _ibid._, l. . [ ] _calidore_, l. . also pointed out by mr. colvin, _keats_, p. . [ ] _to my brother george_, l. . [ ] _i stood tiptoe_, l. . [ ] hunt quotes this with approbation, as showing a "human touch." (_specimen of an induction to a poem_, ll. - .) [ ] _specimen of an induction to a poem_, l. . [ ] _calidore_, l. . [ ] _ibid._, l. ff. [ ] _to ..._, l. ff. [ ] mr. de selincourt in _notes and queries_, feb. , , dates the _imitation of spenser_ " ." he does not produce documentary evidence, however. the discovery of the hitherto unpublished poem, _fill for me a brimming bowl_, in imitation of milton's early poems, dated in the woodhouse transcript aug. , is of considerable interest in determining the date of keats's earliest composition of verse. a sonnet _on peace_ found in the same ms. is a second discovery of an unpublished poem of the same period. [ ] _works_, i, p. . [ ] _ibid._, i. p. . mr. w. t. arnold, _poetical works of john keats_, london, , has remarked upon the similar use of _so_ by hunt and keats. he compares the "so elegantly" of this passage with the line from _rimini_ "leaves so finely suit." [ ] _to charles cowden clarke_, l. . [ ] _calidore_, ll. - . [ ] _story of rimini_, p. . [ ] colvin, _keats_, p. . [ ] references to hunt in the sonnets and other poems of are the following: . "he of the rose, the violet, the spring the social smile, the chain for freedom's sake:" (_addressed to the same_ [haydon].) this sonnet did not appear in , although it belongs to this period. . "... thy tender care thus startled unaware be jealous that the foot of other wight should madly follow that bright path of light trac'd by thy lov'd libertas; he will speak, and tell thee that my prayer is very meek * * * * * him thou wilt hear." (_specimen of an introduction_, l. ff.) mrs. clarke is the authority that "libertas" was hunt. . "with him who elegantly chats, and talks-- the wrong'd libertas." (_epistle to charles cowden clarke_, l. - .) . "i turn full-hearted to the friendly aids that smooth the path of honour; brotherhood, and friendliness the nurse of mutual good. _the hearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet into the brain ere one can think upon it_; the silence when some rhymes are coming out; and when they're come, the very pleasant rout: the message certain to be done tomorrow. 'tis perhaps as well that it should be to borrow some precious book from out its snug retreat, to cluster round it when we next shall meet." (_sleep and poetry._) lines - of the same, nearly one fifth of the entire poem, are a description of hunt's library. mr. de selincourt calls it "a glowing tribute to the sympathetic friendship which keats had enjoyed at the hampstead cottage and an attempt to express in the style of the _story of rimini_ something of the spirit which had informed the _lines written above tintern abbey_." (_poems of john keats._ introduction p. .) (_a_) of this room hunt wrote: "keats's _sleep and poetry_ is a description of a parlour that was mine, no bigger than an old mansion's closet." _correspondence_ i, p. . see also _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . (_b_) further description of the same room is to be found in _shelley's letter to maria gisborne_, ll. - . (_c_) clarke refers to it in the _gentleman's magazine_, february, , and in _recollections of writers_, p. . in the letter he says that a bed was made up in the library for keats and that he was installed as a member of the household. here he composed the framework of the poem. lines - are "an inventory of the art garniture of the room." (_d_) the most intresting record in regard to the room is that given by mrs. j. t. fields in a _shelf of old books_, who says that her husband saw the library treasures which had inspired keats--greek casts of sappho, casts of kosciusko and alfred, with engravings, sketches and well-worn books. among the books collected by mr. fields was a copy of shelley, coleridge and keats bound together, with an autograph of all three men, formerly owned by hunt. the fly leaf "at the back contained the sonnet written by keats on the _story of rimini_." [ ] the two sonnets were published in _the examiner_ of september , ; keats's had been included previously in the _poems of _; hunt's appeared later in _foliage_, . [ ] this did not appear in , but belongs to this period. see _works_, ii, p. . for a comparison of these two sonnets with shelley's on the same subject, see rossetti's _life of keats_, p. . [ ] _works_, ii, p. . [ ] compare with _a dream, after reading dante's episode of paolo and francesca_, . (_works_, iii, p. .) [ ] a pocket-book given keats by hunt and containing many of the first drafts of the sonnets belonged to charles wentworth dilke. it is still in the possession of the dilke family. [ ] for instances of keats's interest in politics, see _to kosciusko_, _to hope_, ll. - , and scattered references to wallace, william tell and similar characters. most of these references have already been called attention to by others. [ ] _works_, iv, pp. - . the poem follows. [ ] colvin, _keats_, p. . [ ] _endymion_, bk. ii, ll. - . [ ] _ibid._, bk. iv, l. ff. [ ] _ibid._, bk. ii, l. ff. [ ] _ibid._, bk. ii, l. ff. [ ] _keats_, p. . [ ] stanza , l. . [ ] _hero and leander_ and _bacchus and ariadne_, , p. . [ ] mr. w. t. arnold makes the mistake of thinking that keats imitated hunt's _gentle armour_. mr. colvin corrects this statement. (keats, _poetical works_, p. .) [ ] (_a_) w. t. arnold, keats, _poetical works_, p. . (_b_) j. hoops, _keats's jungend und jugendgedichte_, englische studien, xxi, . (_c_) w. a. read, _keats and spenser_. [ ] _works_, v, p. . [ ] this same expression occurs in _hero and leander_, , in the phrase, "half set in trees and leafy luxury." keats's dedication sonnet in which it occurs was written in . therefore mr. w. t. arnold makes a mistake when he says (in his edition of keats, p. ) it was taken direct from hunt's poem, although the two separate words are among his favorites and keats probably took them from him and combined them. [ ] mr. arnold says "delicious" is used sixteen times by keats. (keats, _poetical works_, p. ). he quotes a passage from one of hunt's prefaces in which the latter comments on chaucer's use of the word: "the word _deliciously_ is a venture of animal spirits which in a modern writer some critics would pronounce to be too affected or too familiar; but the enjoyment, and even incidental appropriateness and relish of it, will be obvious to finer senses." in _rimini_ this line occurs: "distils the next note more deliciously." [ ] palgrave, _poetical works of john keats_, p. , notices leigh hunt's misuse of this word in his review of _i stood tiptoe_, quoted on p. . see his use of the same on p. . in _bacchus and ariadne_ it occurs in this passage "all luxuries that come from odorous gardens." [ ] this is used in _hyperion_, ii, l. . the expression "plashy pools" occurs in the _story of rimini_. [ ] november , . [ ] _life of percy bysshe shelly_, ii, p. . [ ] _imagination and fancy_, p. . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, pp. - . [ ] palgrave, _poetical works of john keats_, p. . [ ] _poetical works_, , p. . [ ] the poem is reported to have brought £ , more than any poem sold during his lifetime. it is now lost. [ ] mac-carthay, who has fully treated this incident, thinks that the account hunt gave of the matter many years later is so incoherent as to indicate that he did not receive the letter until after he met shelley, or perhaps not at all. he also points out that two passages in the letter to hunt of march , , important in their bearing upon shelley's political theories at this time, are identical with passages in a letter of february of the same year, addressed to the editor of _the statesman_, presumably finnerty. (_shelley's early life_, pp. - .) [ ] hancock, _the french revolution and english poets_, pp. - . [ ] letter to miss hitchener, june , . [ ] g. b. smith, _shelley, a critical biography_, p. . [ ] see the _letter to lord ellenborough_. [ ] smith, _shelley, a critical biography_, p. . [ ] for shelley's opinion on the coincidence of their political views, see the last paragraph of the dedication of _the cenci_. [ ] hunt, _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] pp. , . [ ] december , . [ ] ii, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _atlantic monthly_, february, . [ ] december , , shelley wrote to hunt: "i have not in all my intercourse with mankind experienced sympathy and kindness with which i have been so affected, or which my whole being has so sprung forward to meet and to return.... with you, and perhaps some others (though in a less degree, i fear) my gentleness and sincerity find favour, because they are themselves gentle and sincere: they believe in self-devotion and generosity because they are themselves generous and self-devoted." (nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes of the nineteenth century_, p. .) [ ] december , , shelley wrote mary godwin: hunt's "delicate and tender attentions to me, his kind speeches of you, have sustained me against the weight of the horror of this event." (dowden, _life of shelley_, ii, p. .) [ ] (_a_) _the examiner_, january , . (_b_) _ibid._, february , . (_c_) _ibid._, august , . (_d_) hunt, _correspondence_, i, p. ; august , . [ ] shelley said of horace smith: "but is it not odd that the only truly generous person i ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should be a stockbroker." (hunt, _autobiography_, i, p. .) see also _letter to maria gisborne_, ll. - ; forman, _works of shelley_, iii, p. ff. [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. ; march , . [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. ; november , . [ ] professor masson says that one of shelley's first acts was to offer hunt £ . it is probable he refers to the occasion already discussed. (_wordsworth, shelley, keats and other essays_, p. .) [ ] dowden, _life of shelley_, ii, p. . [ ] nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes of the nineteenth century_, p. ; december , . [ ] _ibid._, p. ; august , . [ ] rogers, _table talk_, p. . [ ] hunt, _correspondence_, i, p. ; september , . [ ] hunt, _autobiography_, ii, p. ; _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] medwin, _life of shelley_, ii, p. . [ ] mitford, _life_, i, p. . jeaffreson, _the real shelley_, ii, p. . [ ] nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes_, p. ; april , . he assumed the debt for hunt's piano as naturally as he did for his own. prof. dowden says that john hunt expected shelley to become responsible for all of his brother's debts. (_life of shelley_, ii, p. .) [ ] hunt, _correspondence_, i, p. ; november , . [ ] nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes of the nineteenth century_, p. . [ ] see chapter iv, p. . [ ] dowden, _life of shelley_, ii, p. ; also _works of shelley_, viii, p. . [ ] (_a_) nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes_, pp. , . (_b_) byron, _letters and journals_, vi, p. . [ ] dowden, _life of shelley_, ii, p. . [ ] hunt, _autobiography_, ii, pp. - . in august, , hunt importunes shelley to give no thought to his affairs (_correspondence_, i, p. ). hunt wrote mary shelley on september , : "pray thank shelley or rather do not, for that kind part of his offer relating to the expenses. i find i have omitted it; but the instinct that led me to do so is more honorable to him than thanks." (_correspondence_, i, p. .) [ ] jeaffreson, _the real shelley_, ii, p. . [ ] w. m. rossetti, _complete poetical works of percy bysshe shelley_, i, p. . [ ] _letters and journals_, vi, p. . [ ] kent, _leigh hunt as poet and essayist_, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _atlantic monthly_, february, . [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. . june , . [ ] built by michaelangelo and situated on the arno. [ ] _the liberal_, i, p. . [ ] brandes attributes the inscription to mary shelley. (_main currents in nineteenth century literature_, iv, p. .) [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] after shelley's death, mary shelley decided to remain in italy in order to assist with _the liberal_. she considered hunt "expatriated at the request and desire of others," and, in helping him, she thought to fulfil any obligation that shelley might have assumed in the scheme. for her services she received thirty-three pounds. she lived for some time in the same house with the hunts after they separated from lord byron, but the arrangement was an unhappy one. disagreements, beginning with a misunderstanding concerning the possession of shelley's heart, dragged through the winter. fortunately everything was adjusted before they separated. july, , she wrote of hunt: "he is all kindness, consideration and friendship--all feeling of alienation towards me has disappeared to its last dregs." (marshall, _the life and letters of mary wollstonecraft godwin_, london, , ii, p. .) and again: "but thank heaven we are now the best friends in the world.... it is a delightful thing, my dear jane, to be able to express one's affection upon an old and tried friend like hunt, and one so passionately attached to my shelley as he was, and is.... he was displeased with me for many just reasons, but he found me willing to expiate, as far as i could, the evil i had done; his heart again warmed, and if when i return you find me more amiable, and more willing to suffer with patience than i was, it is to him that i owe this benefit." (_ibid._, ii, p. .) [ ] jeaffreson assigns the cause of hunt's neglect to his ignorance of the fact that he could suck money out of shelley. _the real shelley_, ii, p. . [ ] mac-carthay in _literary anecdotes of the nineteenth century_, p. . [ ] shelley was deeply wounded by the attack. he wrote hunt: "as to what relates to yourself and me, it makes me melancholy to consider the dreadful wickedness of the heart which would have prompted such expressions as those with which the anonymous writer gloats over my domestic calamities and the perversion of understanding with which he paints your character." (nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes_, p. ; december , .) [ ] shelley at first attributed the article in the _quarterly_ to southey on the grounds of his enmity to _the examiner_ which, shelley declared, had been the "crown of thorns worn by this unredeemed redeemer for many years." southey denied the authorship. (nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes_, p. ; december , .) [ ] _the examiner_, september , october and , . see also _correspondence_, i, pp. - . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] _ibid._, i, p. . [ ] see hunt, _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] for shelley's desire for hunt's good opinion, see _works of shelley_, viii, p. . hunt's collection of poems, published during , under the title of _foliage_ was dedicated to shelley: "had i known a person more highly endowed than yourself with all the qualities that it becomes a man to possess, i had selected for this work the ornament of his name. one more gentle, honorable, innocent and brave; one of more exalted toleration of all who do and think evil; one who knows better how to receive, and how to confer a benefit though he must ever confer far more than he can receive; one of simpler, and in the highest sense of the word, of purer life and manners i never knew: and i had already been fortunate in friendships when your name was added to the list." [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] _ibid._, i, p. . [ ] _ibid._, i, p. ; march , . [ ] in an article on the _suburbs of genoa and the country about london_, pp. - . [ ] dated august , . [ ] the second part of the sketch was in answer to the _quarterly review's_ attack on the _posthumous poems_, which mrs. shelley, aided by hunt, had published in . this account was reworked in for the _autobiography_ and was taken in part for the preface to an edition of shelley's works in . hunt wrote another biographical sketch of shelley for s. c. hall's _book of gems_ (p. ). he gave a fine description of his physical appearance not often quoted. [ ] it was considered by the _athaneum_ to be the best part of the book, and to be the "powerful portrait of a benevolent man." (vi, p. .) [ ] letter to ollier, february, . [ ] _atlantic monthly_, february, . [ ] forman, _shelley library_, p. , says that the motto from _laon and cythna_ was added by hunt. [ ] pt. , p. . [ ] p. . [ ] _a shelf of old books_, p. . [ ] hunt's _book of the sonnet_, which appeared posthumously, contained a criticism of shelley's sonnet on _ozymandyas_ (i, p. ). [ ] august and , . [ ] _the examiner_, december , . [ ] _ibid._, july , . [ ] _literary pocket book_, london, . shelley's signature was [greek: d] and [greek: s]. see hunt, _correspondence_, i, . [ ] _literary pocket book_, . (_works of shelley_, iii, p. .) [ ] _literary pocket book_, . (_works of shelley_, iii, p. .) [ ] _literary pocket book_, . (_works of shelley_, iv, p. .) [ ] _ibid._, . (_works of shelley_, iv, p. .) [ ] _ibid._, . (_works of shelley_, iv, p. .) [ ] _ibid._, . (_works of shelley_, iv, p. .) [ ] _ibid._, . mr. forman thinks that the poem refers to harriet shelley's death and that the date is a disguise. (_works of shelley_, iii, p. .) [ ] _the indicator_, december , . [ ] chapter iv. [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. ; november , . [ ] _works of shelley_, iv, p. . [ ] six months later, december , , hunt addressed a letter to lord ellenborough on the same subject in regard to his own sentence. [ ] june , , , july , , august , september , , october , , , , december , , ; in , february , august , , and september . the last three articles were written after the queen's death. [ ] keats's _the cap and bells_ deals with the same. [ ] shelley gave directions that the poem should be printed like hunt's _hero and leander_. _works of shelley_, iii, p. . [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. ; august , . the letter instructs hunt to throw the poem into the fire or not as he sees fit and requests him, in preference to peacock, to correct the proofs. "can you take it as a compliment that i prefer to trouble you?" [ ] forman wrongly attributes the review of reynolds' _peter bell_ in _the examiner_ of april , , to hunt and says that this "flippant notice" by hunt inspired shelley's poem. _ibid._, ii, p. . reynolds asked keats to request hunt to review his poem. keats did it himself. (keats, _works_, iii, pp. - .) [ ] _works of shelley_, iii, p. . [ ] hunt, _correspondence_, i, p. , ; april , , and september , . cf. with _works of shelley_, viii, p. ; september , . (editor says dated wrongly.) [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. ; september , . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. ; august , . [ ] "you will see hunt--one of those happy souls which are the salt of the earth, and without whom this world would smell like what it is--a tomb; who is what others seem; his room no doubt is still adorned by many a cast from shout, with graceful flowers tastefully placed about, and coronals of bay from ribbons hung, and brighter wreaths in neat disorder flung,-- the gifts of the most learned among some dozens of female friends, sisters-in-law and cousins. and there he is with his eternal puns, which beat the dullest brain for smiles, like duns thundering for money at a poet's door; alas! it is no use to say 'i'm poor!'" [ ] mr. forman thinks that it may be part of the original draft of _rosalind and helen_; if so, it is still a very close approximation of shelley's opinion of hunt (_works of shelley_, iii, p. ). william rossetti and felix rabbe think that it was addressed to hunt. [ ] wise's edition of _adonais_, p. . london, . [ ] to his wife. _works of shelley_, viii, p. ; july , . [ ] nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes_, p. ; april , . [ ] hunt, _correspondence_, i, p. . professor george edward woodberry says that shelley had the "kindest feeling of gratitude and respect ... but nothing more" towards hunt. (_studies in letters and life_, p. .) [ ] _ibid._, i, p. . november , . _works of shelley_, viii, p. ; november , . [ ] sir walter scott has given a good estimate of them: "our sentiments agreed a good deal, except on the subject of religion and politics, upon neither of which i was inclined to believe that lord byron entertained very fixed principles.... on politics he used sometimes to express a high strain of what is now called liberalism; but it appeared to me that the pleasure that it afforded him as a vehicle of displaying his wit and satire against individuals in office was at the bottom of his habit of thinking. at heart i would have termed byron a patrician on principle." (moore, _letters and journals of lord byron_, i, p. .) [ ] hancock, _the french revolution and english poets_, p. . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. ; _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _the real lord byron_, i, p. . [ ] _letters and journals_, iii, pp. - . the article was not published. [ ] nichol, _life of bryon_, p. , incorrectly gives as the date. [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. , may , . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _the champion_, april , , , . [ ] _letters and journals of lord byron_, p. . [ ] byron, _letters and journals_, ii, p. , december , . [ ] _ibid._, ii, pp. - . [ ] page . [ ] _the examiner_, april , . [ ] _letters and journals_, vi, pp. - . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] _letters and journals_, iii, p. . [ ] in byron translated the rimini episode of the _divine comedy_. [ ] trelawney, _recollections of the last days of shelley and byron_, p. . [ ] _letters and journals_, v, pp. - . [ ] _letters and journals_, v, p. . this passage is omitted from the letter in which it occurs in moore's _letters and journals of lord byron_, ii, p. . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] hunt wrongly gives byron's date of birth as . the article is accompanied with a woodcut. [ ] see _blackwood's_, x, pp. , . [ ] _letters and journals_, v, pp. - . [ ] medwin, _journal of the conversations of lord byron_, p. . [ ] jeaffreson, _the real lord byron_, ii, p. , says that byron through shelley's mediation could secure hunt as editor. [ ] _ibid._, _letters and journals of lord byron_, ii, p. . [ ] _recollections of the last days of shelley and byron_, p. . [ ] see p. . [ ] _the real lord byron_, ii, p. . [ ] _dictionary of national biography._ [ ] _leigh hunt as poet and essayist_, p. . [ ] _life of byron_, pp. - . [ ] _leigh hunt_, p. , note. [ ] _life of leigh hunt_, p. . [ ] _the sonnet in england_, pp. - . [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] after shelley's meeting with byron in switzerland in , before they met again in venice, there had been a lapse of two years bridged only by a not always pleasant correspondence relating to allegra, byron's natural daughter. shelley occupied the unenviable position of mediator between him and jane clairmont, the child's mother. yet when the two men met again in august, , it was at first on the terms recorded in _julian and maddalo_. byron's influence served as a stimulus to this and to other poems of the same period. by december of that year shelley's opinion of byron had changed; on the d, he wrote to peacock of _childe harold_ in terms that show how quickly his views could alter: "the spirit in which it is written, is, if insane, the most wicked and mischievous insanity that was ever given forth. it is a kind of obstinate and self-willed folly, in which he hardens himself. i remonstrated with him in vain on the tone of mind from which such a view of things alone arises.... he (byron) associates with wretches who seem to have lost the gait and physiognomy of man, and who do not scruple to avow practices, which are not only not named, but i believe seldom even conceived in england. he says he disapproves, but he endures. he is heartily and deeply discontented with himself; and contemplating in the distorted mirror of his own thoughts the nature and destiny of man, what can he behold but objects of contempt and despair? but that he is a great poet, i think the address to ocean proves. and he has a certain degree of candour while you talk to him, but unfortunately it does not outlast your departure. no, i do not doubt, and for his own sake, i ought to hope, that his present career must soon end in some violent circumstance." (_works of shelley_, viii, pp. - .) from the close of until , they were again separated. their correspondence, as previously, related chiefly to allegra and was of a still less agreeable nature. byron had refused to deal directly with jane clairmont and all communications had to pass through shelley's hands. in the interval, as though in retaliation, byron had believed the shiloh story, a fabrication by a nurse of the shelleys that jane clairmont was shelley's mistress, but he does not seem to have condemned such a state of affairs. (_letters and journals_, v, p. , october, .) yet he testified in his letters his great admiration of shelley's poetry (_ibid._, vi, p. ), and after his death he called him "the best and least selfish man i ever knew." (_ibid._, vi, p. ; august , .) but before , a reversal of the opinion formed in shelley's mind at the time of byron's venetian excesses, came about. november , , he wrote to mrs. hunt: "his indecencies, too, both against sexual nature, and against human nature in general, sit very awkwardly upon him. he only affects the libertine; he is, really, a very amiable, friendly and agreeable man, i hear." (hunt, _correspondence_, i, p. .) this corroborates thornton hunt's statement that byron had risen in shelley's estimation before and that otherwise _the liberal_ would never have been started. (_atlantic monthly_, february, .) at byron's invitation they met again in ravenna. shelley's letters dated from there show unstinted admiration of byron's genius and of the man himself. he wrote in august, , that he was living a "life totally the reverse of that which he led at venice.... (_works of shelley_, viii, p. , august , .) l. b. is greatly improved in every respect. in genius, in temper, in moral views, in health, in happiness.... he has had mischievous passions, but these he seems to have subdued, and he is becoming what he should be, a virtuous man.... (_ibid._, viii, p. , august , .) lord byron and i are excellent friends, and were i reduced to poverty, or were i a writer who had no claims to a higher station than i possess--or did i possess a higher than i deserve, we should appear in all things as such, and i would freely ask him any favour. such is not now the case. the daemon of mistrust and pride lurks between two persons in our station, poisoning the freedom of our intercourse. this is a tax and a heavy one, which we must pay for being human." of _don juan_ he wrote: "it sets him not only above, but far above, all the poets of the day--every word is stamped with immortality. i despair of rivalling lord byron, as well i may, and there is no other with whom it is worth contending. (_ibid._, viii, p. , august , .) during the visit shelley served as ambassador to the countess guiccioli in persuading her not to go to switzerland, and in the same capacity to byron in the arrangement of allegra's affairs. it was then settled that byron should reside for the winter at pisa. shelley had misgivings about such an arrangement on his own and on miss clairmont's account, for he had previously intended to settle in the same vicinity. he finally decided not to let it make any difference in his plans. in january, , shelley wrote from pisa to peacock: "lord byron is established here, and we are his constant companions. no small relief this, after the dreary solitude of the understanding and the imagination in which we passed the first years of our expatriation, yoked to all sorts of miseries and discomforts.... if you before thought him a great poet, what is your opinion now that you have read _cain_?" (_works of shelley_, viii, p. ; january , .) during the same month he wrote to john gisborne: "what think you of lord byron now? space wondered less at the swift and fair creations of god, when he grew weary of vacancy, than i at this spirit of an angel in the mortal paradise of a decaying body." (_ibid._, viii, p. , january, .) a letter to leigh hunt gives the first intimation of the return of the ill-feeling toward byron: "past circumstances between lord b. and me render it _impossible_ that i should accept any supply from him for my own use, or that i should ask for yours if the contribution could be supposed in any manner to relieve me, or to do what i could otherwise have done." (_works of shelley_, viii, p. , january , .) this referred to more entanglements with byron about allegra. shelley wrote to jane clairmont: "it is of vital importance, both to me and yourself, to allegra even, that i should put a period to my intimacy with lord byron, and that without éclat. no sentiments of honour and of justice restrain him (as i strongly suspect) from the basest suspicion, and the only mode in which i could effectually silence him i am reluctant (even if i had proof) to employ during my father's life. but for your immediate feelings, i would suddenly and irrevocably leave the country which he inhabits, nor even enter it but as an enemy to determine our differences without words." (_the nation_, xlviii, p. .) [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. . [ ] _ibid._, viii, p. , august , . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. , september , . [ ] _ibid._, i, p. , november , . [ ] byron, _letters and journals_, iv, p. , june , . [ ] _ibid._, vi, pp. , , , , , , . [ ] _ibid._, vi, p. . [ ] in moore showed considerable pride in being included as one of the four poets to sup with apollo in the _feast of the poets_ and said that he was "particularly flattered by praise from hunt, because he is one of the most honest and candid men" that he knew. (_memoirs, journal and correspondence_, ii, p. .) in hunt had urged upon perry, the editor of the _morning chronicle_, the necessity of a public subscription for moore. (_ibid._, ii, p. ). an unfavorable review of moore's political principles in _the examiner_ during the same year may have done something to bring about the change in moore's feelings, though he was eulogized in a later issue of january , . [ ] b. w. procter, _an autobiographical fragment_, p. . [ ] _letters and journals of lord byron_, ii, p. . [ ] _ibid._, ii, p. . [ ] _ibid._, ii, p. . [ ] jeaffreson, _the real lord byron_, ii, p. . [ ] _recollections of the last days of shelley and byron_, p. . [ ] nicoll, _literary anecdotes of the nineteenth century_, p. , march, . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _fortnightly_, xxix, p. . [ ] _recollections of the last days of shelley and byron_, p. . [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. - . [ ] _life of shelley_, ii, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] monkhouse, _life of leigh hunt_, p. . [ ] hunt refuted the statement that byron had walled off part of his dwelling and furnished it handsomely. (_lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. ff.) [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, pp. , . [ ] nicoll and wise, _literary anecdotes of the nineteenth century_, p. , december , . [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] "i could always procure what i wanted from lord byron, and living here is divinely cheap." (_correspondence_, i, p. , november , .) [ ] _life of byron_, p. . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] _works of shelley_, viii, p. . [ ] she used no tact in her dealings with lord byron. she let him see that she had no respect for rank or titles. she even went beyond the limits of courtesy in her remarks to him. on byron's saying, "what do you think, mrs. hunt? trelawny had been speaking of my morals! what do you think of that?" "it is the first time," said mrs. hunt, "i ever heard of them." (_lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. ). of his portrait by harlowe she said "that it resembled a great schoolboy, who had had a plain bun given him, instead of a plum one," a facetious speech indiscreetly repeated by hunt to byron. [ ] _letters and journals_, vi, p. . [ ] _ibid._, vi, pp. - . hunt's view was quite different. byron was, he thought, intimidated "out of his reasoning" by his children and their principles. (_lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. .) [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _letters and journals_, vi, pp. , . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] medwin, _conversations of lord byron_, p. . [ ] monkhouse, _life of leigh hunt_, pp. - . [ ] ii, pp. - . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. , july , . letter to his sister-in-law. [ ] _letters and journals_, vi, p. , july , . [ ] _recollections of the last days of shelley and byron_, i, p. . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . october (?), . [ ] _letters and journals_, vi, p. . january , . [ ] _ibid._, vi, pp. - . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, pp. , . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] "_blackwood's magazine_ overflowed, as might be expected, with ten-fold gall and bitterness; the _john bull_ was outrageous; and mr. jerdan black in the face at this unheard-of and disgraceful union. but who would have supposed that mr. thomas moore and mr. hobhouse, those staunch friends and partisans of the people, should also be thrown into almost hysterical agonies of well-bred horror at the coalition between their noble and ignoble acquaintance, between the patrician and the 'newspaper-man'? mr. moore darted backwards and forwards from cold-bath-fields' prison to the examiner-office, from mr. longman's to mr. murray's shop, in a state of ridiculous trepidation, to see what was to be done to prevent this degradation of the aristocracy of letters, this indecent encroachment of plebeian pretensions, this undue extension of patronage and compromise of privilege. the tories were shocked that lord byron should grace the popular side by his direct countenance and assistance--the whigs were shocked that he should share his confidence and councils with any one who did not unite the double recommendations of birth and genius--but themselves!" (hazlitt, _the plain speaker_, ii, p. ff.) [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] galt in his _life of byron_ says: "whether mr. hunt was or was not a fit co-partner for one of his lordship's rank and celebrity, i do not undertake to judge; but every individual was good enough for that vile prostitution of his genius, to which in an unguarded hour, he submitted for money." (p. .) [ ] _the literary gazette_ of october , , was one of the notable opponents. [ ] _life of byron_, p. . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] byron, _letters and journals_, vi, p. . [ ] _ibid._, vi, p. . [ ] _ibid._, vi, p. , p. . (letters to mrs. shelley.) [ ] _ibid._, vi, p. . [ ] _ibid._, v, p. , december , . [ ] _ibid._, vi, pp. - . [ ] _ibid._, v, p. . [ ] lady blessington, _conversations of lord byron_, p. . [ ] _letters and journals_, vi, pp. - , april , . [ ] hunt's only means of support were the income from his contributions to _colburn's new monthly magazine_, from the _wishing cap papers_ in _the examiner_, and an annuity of £ . (_correspondence_, i, p. .) [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. - . [ ] _correspondence_, i, p. . see hazlitt's account of hunt in italy given in a letter from haydon to miss mitford. (haydon, _life, letters and table talk_, pp. - .) [ ] moore, _memoirs_, iv, p. ; v, p. . [ ] _letters and journals_, vi, p. , . [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, preface, p. . [ ] clarke, _recollection of writers_, p. . [ ] but compare hunt's own remarks on p. . [ ] the biographers of the two men have taken various attitudes toward the value of _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_. galt says that the pains hunt took to elaborate faults of byron make one think hunt was treated according to his deserts, and that the troubles he labored under may have caused him to misapprehend byron's jocularity for sarcasm, and caprice for insolence. (_life of byron_, p. .) garnett considers the book a "corrective of merely idealized estimates of lord byron," and its "reception more unfavorable than its deserts." (_encyclopædia britannica_, "byron," ninth edition.) nichol thinks that while the book was prompted by uncharitableness and egotism, byron's faults were only slightly magnified: that the poetic insight, the cosmopolitan sympathy and courage of hunt have given a view that nothing else could have done. (_life of byron_, p. .) r. b. johnson thinks that it was a correct estimate written in self-justification. undoubtedly it should not have come from hunt, yet if it had not been written hunt would not have been defended nor byron so well known. he says there is "no reason to regret any part of the affair but the heated and persistent abuse with which one of the most sensitive and humane of men has been loaded on account of it." (_leigh hunt_, p. .) noble says that "byron's friends met unpleasant truths by still more unpleasant falsehoods." (_the sonnet in england_, p. .) alexander ireland, says the book was the great blunder of hunt's life, "ought not to have been written, far less published." (_dictionary of national biography._) [ ] _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. - . [ ] byron, _letters and journals_, ii, p. . [ ] _ibid._, ii, p. . [ ] thornton hunt, in his edition of his father's _correspondence_, , in this connection defended byron, and credited him with "a strong sympathy with all that was beautiful and generous, with a desire to do right, [ ] p. . for an apology made six years earlier see a letter from hunt to thomas moore. (_correspondence_, ii, p. .) [ ] hunt, _a jar of honey from mt. hybia_, p. . [ ] ii, pp. - . [ ] _charles lamb and some of his companions_ in the _quarterly review_ of january, . [ ] _a new spirit of the age_, p. . [ ] near the close of his life hunt wrote: "the jests about london and the cockneys did not affect me in the least, as far as my faith was concerned. they might as well have said that hampstead was not beautiful, or richmond lovely; or that chaucer and milton were cockneys when they went out of london to lie on the grass and look at the daisies. the cockney school is the most illustrious in england; for, to say nothing of pope and gray, who were both veritable cockneys, 'born within the sound of bow bell,' milton was so too; and chaucer and spenser were both natives of the city. of the four greatest english poets, shakespeare only was not a londoner." (_autobiography_, ii, p. .) [ ] _recollections of writers_, p. . other accounts of these suppers are to be found in hazlitt's _on the conversations of authors_; in the works dealing with charles lamb; and in the _cornhill magazine_, november, . [ ] _the life of mary russell mitford_. edited by a. j. k. l'estrange, new york, , i, p. , november , . [ ] sharp, _the life and letters of joseph severn_, p. . [ ] notes, pp. - . [ ] _ibid._, pp. - . [ ] other controversies, such as the one with antoine dubost, show hunt's aggressiveness. dubost had sold a painting of damocles to his patron, a mr. hope. the latter became convinced that the author was an imposter and tore the signature from the picture. in retaliation dubost painted and exhibited _beauty and the beast_, a caricature of the whole incident. _the examiner_ accused him of forgery and rank ingratitude. hunt does not seem to have had any particular proof or knowledge on the subject, yet he employed scathing denunciation in writing of it. dubost replied and asserted that hunt was hope's hireling, and that he had "ransacked the whole calendar of scurrility, and hunted for nick-names through all the common places of blackguardism." (dubost, _an appeal to the public against the calumnies of the examiner_, london, n. d., p. .) [ ] he undertook a vindication of the cockney school in a series of four articles, in which he pointed out the "mean insincerity," the "vulgar slander," the "mouthing cant," the "shabby spite," the falsehoods and the recantations of blackwood's. the description of the conditions, under which scott pictured the articles of his enemies to have been written, smacks of the mocking humor of _blackwood's_ itself: "a redolency of leith-ale, and tobacco smoke, which floats about all the pleasantry in question,--giving one the idea of its facetious articles having been written on the slopped table of a tavern parlour in the back-wynd, after the _convives_ had retired, and left the author to solitude, pipe-ashes, and the dregs of black-strap." [ ] published in edinburgh in and signed by "an american scotchman." [ ] published in newcastle in . [ ] the school was thus described in blackwood's: "the chief constellations, in this poetical firmament, consist of led captains, and clerical hangers-on, whose pleasure, and whose business, it is, to celebrate in tuneful verse, the virtues of some angelic patron, who keeps a good table, and has interest with the archbishop, or the india house. verily they have their reward." in other words this group was composed of diners-out or parasites, and sycophants for livings and military appointments. [ ] published in london, . [ ] published in london also in . [ ] keats, _works_, iv, p. . [ ] c. c. clarke, _recollections of writers_, p. . [ ] keats, _works_, iv, p. . [ ] _life of benjamin robert haydon_, p. . [ ] dowden, _life of shelley_, ii, p. . [ ] i, p. . [ ] _keats_, p. . [ ] _life in poetry: law in taste_, pp. - . [ ] _age of wordsworth_, p. . [ ] _blackwood's_, november, . [ ] _ibid._, may, . [ ] _quarterly_, april, . [ ] _ibid._, january, . [ ] _blackwood's_, april, . [ ] _life, letters and table talk of benjamin robert haydon_, p. . [ ] _blackwood's_, may, , pp. - . [ ] _memoirs and correspondence of coventry patmore_, i, p. . [ ] _letters and journals_, v, p. . [ ] _st. james magazine_, xxxv, p. ff. [ ] _blackwood's_, december, . [ ] _letters and journals_, v, pp. - . march , . [ ] _ibid._, v, pp. - . september , . [ ] _letters of timothy tickler, esq._, july, . [ ] september, . [ ] hunt, _correspondence_, i, p. . [ ] daniel maclise, _a gallery of illustrious literary characters_ ( - ). london, n. d., p. . [ ] william dorling, _memoirs of dora greenwell_, london, , p. . [ ] _epistle to barnes._ [ ] this accusation has been made still more recently by mr. palgrave, who speaks of the "slipshod morality of _rimini_ and _hero_." _poetical works of john keats_, p. . [ ] in , however, he refashioned the whole poem, now representing giovanni as deformed and as the murderer of his wife and brother, whereas in the version of paolo had been slain in a duel and francesca had died of grief. in , he made a second change and went back to the version. the duel he preserved in the fragment, _corso and emilia_. hunt's translation of dante's episode appeared in _stories of verse_, . in he made a third change and restored the version of . [ ] the editor of _blackwood's_ in a letter dated april , , offered space to p. g. patmore for a favourable critique of hunt's poetry, reserving to himself the privilege of answering such an article. he stated further that if hunt had employed less violent language towards the reviewer of _rimini_ he might have been given a friendly explanation. _memoirs and correspondence of coventry patmore_, ii, p. . [ ] this charge was renewed in a review of hunt's _autobiography_ in in the _eclectic review_, xcii, p. . [ ] byron greatly resented southey's article: "i am glad mr. southey owns that article on _foliage_ which excited my choler so much. but who else could have been the author? who but southey would have had the baseness, under the pretext of reviewing the work of one man, insidiously to make it nest work for hatching malicious calumnies against others?... i say nothing of the critique itself on _foliage_; with the exception of a few sonnets, it was unworthy of hunt. but what was the object of that article? i repeat, to villify and scatter his dark and devilish insinuation against me and others." (medwin, _conversations of lord byron_, p. .) again byron wrote of southey in : "hence his quarterly overflowings, political and literary, in what he has termed himself 'the ungentle craft,' and his special wrath against mr. leigh hunt, not withstanding that hunt has done more for wordsworth's reputation as a poet (such as it is), than all the lakers could in their interchange of praises for the last twenty-five years." (_letters and journals_, v, p. .) [ ] _london magazine_, october, . [ ] september, . [ ] reprinted in the _museum of foreign literature_, xii, p. . [ ] august, , xxvi, p. . [ ] c. c. clarke, _recollections of writers_, p. . the year in which the letter was written is not given, but it must fall within the years - , the period of hunt's residence at chelsea. [ ] _the victorian age_, i, pp. - . [ ] hunt, _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] _critical, historical and miscellaneous essays_, new york and boston, , iv, p. . [ ] the first preface to _endymion_ was rejected by keats on the advice of his friends who thought that it was in the vain yet deprecating tone of hunt's prefaces. to this charge keats replied: "i am not aware that there is anything like hunt in it (and if there is, it is my natural way, and i have something in common with hunt)." the second preface justifies the charge. [ ] _london journal_, january , . [ ] of southey's attack on hunt and others in may, , keats wrote: "i have more than a laurel from the quarterly reviewers, for they have smothered me in 'foliage.'" (_works_, iv, p. .) [ ] shelley wrote also a letter to the _quarterly review_ remonstrating against its treatment of keats but the letter was never sent. (milnes, _life, letters and literary remains of john keats_, i, p. ff.) [ ] in _lord byron and some of his contemporaries_, hunt states that he informed byron of his mistake and received a promise that it would be altered, but that the rhyme about _article_ and _particle_ was too good to throw away (p. ). [ ] just before leaving england, keats with hunt visited the house where tom had died. he told hunt in _this_ connection that he was "dying of a broken heart." (_literary examiner_, , p. .) [ ] _works_, iv, pp. - , - , , , ; v, pp. , . [ ] _atlantic monthly_, xi, p. . [ ] october , . it included two reprints from other papers. the first was a letter taken from the _morning chronicle_ signed j. s. it predicted that if keats would "apostatise his friendship, his principles, and his politics (if he have any) he may even command the approbation of the _quarterly review_." this was followed by extracts from an article by john hamilton reynolds in the _alfred exeter paper_ praising keats for his power of vitalizing heathen mythology and for his resemblance to chapman and calling gifford "a lottery commissioner and government pensioner" who persecuted keats by "intrigue of literature and contrivance of political parties." [ ] dante gabriel rossetti suggests this possibility in a letter to mr. hall caine. (caine, _recollections of dante gabriel rossetti_, p. .) [ ] _cobwebs of criticism_, p. . [ ] _autobiography_, ii, p. . [ ] see p. ff. [ ] _imagination and fancy_, p. . [ ] dowden, _life of shelley_, ii, p. . [ ] other hostile reviews of _the cenci_ appeared in the _literary gazette_ of april , ; the _monthly magazine_ of the same month; and the _london magazine_ of may of the same year. [ ] _blackwood's_, january, . [ ] alexander ireland has pointed out curious correspondences in the lives and intrests of hazlitt and hunt. (_memoir of hazlitt_, pp. - .) [ ] _quarterly_, may, . [ ] _ibid._, december, . [ ] _ibid._, july, . [ ] _ibid._, october, . [ ] birrell, _william hazlitt_, new york, , p. . [ ] _the examiner_ of march and , , contained extracts from the _letter_ and comments by hunt upon this "quint-essential salt of an epistle," as he called it. lamb's _letter to southey_, already referred to, contained a defense of hazlitt as well as of hunt. [ ] february, -april, . [ ] august, . 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